Waiting for Morning

by Karen Kingsbury

  We won! We won! Guilty! We won … we won. The words ran through her mind, over and over. Every panel, every hour of research, every meeting with Carol, all of Matt’s hard work … it all had paid off. It was the victory she’d waited for all year, and now it was time to celebrate. Brian Wesley was going to prison. Murder one. History-making murder one.

  Her hands remained spread across her face, and she heard herself weeping now, louder and louder. She felt Carol’s arm come around her shoulders, and she struggled to gain control. Dimly she heard Judge Horowitz banging his gavel, calling for order.

  She had pictured this moment a hundred times. She’d imagined she would jump up and congratulate Matt, look at the jurors and silently thank them for making the right choice, then proceed to the cameras for a series of interviews.

  Instead, she was consumed by the greatest heartache she had ever known.

  It was her grandest moment—the moment of justice and peace—but not one of the people she loved was there to share it with her.

  If this is peace, how will I ever tolerate a lifetime of it?

  Jenny was dizzy. She lay back on her bed and began to cry, but she only heard the deep, raspy sound of her body gasping for breath.

  No! Please, no! Her mind screamed the words, but her mouth no longer worked. Suddenly she remembered something from one of the Internet sites. You know it’s working if your fingernail beds begin to turn blue. She held up her hands, steadying them, straining to see them as the images blurred. It was impossible to tell, but she thought she saw the deadly blue there.

  She gasped once more, but black spots blocked her vision. Suddenly all she wanted to do was sleep.

  Please, God. I want to live. I want …

  Her thoughts faded. She could no longer feel herself trying to breathe.

  Two seconds later, she was unconscious.

  Matt released the air from his lungs slowly. “Thank you, God.” He turned to face Hannah.

  The entire courtroom had erupted into conversation, but his eyes were fixed on her alone. She was hunched over, head buried in her hands, weeping. She needed him, and in that instant he felt an attraction for her that went far beyond the scope of the trial. He chided himself for the feeling. Must be the intensity of the moment. He started to rise from his seat, then remembered the proceedings were not officially finished. He sat back down, his neck craned, his eyes still on her.

  Poor Hannah. He had won, but not her. She had lost everything. Not even this verdict could change that.

  The judge banged his gavel. “Order! Order in the court.”

  Gradually the people who filled the room and much of the corridor outside fell silent once more. Judge Horowitz gave each of the jurors the opportunity to affirm their verdict. Then he continued with final instructions.

  “The bailiff will take the defendant into custody until such time as his sentencing hearing, which will take place two weeks from today in this courtroom at ten in the morning. At that time—” he looked at Brian Wesley—“the defendant and the victims will have an opportunity to speak. That is all for today. Court dismissed.”

  He banged his gavel one final time, and Brian Wesley stood to face the bailiff. Cameras captured the moment as handcuffs were snapped onto Brian’s wrists, and he was led away.

  It was the first time Matt had been able to look into Brian’s eyes since his testimony days earlier, and what he saw there was surprisingly familiar. Peace. Brian looked content, ready to take his punishment. Matt stared, stunned, and suddenly he knew Hannah’s concerns had been warranted.

  Brian Wesley had the eyes of a believer.

  Matt turned toward Hannah and saw that she was still sobbing. He watched her hands drop, saw her eyes follow Brian as he was led away. He didn’t want her to stay around the courtroom. She needed to be home with Jenny. Get her home. Now! The urging impelled him from his seat.

  “Matt …” She stood up and hugged him, gripping his neck and burying her head in his shoulder.

  “Shhh … it’s all right. It’s over now.” He knew the cameras were on them and he pulled away, studying her face. The hatred was still there. And the bitterness and a dozen other emotions with the exception of one: peace.

  A reporter made his way over and stood between them. “What’s your reaction to the verdict, Mrs. Ryan?”

  She straightened and wiped her cheeks with her fingertips. “I think it’s wonderful. The streets will be safer when we can be confident about convicting repeat drunk drivers of first-degree murder.”

  “And what about Mr. Wesley? Do you think he deserves the full sentence, life in prison?”

  Matt watched Hannah’s eyes narrow, and he cringed at what was coming.

  “Yes. He deserves a life sentence. And then he deserves to rot in hell.”

  Hannah was barely aware of her surroundings as she drove home. She had expected to feel something … elation, excitement, the thrill of victory. Something. But as she turned into her driveway she felt strangely numb. Exactly the way she’d felt before the verdict. She glanced in her rearview mirror and saw Matt pull in behind her. He had talked her into going for lunch, but he thought they should tell Jenny the news first.

  Together they walked up to the house.

  Matt waited while Hannah turned the key. “She can come with us if she wants.”

  Hannah huffed as she opened the door. “Good luck. Jenny doesn’t do anything that involves me these days.” She headed for the stairs. “Jenny?”

  No answer.

  “She must be sleeping. Wait here, I’ll wake her and tell her the news.” Hannah trudged up the stairs. She had a throbbing headache and couldn’t wait for the day to end. She entered the hallway and headed for her daughter’s room.

  “Jenny, I’m home.” Again, no response. She was wasting her time. Jenny wouldn’t care, anyway. She turned the doorknob to the room, but it was locked.

  Hannah sighed impatiently. “Jenny, it’s me. Wake up.”

  Nothing. Hannah banged on the door.

  “Jenny, come on.” She was shouting now, angry because she knew her daughter was ignoring her.

  “Jenny … open the door this instant! Do you understand me?”

  Silence.

  Suddenly Hannah heard voices from the corner of her memory … The principal … “I don’t know, Mrs. Ryan, under normal circumstances a girl like Jenny would never consider suicide … but now …” Then Matt … “I’m worried about her … you don’t think she’d try anything crazy, do you?”

  Terror seized her and she grabbed the door, rattling it frantically. “Jenny, open up!”

  Twisting the knob roughly, she pushed her shoulder into the door, but it held. God, no. Please …

  “Matt!”

  He was at her side in seconds. “What—”

  “Jenny’s locked in there! She won’t answer. Open it, Matt. Whatever it takes, just get it open!”

  “Jenny, this is Matt Bronzan! Open the door, okay?”

  When there was no response, he gently pushed Hannah aside. Then in a single, quick motion he jammed his shoulder against the door, and it flew open. Hannah followed him into the room, and they saw her. Sprawled out on her bed, her skin gray, pills scattered on the floor beside her. At the foot of the bed lay a box with a note on top of it. Matt picked it up, read two lines and dropped it. Instantly he grabbed Jenny’s wrist.

  “What’s wrong with her?” Hannah screamed. She bent over Jenny, shaking her.

  “I can’t find a pulse!” Matt grabbed Hannah’s shoulders. “My God, Hannah, call an ambulance!”

  Thirty-two

  So I say, “My splendor is gone and all that I had hoped

  from the LORD.” I remember my affliction … the bitterness

  and the gall. I well remember them, and my soul is downcast

  within me. Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope:

  Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed.

  LAMENTATIONS 3:18-22

  Somet
ime between watching Matt perform fifteen agonizing minutes of mouth-to-mouth resuscitation on Jenny, and hearing paramedics radio the hospital to inform them a suicide-attempt was coming in; sometime between reading Jenny’s suicide note in the ambulance, and authorizing doctors at the emergency room to pump her daughter’s stomach, Hannah began doing something she hadn’t done in nearly a year.

  She prayed.

  Not that she’d had some deep realization that God was real or that his promises were true. Rather she had simply reached the end of herself, of everything she knew about coping.

  Her prayers were pure, desperate instinct.

  An hour after arriving at the emergency room, Hannah was still uttering the same silent prayer as she sat in the waiting room on a cold, vinyl sofa, Matt at her side. Please, Lord, please let her live. Don’t let her die, God, please.

  Thirty minutes passed before Hannah heard purposeful footsteps.

  “Mrs. Ryan? We need to talk about your daughter.”

  Hannah lifted her head, stared at the doctor, and gasped. Dr. Cleary. The same doctor who had told her the news about Tom and Alicia.

  She screamed then. “No! Not again! Get away!” She bolted up from the sofa and pushed the doctor out of her way. “Not Jenny! No! No more!”

  She was screaming, struggling to make it to the doorway, when she felt two firm hands on her shoulders.

  “Let me go!”

  “Hannah—”

  “Nooooo!” People were watching, getting up and moving their small children away, but Hannah didn’t care. She would not hear the same news about Jenny that she’d already heard about Tom and Alicia. She needed space, needed air, needed out. Anywhere else. She struggled to break free, but now the arms eased firmly around her waist, holding her fast.

  “Go away, Doctor! Let me g—” She spun around, and suddenly the fight was gone.

  It was Matt. “Matt …”

  “Shhh. It’s okay. Calm down.”

  She sagged against him, gasping for air. No matter how many breaths she drew in, she couldn’t get enough oxygen. Her words came in short, choppy spurts. “Tell … the doctor … to go … away!”

  “Hannah, blow the air out.” Matt pulled a few inches back and spoke to her gently, slowly. “Come on … do it.”

  Something deep within Hannah knew she needed to obey him. She pursed her lips and blew out a puff of air that wouldn’t have flickered a birthday candle.

  “Again … several times … come on, Hannah, sweetheart.” She sank into him, exhaling three times without taking a breath. Please God …

  Matt met her gaze. “There … better?”

  She nodded, but tears filled her eyes as she looked up at him. “Stay with me?”

  He nodded and gently led her back to where Dr. Cleary was waiting. Matt’s arm was wrapped tightly around her shoulders, supporting her.

  “Let’s go in another room.” Dr. Cleary started to turn.

  “Wait!” Hannah was frozen in place. For an instant her eyes connected with Dr. Cleary’s. She had to know. “She’s dead, isn’t she?”

  Dr. Cleary reached out and touched the side of her arm. “No, Mrs. Ryan, she’s not dead.” He looked about the waiting room and saw that they were alone. “Tell you what, let’s sit down right here.”

  Matt and Hannah sat back on the sofa, and Dr. Cleary sat across from them. His eyes narrowed with concern. “Mrs. Ryan, Jenny’s in a coma. She was very nearly successful in her attempt to take her life, and we know she was without oxygen for some period of time.” He hesitated and looked at Matt. “Are you the one who performed CPR on her?”

  He nodded.

  “It saved her life.” His gaze came back to Hannah. “But she’s still in critical condition. Things could go either way.”

  Hannah gulped two quick breaths. “What … what does that mean?”

  “Breathe out,” Matt whispered, and she obeyed.

  “Comas are unpredictable.” Dr. Cleary shook his head slightly. “She could come out of it today, or not for twenty years. Also there’s a chance she may have suffered some brain damage.”

  Hannah couldn’t breathe. She gulped huge breaths of air, but it didn’t matter. Matt was telling her something, but she couldn’t hear him. She was growing faint … “No … can’t be … Not Jenny … It’s all my … all my … all my fault …”

  Matt caught her as she fell, then she passed out.

  Hannah slowly opened her eyes. She was lying on a narrow cot with bright lights glaring at her. She felt woozy, her eyelids heavy … and she wanted to close them. She glanced around.

  Where was she?

  Sterile bandages were stacked on a nearby counter, and there was a chart on the wall detailing various views of the human ankle before and after injury.

  Then it came back in a rush. She was in the emergency room, and Jenny was somewhere lying in a drug-induced coma. Fear gripped her.

  God … please, no! She sat up too quickly and rubbed the back of her neck. This can’t be happening. Tom and Alicia, dead. Jenny lying in a coma from a drug overdose. She needed to find Jenny and wake her up. She thought of the girl’s suicide note. You’ve been too busy.… You lost everything that matters.… I’m just in the way.… You can only walk around a museum of memories for so long.… You don’t want me talking about Jesus.… Sometimes I think I miss him as much as I miss Daddy and Alicia.… This is the only way …

  A powerful desire swept Hannah then. She wanted to be on her knees, in a chapel. She didn’t understand it, didn’t question it. Just felt the sense as it filled her to overflowing. She looked around. She needed a chapel.

  Before she could get her feet on the ground, Dr. Cleary appeared. “Hannah, how’re you feeling?” He came alongside her and took her pulse.

  “I need to go—”

  “That’s fine. Your vitals are good.”

  “How’s Jenny?” Tears filled her eyes and spilled onto her cheeks.

  “The same.”

  “Matt? Mr. Bronzan … did he go home?”

  “No. He’s upstairs with Jenny. Sitting by her bed. He told me about the verdict. I’ve been following it in the papers. I know it must have been very hard for you.” Dr. Cleary paused. “We’re doing our best to make sure the media doesn’t find out about this.”

  Hannah nodded, tears blurring her vision as she stared down at her leather heels. She was still dressed in the same skirt and blouse she’d worn for court. Had the verdict been only that morning?

  Dr. Cleary interrupted her thoughts. “It was the right verdict.”

  She nodded again, silent.

  “Listen, Mrs. Ryan, I’ve asked the hospital social worker to stop in if you’d like to talk. You’ve got a lot to deal with …”

  Hannah shook her head, but she made sure her tone was kind. “I already have a counselor, Doctor, if you’ll give me permission to go talk to him.”

  “Here, at the hospital?” He looked confused.

  “Yes.” Hannah’s head was clearing quickly. She sat up straighter, determined. “May I go?”

  “Is he expecting you?”

  Hannah nodded. “Yes. Can you tell me how to get to the chapel?”

  With every step she took, Hannah knew with increasing certainty that God was, indeed, expecting her. She knew it because he was speaking to her.

  He’d done so before; she knew it. But she’d closed her mind, her heart. Now … now her heart was shattered, decimated on the rocks of her rebellion and anger. Now her defenses were gone, and all that was left was brokenness … contrition …

  “I have loved you with an everlasting love …”

  Yes. Oh, yes … I know …

  Still, a hundred thoughts battled for position in her mind, both accusing the Lord and assaulting him with questions. Why? Why if you loved me? Why if you loved them? Why us? Why when so much of life lay ahead? Why, Lord?

  The questions came as steadily as the click of her heels on the hard linoleum floor. She was still angry with God, but by the tim
e she reached the chapel, she was absolutely certain that he knew that. God was listening. He had never stopped. He was as real as the nightmare that had become her life.

  “Come, let us reason together …”

  I’m coming, Father, I’m coming …

  She pushed opened the chapel door and crept inside. Twelve empty, cushioned pews filled the room, and gentle lights shone on a single object at the front. Hannah moved slowly down the center aisle, her eyes fixed straight ahead.

  It was not an ordinary cross, but a life-size one of two rough-hewn wooden beams roped together in the center. It stood there, a challenge to anyone who doubted the depth and height and breadth of Christ’s love.

  A challenge to Hannah.

  Tears flooded her eyes, and she took two steps closer.

  She had forgotten about the cross. Oh, it was there on the gold chains people wore at the grocery store, emblazoned across an occasional bumper sticker or novelty T-shirt. But this cross—this symbol of pain and suffering, this weapon of splintered wood and iron stakes slicing into the Lord’s back, ripping through the flesh in his wrists and feet, this reminder of how the Savior gasped for air and asked the Father to forgive his killers—this cross would forever show the world what Hannah had forgotten until now.

  Jesus loved her.

  She stopped in front of the cross.

  “He was … a man of sorrows … familiar with suffering.… He … carried our sorrows … the punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his wounds we are healed.”

  She closed her eyes, not even trying to stop the tears. Peace. She’d sought it for so long and so hard, and it had been here all along.

  “We all, like sheep, have gone astray, each of us has turned to his own way; and the Lord has laid on him the iniquity of us all …”

  Reaching out, Hannah ran her fingertips over the splintery surface of the cross. Anyone who would die that kind of death for her, had to love her. That truth struck her to the core.

  Hannah’s knees went weak with the force of the sorrow that washed over her. She had suffered much this past year, but it had been worse because she had exchanged the truth about God for a lie. She had rejected any comfort or solace or hope that the Lord would have offered, choosing instead to fight her battles alone. By doing so, she had built an icy fortress of self-pity around her heart, shutting out God and Jenny and anything but her desire for revenge.