Clarence didn’t know what else to say. He’d been looking through this book of Bible verses Ivy kept in the silverware drawer, but he couldn’t find any scriptures about suicide. “Well, pal, hang in there. If you want to…talk or anything, you know where to find me.” But why would he need to do that? He had all those buddies at the station he could talk to. Buck had lots of friends.
“What if she does something like this again?” Buck asked suddenly. “I almost didn’t catch her in time.”
“Well, I guess something—or Someone—decided to let you know so you could stop her. Maybe that’s what’ll happen next time, too.”
“Why would it? God doesn’t know us any better than He knows anybody else in the world, and people are always dying, killing themselves or killing other people.” The frustration wafted heavily through Buck’s voice. “I don’t know.”
Clarence waited. Sometimes, when a guy wanted to talk about something, people could chatter too much to fill the silence, and he could lose his nerve.
“She hates me, Clarence,” Buck continued at last. “I’ve driven up there every day since Sunday, and she won’t let me touch her, and if I get too close she jerks away. You don’t know how it hurts a guy for his wife to do that.”
Buck was right—Clarence didn’t know. He had never been married. Even before he gained so much weight, his loud mouth and gruff talk seemed to scare women off before he had a chance to ask them out.
“You’ve gotta give her lots of time,” Clarence finally said. “She doesn’t really know what she’s doin’ right now. She can’t see it. Trust me on this. I’ve been there.”
“I don’t have any choice. I love her.” There was a short silence, then, “Clarence, do you really think God even cares what’s going on down here?”
That was a good question—one Clarence used to laugh at. Now he knew better. “Yeah. You know, Ivy said something at the dinner table the other night about God. Sounded pretty good to me. It went something like, ‘If you want to find God, you just gotta look.’ That’s not the exact words, but I think it’s close. Didn’t make a lot of sense to me at the time, but I don’t think He’s playing hide-and-seek with us. I think it means if you pray lookin’ for God, and not just for your own selfish reasons, He’ll be willing to listen to your prayer. So maybe if I pray for you and Kendra instead of myself, then I’m not being selfish, so He’ll hear me.” And even as he talked about praying, he felt the impact of the words. He was talking about God, here, the One who created the whole planet. “Don’t worry, Buck, I think even if we don’t know God very well, He knows us.”
There was silence, then a masculine, embarrassed throat clearing. “Nobody ever put things the way you do, Clarence. I’ve got to go. The chief is looking for me. Thanks.”
After he hung up, Clarence felt as if he’d lost another ten pounds. He felt the truth of the words he’d spoken to Buck. Somehow, these past few days, as he’d awkwardly reached out to help some people, he felt that God was touching him…maybe even talking to him through the silence. In spite of all the struggles with his body, the aches and disappointments and embarrassments, there was some kind of extra energy that ran through him. He didn’t want that to end.
Part of him still said he was being stupid trying to talk to Someone he couldn’t even see, but that voice was growing more distant all the time. More often he felt like reaching out to other people. So far he’d found that he only had to make that first step and offer to help, and people had actually accepted him.
Clarence had never been shy. Antisocial, but never shy. The poverty in which he and Darlene had grown up—with him and Darlene wearing old hand-me-downs while their parents wore nice clothing bought by the taxpayers—had filled him with resentment from his first memories. He’d watched how the other kids’ taunting and teasing in school cut Darlene so deeply she retreated behind a wall of shame and shyness. For Clarence it was a wall of anger. The same anger that made him study to make good grades in school, enough to earn a scholarship to the university in Cape Girardeau. But he wouldn’t leave Darlene behind, so he didn’t go.
Instead, he’d wrangled and manipulated and worked his way through mechanic school nearby. He could build tractor-trailer rigs from the rubber to the roof, and that knowledge had been his and Darlene’s escape.
“You look like a man with something on his mind.”
Ivy’s voice from across the kitchen startled him. He looked over to find her wearing her old blue sweatsuit and running shoes, her streaked hair drawn back in a braid.
“How about a trip to the health club?” she asked. “You could use a change of scenery.” She stepped to a cabinet above the sink and pulled out one of the water bottles she always took with her. “I can take a guest with me once a week.”
Clarence snorted. “They’d make you pay extra for me. Thanks, but I’ll stick to the treadmill. It doesn’t gasp and stare when I walk into the room.”
She unscrewed the lid from a bottle and filled it with tap water. “Suit yourself. If you want to hide out until you’ve lost two hundred more pounds, be a hermit. I’d think you’d be sick of Darlene and me after a while.”
“Never. You know what they need in Knolls? A fatso club for people who are at least fifty percent above their suggested retail weight when they join. They’d have to build the place with a concrete foundation. You could be the drill sergeant.”
She took a swallow of water. “Why don’t you do it yourself, Clarence?” She put the bottle down and looked at him, her sharp gaze serious, her dark, straight brows drawn together.
He thought about her words for a minute. Was that something he should do? He could help others who were going through the same thing he had. He could be living, walking proof that there was hope. He could stick “before” and “after” pictures on a bulletin board. Ugh.
“Nah, I wouldn’t want to limit myself to just fat people. There’s lots of others out there who are hurting, you…know.” He hadn’t meant to speak his thoughts out loud.
Ivy stood still and silent for a moment, as if digesting what he’d just said. “What exactly did you have in mind, Clarence?”
“Nothing, really.”
To his surprise, she didn’t press, but when he finally found the guts to look at her, he saw a gentle smile playing across her face and softening her eyes.
“The invitation’s there, whenever you want to join me.” She turned to leave.
Dr. Hemmel, a stout, broad-shouldered man in his midfifties, faced Lukas and the Riddles outside the trauma room curtain. “I don’t think we have too much to worry about,” he said comfortably, patting Mrs. Riddle on the shoulder. “We’ll just admit him here overnight and keep a close eye on him. The ultrasound looks okay, and the rectal exam was negative for blood, and his lab counts are normal, so there isn’t any evidence of blood leaking anywhere. I don’t think we need to get all excited over a bellyache and a few cracked ribs. Sixteen-year-olds boys are notoriously tough.”
Lukas could not believe what he was hearing. A normal lab hemoglobin result meant little in early blood loss, and surely he knew the significance of an upper-rib fracture. “Um, excuse me, Dr. Hemmel, we do have a chopper on the way.”
Hemmel shrugged. “Cancel it. No need to make the Riddles travel all the way to Jefferson City.” He looked back at the parents. “We’ll give him a CT scan to be sure. I’ve given him Demerol for pain, and—”
“Are you sure about that?” Lukas interrupted as he watched the monitor at the head of Chase’s exam bed.
Hemmel turned back to him, showing the first signs of irritability. “About what? The Demerol?”
Lukas cringed. He was questioning a colleague’s judgment again. With a murmured excuse to the parents, he gestured for Dr. Hemmel to accompany him into an empty exam room. Second-guessing another physician did not make him a popular man, especially in front of an audience.
When they were out of earshot, he cleared his throat and turned back to the surgeon. “Dr. Hemm
el, are you aware that our CT is broken? I specifically need a CT of Chase’s abdomen, pelvis and head before I will feel comfortable watching him.”
Hemmel’s expression hardened. “Anything else?”
“Yes, his heart rate is still elevated, and it should have dropped when he received the IV Demerol. And despite the fluid boluses, his blood pressure is dropping. He also needs an angiogram of his chest, which we definitely do not have here. Something else is going on.”
“So why did you bother to call me?” Hemmel snapped.
“Because I need a surgeon to rule out the need for immediate surgery. I didn’t know I needed to transfer until after I spoke with you.”
“And I just told you I disagreed with the transfer.”
Lukas was reminded of another grumpy, narrow-minded, antagonistic doctor he’d recently crossed. He was sick of the politics and the ego stroking. “So you agree he doesn’t need immediate surgery?”
Dark color flushed across Hemmel’s neck and face. He turned and strode out of the room—and out of the E.R.—without another word.
Lukas returned to the trauma room and came to a stop in front of Chase’s parents. “I’m sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Riddle, but I’m concerned about your son. He has multiple fractures, involuntary guarding of his abdomen and abnormal vital signs, which to me means internal injury until proven otherwise.”
“But Dr. Hemmel said the ultrasound didn’t show any bleeding,” Mr. Riddle argued.
“I know, but an ultrasound isn’t as reliable as a CT, and our CT scanner is broken. Chase needs a CT of his head to rule out any bleeding. He isn’t acting right. He’s confused and slow to respond.”
“But surely the Demerol would do that,” Mrs. Riddle said.
“He was acting this way before he received the Demerol,” Lukas told her. As he spoke the last few words, he heard the unmistakable sound of helicopter blades beating the air on approach. The flight attendants didn’t need Mr. Amos’s permission to transfer Chase. They weren’t owned by the hospital. He could make this call, and he chose to do so.
“Mr. and Mrs. Riddle, your son has an upper-rib fracture. It takes a tremendous amount of force to break an upper rib. Over one-third of patients with that kind of damage die from associated injuries, such as tears of the great vessels.”
Mrs. Riddle gasped.
“I recommend we send Chase to a Class Two trauma center as soon as possible to ensure his safety.” He received permission and prepared for transfer.
Delphi’s elbow slipped into place with a satisfying click, and Mercy nodded to Josie. There had been no fractures, but the dislocation was causing Delphi a lot of pain—or had been until Mercy gave her generous doses of Ativan and Demerol. Now the young woman leaned against Mercy’s side like a trusting child.
“Good job, Josie.” Mercy once more checked the pulses in the arm to make sure they were good. “Now I want a repeat X-ray and then do a splint and a sling. Delphi, I have some friends I want you to meet, but they’re out of town right now.” She helped Delphi from the table and into the waiting wheelchair so they could take her back into the X-ray room. “Do you remember hearing about that missionary couple who were hit by a car down by the courthouse last September?”
Delphi frowned up at her, eyes slightly glazed from the effects of the drug. “I think so.”
“Alma, the wife, lost her leg because of the accident, and they couldn’t return to their mission in Mexico. They set up a Crosslines here in Knolls.” Mercy realized the futility of trying to explain this to her. With the Ativan, she wasn’t likely to remember anything. Still, she needed continued reassurance.
“Crosslines?”
“It’s kind of like the Salvation Army, except this service is locally run and operated. Many area churches help support it. Arthur and Alma have connections all over the state, and they can set you up with a new place to live, a new job far away from here.” They reached the X-ray room, and Josie reached down with Mercy to help Delphi to her feet.
“How far away?” Delphi asked.
“As far as we think you need to go to get away from Abner.” Mercy helped Josie with the follow-up X-ray, then eased Delphi back down into the chair and wheeled her back to the exam room.
“I’d be…alone?” Delphi asked moments later.
“No, they wouldn’t leave you there alone.” Mercy reached for an arm splint and a sling. “As I said, they have friends all over. You would have someone to help you until you were able to make it on your own. Right now, though, Arthur and Alma are in Springfield getting her leg fitted for a prosthesis. As soon as they return I’ll introduce you.” She placed the splinting materials on the counter and reached down to help Delphi up once more to the table. She felt the young woman trembling, and she reached for one of the blankets. “Why didn’t you tell me you were cold again—” And then she saw that Delphi was crying. Her body shook with sobs, her face contorted in misery.
“Dr. Mercy, I’m so scared. What’s going to happen to me?”
At the sudden, desolate fear in Delphi’s eyes, Mercy sank down to her knees and reached up to frame Delphi’s face in her hands. “Honey, look at me.” She waited until the woman’s eyes opened and focused on her. “I’m not going to let Abner close to you. We’re going to get you out of here, and you won’t be alone. I’ll stake my life on that.”
“Hey, I talked to your cousin about an hour ago,” Lukas said as he and Tex scrubbed side by side at the sink. They had just treated and released two children with the flu.
“Which one? Seems like I’ve got about a hundred.”
“Lauren, the one who got me into this mess.”
Tex snorted a quick burst of laughter. “She’s good at that. She thinks she’s got the answer to everybody’s problems, and she’s not afraid to tell you about it whether you want her to or not. For her, everything’s wrapped up in church.” She rinsed her hands and dried them.
“I don’t think that’s quite her point.” He accepted the paper towels Tex handed him. “Lauren is very serious about her walk with Christ.”
Tex shrugged. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Hey, if we get out of here before midnight tonight, how about I fix you a decent meal for once? It’ll make up for Monster tipping over your trash the other day, and I’m tired of cooking for one.”
“Thanks for the offer, but—”
“I won’t poison you. I’ll even give you the leftovers. You can freeze ’em for later.” She watched him a moment, then spread her hands dramatically. “Don’t worry, Dr. Bower, I’m not hitting on you. You’re not my type. I don’t go for Christians, but I do feel sorry for them every once in a while. I’ll even go to all the trouble to haul the food next door to your place.”
He had to admit, the idea of a freshly cooked meal did sound appealing. But could Tex really cook? “What kind of meal?”
“Spaghetti with meat sauce, salad and some kind of ice cream dessert. I’ll even throw in French bread.”
He couldn’t help wondering what Mercy might say. “Low fat?”
“I’ll pour the grease off the hamburger, then soak up the extra.”
Lukas loved spaghetti. He smiled at the memory of the last time he and Mercy had eaten at Antonio’s.
Tex punched him on the shoulder. “It’s a deal. I cook, you clean up.”
Chapter Thirteen
As Lukas walked across the unlit hospital parking lot, he caught sight of an eerie glow near where he’d parked his Jeep this morning. As he drew closer he realized it was the Jeep. The overhead light was on.
Just great. Was the door ajar? Had the battery run down? He was sure he’d locked it. Here in Herald he always locked his doors.
But when he reached the Jeep he discovered the door was not locked—it wasn’t even latched. He jumped in, tossed his bag in the passenger seat and anxiously stuck the key into the ignition. The engine grumbled and fell silent, then grumbled again. Finally the motor muttered into life and settled into a steady cadence of power. Relieved, Lukas clos
ed the door and gripped the steering wheel.
His fingers landed in ice-cold, squishy goo. He jerked back with a yelp, and the goo stayed with him, stringing across the distance from the steering wheel to his lap. For a moment he sat stunned. And then he raised a hand and sniffed. No smell. He touched the goo and rubbed his fingers together. Surgical jelly. Someone was having a lot of fun. He sure wasn’t.
The words that Mercy’s pastor, Dr. Joseph Jordan, read from the New Testament floated through the warm classroom in the basement of Covenant Baptist Church Wednesday night. Mercy tried to concentrate on them, even though she didn’t feel they pertained to her.
“‘A wife must not separate from her husband. But if she does, she must remain unmarried or else be reconciled to her husband. And a husband must not divorce his wife.’”
She tried not to yawn, but it lifted and carried her on a wave of lethargy. No, the reading had nothing to do with her. Her ex-husband had divorced her years ago so he could enjoy his affairs without any interruptions from her. Interestingly, she had spied that same ex-husband sitting at the front of the crowd of thirty or so people scrunched into the classroom built, surely, for no more than twenty.
She yawned again and wished she hadn’t come. The Bible study was not boring—far from it. She had been enjoying this study of Paul’s letter to the Corinthians, though some of the discussion escaped her. Most of the people in this class had been reading the Bible all their lives, while she’d had only the past three months to catch up. To further muddle her understanding, the past few nights of broken sleep continued to linger. Even the best speaker in the world lost his appeal when her brain felt like a leaky water balloon.
“And if a woman has a husband who is not a believer…”
Her eyelids grew so heavy she decided to rest them for a moment…. Oh, yes, the eye strain could wear a person down. Peace and warmth settled around her like the soft, fluffy comforter on her queen-size bed at home…. It felt so good to relax for just a few moments, to forget about the pressures that were wearing her down at work, to stop worrying about whether Mrs. Robinson’s osteoporosis would get worse…to stop second-guessing herself about the way she was planning to handle Crystal Hollis and her great-grandmother, Odira Bagby….
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