Ben doubted that was true. He knew the hospital staff gave excellent and equal attention to all their patients. But he didn’t debate the point. “Is Craig Hamilton on this floor?” he said instead.
“End of the hall. A huge room, all to himself. I’ve heard he gets special food, too. There’s a bodyguard, sits in a chair by the door all day, looking at his phone and reading a book. Well, there must be more than one, right?”
“Right,” Ben agreed. “I suppose there are shifts for security guards. Mr. Hamilton must be watched day and night.”
“I’m surprised they didn’t put him in a helicopter and fly him down to Boston. But I heard it’s just pacemaker problem. Poor guy needed a little tune-up.”
Ben wasn’t sure if the patient gossip was reliable, but the explanation did seem logical. “I haven’t heard any specifics, except that he’s improved.”
“You ought to see him. I don’t think he’s had many visitors. Maybe a few of the movie people? But the trip isn’t exactly convenient for them.”
“No, it isn’t,” Ben agreed. The trip to Southport Hospital from Cape Light could easily be an hour, or more in traffic.
George nodded. “He’s a long way from home, I’ll say that.”
Ben realized he should have noticed that, too, and he should have remembered that famous people feel the same as ordinary people do. Rushed to a hospital with a health emergency, and so far from his loved ones, Craig Hamilton was probably lonely and anxious, the same as anyone else would feel in the situation.
“That’s a good idea, George. I will try to see him.”
They talked a little more about news of the village and the congregation. Then Ben led them in a prayer, and he gave George a blessing for the sick.
“Thank you, Reverend. I’ll be over this in no time, but prayers help, too.”
“Always,” Ben agreed.
As he left George’s room, Ben glanced down the corridor, crowded with linen carts and medical machinery. At the very end of the hall, he saw a man in a dark suit sitting in a chair by the very last doorway. Ben hesitated a moment, wondering if the actor might take him for another autograph hound, one wearing a clerical collar.
But it was his duty to offer his support and solace to the sick, whether that person was a queen or a homeless person sleeping on the street. Or a famous actor. We are all equal in God’s sight, and we all need His love and comfort.
When he reached the security guard, he said, “I’m Reverend Ben Lewis. I’ve met Mr. Hamilton, in Cape Light. I just stopped by to see if he’d like a visit. Some pastoral care?”
The man frowned. “I have instructions that he doesn’t want to be disturbed. But I’ll ask. Can you show me some ID, sir?”
Ben fumbled with his wallet and produced his license and proof that he was clergy.
The guard rose and entered Hamilton’s room, leaving the door open partway. Ben stood at the gap and peered in. It was indeed a large room. Craig Hamilton’s bed faced the hallway, and the movie star peered at him over the guard’s shoulder. Ben thought he was going to refuse the visit, then Craig’s face lit with recognition.
He sat up and waved Ben forward. “Come in, Reverend. What a surprise.”
Ben stepped forward and smiled. “I was visiting a member of the congregation down the hall. I just came by to see how you’re doing, and offer my support. I’m sure your fellow actors and coworkers are concerned about you. But you are far from your home.”
“That’s kind of you.” The actor sat back against the pillows. Wearing a hospital gown, with his thick hair mussed and a few days’ growth of beard, he looked like any other patient. A bit sad and confused, another middle-aged man swept off his feet by an unexpected turn in his health and well-being. Ben’s heart went out to him.
“I was just on the phone with my wife. I made light of this for her sake. Our daughter, Kate, is expecting our first grandchild any minute. I hate to miss the big moment and would never drag my wife away to be at my bedside instead.”
“Some people wouldn’t be so considerate.”
“Oh, this is nothing. It’s happened before. I’ll be fine in a day or so.”
“What is your condition, if I may ask?” Ben didn’t mean to pry and would certainly keep the information confidential. “We clergymen are professional secret keepers,” he added.
The actor smiled. “No big mystery. My pacemaker gets out of whack every once in a while. A specialist reset the gadget this morning, but I need to stay here until Monday, to make sure it’s set right and working with the medications I take.”
“I understand. I have a heart condition myself. Had it so long now, I completely forget. Don’t tell my doctor that,” he admitted.
“Your secret’s safe with me,” Craig Hamilton promised with a small smile. “I don’t know about you, but this getting-older business has thrown me for a loop. First the heart thing.” He touched his chest. “Now a grandchild coming. I’m thrilled, honestly,” he added quickly. “But no getting away from it, time is passing, Reverend. When a publisher offered a book contract for my memoirs, I was flattered. But the exercise was . . . enlightening? It made me think about a lot of things I’d brushed aside and stuffed in the back of my memory closet. But you can’t just shake things off. Not important things.” He met Ben’s gaze a moment, then looked away.
“I agree. It doesn’t work like that. We are the sum total of our actions and our choices. That’s what I believe, anyway.”
“I’ve come to see it that way, too. Sorry for getting all philosophical with you,” Craig said, with a self-conscious grin. “I’ve been alone in this room too long, watching the news.”
“Not a problem for me, Mr. Hamilton. That’s sort of my job. I’m the perfect person to get philosophical with.” Or spiritual, as the case might be. “When I had a heart attack, I reflected on my past, too. And I had some regrets. Some moments that I wish now I could go back to and do over. I think that’s only natural. We’re only human. God didn’t make us perfect.”
Craig Hamilton had been listening with interest, and now, his eyes crinkled with a questioning look. “That’s sure true. But why is that, do you think? Seems to me He could have easily made us perfect. Endowed us with the wisdom to make the right decisions and choices in our life and never look back with regrets.”
Ben had wondered about that, too. “I’m not sure. Sometimes, I think it’s just so we can practice forgiveness. So we can see our faults and forgive ourselves, and in doing so, learn to forgive others. To accept each other without judgment, as He accepts us, with love and compassion.”
The actor didn’t answer for a moment. He stared at his feet under the thin white blanket. “That explanation makes me feel a bit better. About the mistakes I’ve made, I mean.”
He looked back up at Ben. “Let me ask you something else. Suppose you knew you’d done someone wrong, hurt them badly. And you were sorry for that. Truly sorry. And you tried to apologize, sincerely. But they wouldn’t even hear you out. No matter what you said. They wouldn’t let you apologize. They wouldn’t . . . take it in. What are you supposed to do then, Reverend?”
Ben had heard many such hypothetical questions during his years. The details didn’t matter. He neither needed nor wanted to know the specifics.
“You’ve taken responsibility. You’ve been honest. With yourself and the other person. And you seem genuinely sorry for the pain you’ve caused.”
“I am, Reverend. Truly. I’ve done all those things.”
“I have sympathy for your frustration. And sympathy for the person that you’ve wronged as well. Asking for forgiveness involves empathy. On the part of the asker, I mean. Imagine how hurt that person must be, if you’ve done all that and they still won’t accept the apology. Or even hear you out.”
Craig looked surprised at his reply at first, then thoughtful. “I wondered if the person was j
ust acting that way out of spite. Trying to get back at me.”
Ben nodded. “I understand. But still, try to empathize. What sort of pain are they feeling if they need to inflict more on you?” He paused, watching as the actor took in his words. “Atonement requires sincerity, commitment, and patience. Maybe patience most of all,” the minister added. “Forgiveness is a process. Think of the way water wears down a stone. It rarely happens that a person forgives us for a serious wrong when we apologize the first time. I don’t mean apologies for silly things, like eating the last oatmeal cookie or leaving your socks in the middle of the bedroom floor.”
“You do that, too? I thought ministers were above such mortal failings.”
“So did my wife. Until we got married.” Ben laughed. “But, returning to my point, we must accept that the other person deserves all the time it might take to open their heart and let go of a grievance. A person carrying a grudge who can’t forgive is only hurting themself. They’re carrying around a heavy load that’s weighing them down. But they don’t realize that. They feel righteous in their anger. We might need to apologize again and again. And sometimes, on the other side, a person may need to forgive again and again and again, until they finally reach bottom and get there. That’s been my experience, anyway.”
Ben waited for Hamilton to reply. Again, he seemed lost in thought. “It took me so long to work up the courage to offer my apology. Years,” the actor admitted. “I see now I was just thinking of myself, my struggle to face and admit what I did—and apologize to her.” It was a woman. Ben had suspected as much. But he didn’t interrupt. It still didn’t matter who or when. “I was only focusing on my feelings. As usual. What I was going through. I guess I did expect her to at least hear me out. I never expected the reaction I got. It made me scared to try again. No, not scared,” he corrected. “It made me feel that it was pointless to try again.”
“It’s never pointless. Blessed are the peacemakers,” Ben reminded the movie star. “God can see your effort. And your sincerity. Ask for His forgiveness for hurting that person. And pray for His help. Ask Him for the perfect words to reach that person and to help them have a change of heart. For both your sakes.”
“Thank you, Reverend. I’m not much of a churchgoer these days. But as I get older, I’m more prone to think about these matters and questions. God and heaven. Mortality and all that.”
Reverend Ben smiled. “If you’re ever of a mind to talk more about ‘all that,’ my door is always open. I’ll pray for your continued recovery and a healthy, easy birth for your grandchild, Mr. Hamilton. God bless you and your family.”
The actor answered with a wide, warm smile, his eyes shining. He suddenly looked like his movie star self again. “Thank you, Reverend. Thank you very much. I don’t care if the baby is a girl or a boy. I’ll be thrilled as long as the baby is healthy. And please,” he added, “call me Craig.”
“I will, Craig. I hope to see you again before you go.”
They said goodbye, and Reverend Ben headed out of the hospital, feeling satisfied with a good day’s work, for a minister. He felt he had helped Craig Hamilton with his concerns and the questions that weighed heavy on his mind and heart—and perhaps had even contributed to this health problem?
He sympathized with the actor’s quandary. It was frustrating to apologize to someone who wouldn’t accept the gesture. But the path to forgiveness was rarely a straight road, or a smooth one. Craig Hamilton had faced the fact that he’d caused someone pain, and now, regretting that, he was in pain, too. Ben hoped that, with God’s help, the actor and the person he had wronged would arrive at a peaceful resolution.
CHAPTER TWELVE
By the time Lucy arrived at the hospital on Sunday to cover a late shift, she knew Craig Hamilton’s diagnosis and also knew he was still in the hospital. She hated to be distracted while tending to her patients. The slightest slip of her concentration could cause a serious error in their medication or treatment. She consciously held fast to her focus all day. But as soon as there was the tiniest bit of downtime, the question of whether or not to visit Craig took over her thoughts.
She had come on duty at six in the evening and had a half hour break at midnight for “lunch,” which always struck her as silly, even though she sometimes packed a sandwich. She was working on the fourth floor, where the rooms were filled with a mix of postoperative patients. She had heard that the actor was on the third floor, one she could avoid, though the nearest nurses’ lounge was there. She could take her break in a corner of the lobby, which would be deserted now, or even out in her car. But going to such extremes to avoid his floor seemed silly.
The elevator doors slid open on the third floor, and she got out. The nurses’ lounge was to the right, but to the left, at the very end of the hall, she saw a man in a dark suit sitting at a patient’s door, a newspaper spread out in front of him.
It had to be Craig’s room. Of course he’d need security. The realization was some relief. Even if she wanted to see him, she probably couldn’t get past the bodyguard.
She strolled down the hall, impulse overtaking good sense. It was so late. She was sure she would find the room dark and Craig fast asleep. She would just walk by and peek in. Once the guard saw her uniform, she doubted he would even notice her.
But as Lucy neared the room, she could see that a low light was still on, and she heard a television. She walked by as inconspicuously as possible and saw Craig, sitting up in bed, wearing glasses with thick black frames, an open book in his hands.
The guard glanced at her and then back at the newspaper. Lucy turned at the end of the hall. There was no place else to go. As she walked back toward the room, the guard looked up at her. “Do you need to see Mr. Hamilton? I thought he had a different nurse tonight.”
“He does. I mean, I am a nurse here,” she added quickly, hoping the man didn’t think she stole the uniform to get into the movie star’s room. “I’m just not his nurse.”
The guard had looked suspicious, but now relaxed. “I see. He doesn’t want to be disturbed.”
“I’m sure. I wasn’t trying to meet him,” she practically whispered. Craig hadn’t noticed her talking to the guard, and she wanted to leave before he did.
“Thanks,” she added as she walked away, even though she wasn’t sure what she was thanking him for. She said things like that all time. “Thanks” for no reason at all. And “Sorry.” Her daughter, Zoey, was working with her on that.
Lucy had almost reached the elevator when the guard stood up and called to her. “Nurse?” She stopped and turned to face him. “Mr. Hamilton would like to see you,” he said.
Lucy’s heart jumped up to her throat. “He wants to see me? Or he just needs a nurse?”
“Is your name Lucy?”
She thought of making the excuse that she had to get back to work, even though she had plenty of time left in her break. She bit her lower lip and nodded. “Yes, it is.”
She walked back to the room, and the guard stepped aside as she entered. Craig was sitting up in bed. He had turned off the television and taken off his glasses.
“Lucy, it’s good to see you. Thanks for visiting me.”
“It’s no big deal. I’m working on the next floor.” She tried to make light of the gesture. “I heard you’re doing well.”
“My doctor here is pleased. He’s been conferring with my specialists at home. They all agree I can come out tomorrow morning and get back to work.”
“Are you sure that’s wise?”
“My pacemaker just needed a small adjustment. I’ve held up production long enough. They’ve been shooting around me the last few days. Every minute counts in this business.”
“I can just imagine.” She had always thought of successful actors as having pampered and even luxurious lives. She’d never considered the pressure they were under to work within strict deadlines, with any wasted time
a great cost to the film’s budget.
“It sounds very stressful.”
“Sometimes it is,” he agreed. “But I thrive on it.”
He seemed to believe that, but Lucy thought the pressure and stress had to have contributed to his heart episode.
How about the way you treated him Sunday? That didn’t help.
“Well, I just wanted to see if you were all right.” She started backing toward the door, then paused. “I do want to say that I’m sorry for the way I spoke to you on Sunday. That wasn’t like me. And it wasn’t right.”
He looked surprised, and pleased, too. “Does that mean you accept my apology? Or will you at least talk to me about what happened between us, way back when?”
Lucy shook her head. “You hurt me, badly. But I got over it. I’m happy with my life. I don’t need to stir all that up again. And your apology . . .” Her voice trailed off. She was sorry to see him sitting in a hospital bed. But she wasn’t going to lie just to make him feel good. “That’s beside the point for me. Now, I mean,” she added.
He sighed, a long, noisy breath. She could tell he felt frustrated with her, but she couldn’t help that. Then he nodded, finally looking as if he accepted her decision.
“All right. If that’s how you feel, Lucy, I won’t argue with you.” He offered a small smile. “A very wise man told me yesterday that I needed to have patience with this.” His expression turned serious again. “I know you don’t forgive me. Maybe you never will. But please know one thing—I am truly sorry, with all my heart. I have to say that disappointing you, Lucy, leaving you waiting me for that night, was probably the worst thing I ever did to anyone in my life. I know it’s my deepest regret. And I know I can never go back and change what happened. But I would give anything to do it over. To do it differently.”
Did that mean he would have kept his promise and met her that night, and they would have run off into the sunset? She’d had a while to think about it and had decided that would have probably been a mistake, too.
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