Out of a Dream (Sandy Cove Series Book 1)

by Rosemary Hines

  “You might be right. Lots of people are praying for him,” he replied. He explained that he had called Ben while she was napping after dinner and had asked him to put John onto their church prayer chain.

  Michelle smiled. “Thanks, babe. You think of everything.”

  The plane began its descent into the airport. Steve took her hand in his while they waited for the wheels to make contact with the runway. The landing was smooth, and they were disembarking within minutes. He carried her carry-on and rolled his behind him, leaving her unencumbered except for her small purse. The aisles were not crowded on this late flight, so they exited quickly.

  As they headed for baggage claim, Michelle spotted Tim standing with his hands in his jacket pockets. His usually shiny light hair was dirty and pushed back haphazardly from his face, and his eyes looked red and heavy. He pulled his right hand out of his jacket pocket and lifted it only to shoulder height as he waved to them, attempting a smile that rapidly faded back into an expression of exhaustion. Soon the three were embracing. Michelle felt worse than ever after seeing Tim’s face. She wished she had the words to encourage him, to somehow lighten the burden he appeared to be carrying.

  “How’s he doing?” was all she could manage.

  “About the same. He’s not responsive.”

  “How’s Mom?”

  “She’s holding up the best she can. Grandma and Grandpa are here. They arrived this morning.”

  “Oh, that’s good. I’m glad they’re with Mom,” she added.

  The airport was practically empty, giving her an eerie feeling as they walked silently through the large, open corridors. By the time they got to the baggage carousels, the suitcases were already waiting for them. Tim grabbed one and Steve got the other.

  Her brother looked bone tired, his eyelids drooping as if from fighting sleep and his shoulders slumped forward. But he seemed to rally and do his best to fill them in on the events of the past twenty-eight hours. He described his discovery of the phone number, the call to the lodge that confirmed their father’s location, and the nightmare they’d encountered when they finally arrived at Bridgeport.

  As he spoke, Michelle thought about her mother. What must it be like for her to see her husband in this condition? She was thankful Tim had been with her throughout that long night and day. Knowing that their grandparents were at the hospital also comforted Michelle.

  They loaded the luggage into the trunk of the car, and Michelle gestured for Steve to drive, but Tim insisted that he could make it and it would be easier for him to drive since he knew the way to the hospital. She climbed into the backseat, and Steve got in the front passenger side.

  The highway and streets were empty at this hour. Steve and Tim made small talk for most of the drive to St. John’s Methodist.

  “How’s work?” Tim asked.

  “Fine. Busy as usual,” Steve replied. “How about you? Still working at the same place?”

  “Yeah. It pays the bills.”

  “I hear you.”

  Silence replaced their shallow conversation. They rode for at least ten minutes without a word being spoken. Michelle’s stomach was twisting with anxiety. Her emotions vacillated between a sense of urgency to be with her father and a strange surreal sensation of being an outsider in someone else’s drama. How could something of such magnitude seem so unreal? It was almost like she had become two people. One reacting, the other observing from a distance.

  She noticed that her husband kept an eye on Tim, who appeared to be coming close to drifting off several times. All Steve had to do was clear his throat or cough slightly, and Tim’s head nodded back to attention. After what was beginning to seem like an endless ribbon of highway, they finally arrived at the hospital.

  Tim knew exactly where to park the car, and they walked in through the E.R. entrance, the only door open at three in the morning. The woman at the front desk looked up and smiled compassionately at them. Tim nodded in acknowledgement and then skillfully led them through the various hospital wings to the ICU.

  Michelle was relieved to see her mother and grandparents still in the cubicle keeping vigil. Sheila sat in a chair beside the head of the bed, Grandma Joan in a chair next to her, and Grandpa Phil standing behind them both with his hand resting on Sheila’s shoulder. An air of quiet solemnity pervaded the small glass room.

  Michelle’s heart swelled with love and concern when she saw how vulnerable her father looked, lying so still on his back with wires and IV lines connected to him in various places. Machines surrounded the head of his bed monitoring his vital signs. His skin looked pale and his face sagged, his chin and jaws darkened by unshaved stubble. Deep furrows etched his forehead and framed his mouth. His eyes were closed and appeared somewhat sunken in their sockets.

  As they walked in, Sheila rose from her seat and embraced Michelle, guiding her to the head of the bed. “Why don’t you sit here for a little while? You can hold his hand if you’d like.” Michelle just nodded and sat down. Before she could ask how he was doing, her mother added, “There haven’t been any changes. He seems to be resting comfortably.”

  The tiny cubicle was now crowded with people. Michelle and her grandmother were seated, but Sheila, Phil, Tim, and Steve were all standing along the wall beside the bed. “Let’s give Michelle some time alone with her father,” Phil suggested. “I think Sheila could use a little break. We can walk down to the cafeteria and come back in a little while.”

  Joan put her hand on her granddaughter. “Do you want me to stay here with you?”

  “No. I’ll be okay. You go with Grandpa and Mom.”

  “Okay, baby. We won’t be gone long,” her grandmother promised, rising to her feet and giving her a kiss on the cheek.

  As soon as they were gone, Nurse Sherrene spoke from her chair in the far corner by the foot of the bed.

  “Hi, Michelle,” she began softly. Michelle turned to see her for the first time. “Your mom has been eager for you to get here. I’m going to get a refill for the IV solution. If you need anything, Vivian will be right there,” she indicated, pointing to the woman at the nurses’ desk. “It’s okay to talk to your father,” she added. “He might respond to your voice.”

  Michelle tried to smile and nodded. When Sherrene was gone, she reached over and took her father’s hand. “Daddy?” she said softly. John’s hand moved slightly, but his head did not turn. “Can you hear me?” Michelle asked, squeezing her father’s hand gently.

  Again, his hand moved in hers, but there was no other response. Not knowing what to say or do, Michelle sat quietly for a few minutes. Then she said, “I love you, Dad. I know we can get through this somehow. Fight. We need you.”

  At that point John’s chest rose in a noticeable intake of air, followed by a deep sigh. Then he was still again.

  A gamut of memories flooded Michelle’s mind. Looking down at her father’s face, she thought about the many times he had conveyed such strength and love to his family. Now what she saw was brokenness. Maybe it would help to talk about her happy memories. Maybe that would inspire him to press on and fight for his very life.

  Beginning with her earliest memories from childhood, Michelle talked to her father about their life as a family. She reminded him of the day he rescued her from the scary dog in the park, the tea parties they used to have with her doll and teddy bear, the times he used to sit her on his lap and let her “drive” the car, the props he helped construct for the sixth grade play, the occasional camping trips as a family, and then the later years of interviewing her dates and finally walking her down the aisle when she married Steve.

  John lay still throughout her recollections, with the exception of occasional movements of his thumb, which seemed to be rubbing her hand, especially after she would say something funny or particularly poignant. Despite his closed eyes and expressionless face, Michelle sensed that he heard every word. This prompted her to urge him on even more.

  “I know you have been really upset, Dad. But you can’
t give up. There has to be an answer. We’ll find the right attorney and get this mess straightened out. But you’ve got to hold on. You have to fight to live. Please, Daddy. We need you.”

  John Ackerman could hear his daughter pleading with him, but he couldn’t answer her pleas. It was as if he were locked in a suit of metal armor that kept him perfectly still. Only his hand obeyed his commands to move. He hoped that she could feel his love coming through his touch. Never before had he felt so powerless, so out of control. A sense of desperation engulfed him. Please help me, his spirit cried out, not even knowing to whom he was calling.

  Suddenly he felt himself being drawn into a tunnel. He experienced a sensation of acceleration and then a strange phenomenon of weightlessness and freedom.

  The steady beeping sound of the heart monitor became erratic and then switched to one continuous tone. Within seconds, Vivian was in the cubicle pressing buttons and calling out “Code blue, ICU 4” over a speaker. She quickly told Michelle to wait outside and began working on John. As Michelle fled out the door, two male nurses appeared from nowhere pushing a loaded cart and racing into the cubicle.

  Michelle could not see what was happening, but she knew her father was dying. “Please, God. Save him!” she cried earnestly, tears flooding her eyes as she paced back and forth. “Don’t die, Daddy. I need you!” she repeated, over and over, under her breath. What seemed like an eternity later, Vivian came out and intercepted her pacing.

  “It’s okay. We’ve got him stabilized again. You can go back in,” she added, looking compassionately into Michelle’s eyes.

  Without thinking, Michelle collapsed into her arms sobbing. Vivian soothed her, stroking her hair and saying, “It’s okay. Let it all out.” Michelle cried for several minutes, unable to stop herself. She was wiping her nose on the back of her hand when Vivian offered her a tissue.

  As Michelle blew her nose and wiped her eyes, she saw the rest of the family return to the ICU. Michelle’s mom looked at her with a panicky expression. “He’s okay, Mom,” Michelle said, her voice still shaky.

  Steve started to go to his wife, but Phil put out his hand and stopped him. “Let me talk to her,” he said to his grandson-in-law.

  While the rest of the family moved in the direction of cubicle 4, Phil walked over and took Michelle’s hand. “Let’s go for a little walk, pumpkin,” he said affectionately. “Your brother needs some time with your dad.”

  Michelle sniffed and tried to dry her eyes with what was left of the tissue. Phil pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to her. “These things still come in handy,” he said with a wink, and a nervous giggle escaped from Michelle. After she’d wiped her eyes and blown her nose, Grandpa Phil put his arm around her shoulder and led her out of the ICU.

  She leaned against him while they walked, feeling his steadfastly solid strength of character, compassion, and faith. Though she loved her father deeply, Grandpa Phil held a piece of her heart that no other man could claim. His sense of humor, generous and loving nature, and constant faith evoked a tenderness and respect in Michelle that grew deeper and deeper over the years. It had been a long time since she’d been alone with him, and she was deeply grateful for this opportunity to be in his calming presence.

  The crisis with her father magnified her sense of confusion about the meaning and purpose of life. She wanted to talk to her grandfather and give him the opportunity to help her sort through her thoughts and experiences over the past year. But another part of her hesitated. She knew that he could never fully understand some of the things she had been exploring and learning.

  For the time being, she just wanted to lean on him and let him take her away from the horror of her father’s condition. She walked along beside him without saying a word, as they headed down a long, shiny corridor toward the hospital chapel.

  Tim sat back in the chair beside his father’s bed, his elbows resting on the metal arms. He felt awkward as he glanced around the room. It was his first time to really be alone with his dad, and he wasn’t even sure he should be there. But Grandma had convinced Mom and Steve to go for a short walk with her so he could have this time.

  The steady beeping of the heart monitor momentarily skipped a beat, and Tim sat upright, clutching the arms of the chair. Within a couple of seconds, his father’s heart resumed its normal rhythm again. Tim glanced through the doorway but did not see any added concern on Sherrene’s face. Apparently the momentary change in the heart rate did not alarm her.

  Relaxing back in the chair again, Tim thought about how strong his dad had always seemed to him throughout his childhood. He remembered his father’s stern voice and sometimes overbearing presence. But he also remembered the feeling of safety in his father’s arms when he used to climb up onto his lap and watch a football game or listen to a story.

  How on earth did this happen? he thought to himself as he stared at his dad.

  Tim closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the wall. Scenes from his childhood came rushing back to him. A game of miniature golf on a Sunday afternoon. A hike through a section of Yosemite Valley on one of their few family vacations. A weekend fishing trip with his father and the Boy Scouts. Like magic moments frozen in time, Tim collected his special memories with his father.

  Where did we lose touch with each other? he wondered as he opened his eyes and gazed at the still body of his father once again.

  Tim stood up and moved closer to the bed. “Dad?” He placed his hand on his father’s shoulder. No response.

  He was just about to turn and sit back down when he saw his father’s hand lift slightly off the bed.

  A wave of emotion washed over Tim. He placed his hand on his father’s hand. “You’ve got to make it through this, Dad.”

  His father took a deep breath. It jolted Tim. “Dad? Can you hear me?”

  The air rushed back out of his father’s lungs. Silence. Then he resumed his steady, shallow breathing.

  Anxiety and regret battled for Tim’s attention. Every little change in his father’s heart rate or breathing could signal the end. Would Tim ever get a chance to make things right with his dad?

  I need you, Dad. Don’t leave us. The words seemed trapped in his throat, but he knew this might be his last chance to talk to his father.

  “Uh…Dad… I’ve got some stuff to tell you.” He paused as he looked down into his lap, searching for the right words. “I know I haven’t always been the best son.” He sighed and then continued. “I guess I’ve been kind of stubborn. Anyway, what I’m trying to say,” Tim looked up at his father’s face, “is that I’m sorry.” He paused again and then added, “I love you, Dad.”

  John took another deep breath. At that very moment, Tim resolved to work through his issues with his dad and rebuild their relationship, if he ever got the chance.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  The chapel was a small, quiet room with several beautiful watercolor scenes on the walls depicting the countryside of Israel. There were a multitude of lush plants on the altar. A simple, but large cross hung from the ceiling in the front. Across it was engraved the verse, “Peace I give unto you.”

  Michelle and her grandfather sat down in the front pew. They were both silent for a time, as Michelle thought about her father and all that had happened. Thankfully, there was no one else in the room.

  Michelle’s grandfather took her hand in his. “Do you remember the stories I used to tell you about the shepherd and the sheep?”

  Her heart leapt, remembering not only the stories, but also her dream on the airplane. “Yes, Grandpa. I remember,” she replied. “I had a dream about sheep on the airplane on our way here. It was kinda scary. They were grazing on a hillside when a dark shadow of something began creeping toward them. I tried to call out and warn the sheep, but I didn’t have a voice. Then, when I was convinced they would be killed, a man stepped out from behind some rocks and drove the darkness away.”

  Grandpa Phil nodded. “You know, Michelle, the Lord
never takes His eyes off of us. Just like the shepherd diligently guards his flock, God is always watching over us. Even now.” He squeezed her hand as if to emphasize that last thought.

  “Then what happened to Dad? Why didn’t God stop him from doing this?” she asked, looking squarely into her grandfather’s eyes. “Things like this make me doubt that God is the good shepherd you talk about.”

  “Listen to me, Michelle. God was there when your father shot himself. But your dad has been running from the Lord all his life. He has prided himself in his own success and self-sufficiency.” She nodded, and he continued, “Sometimes it’s hard for an intellectual like your father to realize his own weaknesses and needs. Maybe the only way God could break through to him was to let this happen.”

  “You think so, Grandpa?”

  “It’s possible, honey. You know, God loves us enough to give us the free will to make our own choices. But ultimately, He yearns for us to choose Him—to choose the eternal life He designed for us. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  She looked into her grandfather’s eyes. They were filled with compassion, not judgment. She nodded her head again and looked back down to the floor. She knew he spoke with heartfelt sincerity, but she also knew that many of the things she had been learning in her BlendTherapy class seemed valid, too. From what she’d seen and heard, Trevor was as convinced about his beliefs as Grandpa was about his own. While a part of her yearned for the simple faith of her childhood, she was confused and uncertain about what to believe.