“So, he’ll talk normally again?” Ryan asked.
“I can’t guarantee that.” The doctor gazed at Ryan and his mother with compassion in his eyes. “I don’t want to give you false hope. Mr. Antonelli has been through a life-changing event. And while it’s possible he could make a full recovery, it’s more likely he’ll only come back to about the two-thirds point.”
“Two thirds?” Ryan raked his fingers through his hair.
“What sort of disabilities?” his mother asked, her face turning pale.
“Some will be more obvious than others,” the doctor explained. “The speech issues will take time. But long-term complications could include behavioral problems, memory problems, and even emotional issues. We’ve seen patients in his age group struggle with serious mood swings, even after physical issues dissipate. They cry without warning or laugh uncontrollably. They truly have no control over these behaviors.”
Ryan took note of the tears that welled up in his mother’s eyes as the doctor spoke. He fought to keep them from rising in his own.
“We’ll keep him here in the hospital a few more days to make sure he’s out of danger, then we’ll transfer him to a rehabilitation facility.”
“Rehabilitation facility? For how long?” Ryan’s mom spoke, tears leaking out the corners of her eyes.
“Likely several weeks. But even after he returns home, Mr. Antonelli will be on a daily regimen of medications, physical therapy, diet, and so forth. I can arrange for a physical therapist to come to your home. He or she will play an integral role. We really are talking about a lengthy process here, and I need you to be prepared for that.” The creases in the doctor’s brow deepened.
“What about his work?” Ryan asked. “Will he ever. . .”
The doctor thumbed through his paperwork before asking, “Your father is self-employed, is that right?”
“Yes.” Ryan swallowed hard.
The doctor shook his head. “As I mentioned before, I don’t want to get your hopes up. If I give you the worst-case scenario, then you’ll be pleased when things go better. At this time, I’d suggest early retirement.”
“Early retirement? But how will he. . .” How will he pay the bills? If he stops working, the money stops coming in. If the money stops. . .
Doctor Loring looked at Ryan’s mother, gently placing his hand on her shoulder. “The best thing for him right now is TLC. He needs his family. He doesn’t need any additional stresses of any kind.”
He doesn’t need any stresses of any kind.
The words played themselves out over and over again as Ryan left the conference area and returned to his father’s room once again. It ripped his heart out to look at the man—once so strong—who lay still and quiet in the bed, strapped to IVs. Ryan reached down and kissed his ailing father on the forehead, then whispered, “I love you, Pop.”
Then, overcome with emotion, he dropped into a chair and began to pray.
Taffie tried one last time to call Ryan. She couldn’t understand his silence over the past few days. Had she somehow offended him? Her mind reeled as she thought back through their last conversations. No, they’d ended things on a positive note. So, why the silence on his end? Didn’t he realize Mr. McKinley would return in just a few days to confront her family? Didn’t he know she needed to solidify a plan of action before then?
Taffie felt sick at the sudden possibility that something had happened to Ryan. It wasn’t like him not to call. With that in mind, she pulled his business card out of her wallet. . .the same one he’d given her that first day. She located the company’s e-mail address and quickly composed a note to send him. If this doesn’t do the trick, I’m going to drive to their office. She looked at the card once more, taking note of the address. Hmm. Looked like their office was in a residential area. Might be awkward if she showed up at his house, looking for him. Would that be too forward?
She began to pace, thinking things through. He’d kissed her. Kissed her. And told her that he cared. Surely he wouldn’t mind if she showed up at his place of business, after all they’d been through together. Besides, they had unfinished business to take care of. Her parents wanted a solid plan of action. And they wanted her to hire Ryan as a marketing consultant. But none of that was possible if he wouldn’t communicate with her.
She paced the shop and began to pray. For what, she wasn’t quite sure. But Taffie knew in her heart that something prayer-worthy had transpired, and she wanted to be quick to respond.
“Lord, I don’t know what’s going on, but You do. I ask for Your will to be done—in my life and in Ryan’s.”
Her desire to fix the situation slowly dissipated. Surely, if she could just continue to trust God with the unknown, He would reveal His perfect will.
Oh, if only her impatience didn’t get in the way!
TWENTY
Ryan left the hospital with a heavy heart. He glanced down at his cell phone, noticing he’d missed several calls and text messages. Listening to his many voice messages, he couldn’t help but groan. Seemed every place in town needed a repairman. Why now? The timing couldn’t possibly be worse.
Determined not to let his emotions get the better of him, he pointed the van toward the parts store. He’d better get a move on. Get back to business. What else could he do?
He continued listening to the voice messages as he drove. Buried between a frantic call from the owner of Mama Mia’s and a request for service from a local day care, Ryan found a message from Taffie. Just the sound of her voice lifted his spirits. Somehow, in the midst of the chaos, he’d forgotten to call her.
His heart ached, thinking about it. He immediately punched in her number and waited for her to answer.
“Hello? Ryan?” Her voice—sweeter than anything he’d heard in days—gave him reason to hope again.
“Taffie, it’s. . .it’s me. I’m sorry, I─”
“I’ve been so worried about you. I called several times and even sent an e-mail.”
“I’m sorry. I’ve had my phone on mute for the past three days, and haven’t been near the computer to check my e-mail. I─”
“What’s happened?”
“It’s my pop. He’s had a stroke. A bad one.” A lump rose up in Ryan’s throat, making it difficult to continue. Though he’d never been one to cry, especially in front of a lady, he couldn’t seem to control the tears.
“Oh, Ryan. I knew something had happened. I just knew it. Where are you right now? Are you at the hospital? What can I do to help?”
“I’m just leaving. I have repairs waiting. I’m going to try to squeeze in as many as I can over the next few days while Pop’s in the hospital. But they’re going to transfer him to a rehab, and once that happens. . .” He drew in a deep breath, not knowing how to continue. He had no idea what would happen at that point. What did you do when life was abruptly interrupted by tragedy? Pop’s last stroke had been minimal in comparison to this. Why, he’d scarcely been out of work for a couple of weeks that time around. This time. . .no, he wouldn’t think about that.
“Have you called your church?” Taffie asked.
“Yes. Pastor Billings has been at the hospital with us through the worst of it, and several of my friends from the singles ministry have stopped by. And my mom’s friends. . .” He shook his head. “They’re putting together a committee to bring food by the house, that sort of thing.”
“That’s what the church is for,” Taffie said. “I’m sure the minute my mom finds out, she’ll be right there with them, so prepare yourself. She’s liable to become your mother’s closest companion. At least, until my parents leave on their trip to the wild, Wild West.”
“That would be great. But. . .” He paused for a moment. “I miss you.”
“I miss you, too.” He heard the catch in her voice. “And we’re going to get through this together. What time do you think you’ll be back up at the hospital? I want to come and be with you. I’m free in the evenings.”
“What about your
class?”
“It ends this week. And guess what.”
“What?”
“I’m finally getting the numbers thing down. Pop’s been working with me in his spare time and it’s starting to make sense. I might not be a marketing strategist, but I think I can take care of the books. . .eventually, anyway.”
As soon as she spoke the word Pop, a lump rose in Ryan’s throat. Would his pop ever be able to work again?
“A–are you there?” Taffie asked.
“Yes. Sorry, I was just thinking about my father. I’ve been so worried about him.”
“He’s going to pull through this, Ryan. We won’t stop praying until he does. And I’m going to be there with you. I–if you want me to be.”
“Oh, I want you to be.” How he’d made it through the last three days without her now seemed an impossibility. In that moment, Ryan made up his mind. . .he would never walk down another road without her. Not if he could help it, anyway.
The minute Taffie closed up the candy shop, she headed for the hospital. All the way there, she prayed for Ryan’s dad. Though she tried not to think about it, an occasional fear would try to take root in her mind. What if something like this happened to one of my parents? What would I do? Just as quickly, she fought to shove those troublesome thoughts aside.
Still, life was full of unexpected things—good and bad. And it all seemed mixed up together. For whatever reason, her mind shifted to the taffy mixture she’d stirred just hours prior. A mixture of sugar and salt, glycerin and cornstarch. Talk about opposing tastes and functions. And yet they somehow combined to create the perfect candy. Could life, with all of its goods and bads, end up just as sweet? Even when there were valleys to walk through. . .like the one the Antonellis now faced?
At once, she thought of Ryan, tried to imagine what he must be thinking, feeling. Her heart ached for him. On top of everything else, he had to go on with the business. Suddenly, all of her prior worries about taking over the shop dissipated. In light of what Ryan was going through, her situation seemed easy. How could she possibly complain about anything work-related when he and his family faced such troubles?
Taffie arrived at the hospital in a prayerful state of mind and quickly made her way to the ICU area. She was relieved to discover Ryan had added her name to the visitors list. After checking in with the nurse, she tip-toed into the tiny room. Oddly—except for Mr. Antonelli, who lay quite still and silent—she found it empty. With the curtains drawn, the place was dark and still. Taffie inched her way toward the bed, noting the various IVs and monitors. A shiver ran down her spine as she contemplated his current condition.
She reached out a hand and placed it gently on his shoulder, then began to pray. “Lord,” she whispered, “there are so many things I don’t understand, but I trust You. Father, I pray for healing for Mr. Antonelli. Touch him, Lord. And be with his family.”
The words no sooner escaped her lips, than she heard a sound behind her. She looked back to see Mrs. Antonelli with tears in her eyes. Taffie reached over and gave her a warm hug.
“I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner,” she whispered. “I just found out.”
“The past few days have been such a blur. I’m sure we’ve overlooked calling so many people. We did remember to call the church, but I can’t imagine who we might’ve left out.”
“How are you doing?” Taffie asked.
The older woman shook her head. “I wish I could say I was a pillar of faith, but I’m. . .I’m struggling.”
“Nothing to be ashamed of, there,” Taffie said. “My heart goes out to you. And my mom wants you to know that she and Pop will come up tomorrow while I’m at the store. They want to help. And they’re praying, of course. They’ve even called our church to put your husband’s name on the prayer list.”
“Thank you so much.” Mrs. Antonelli walked to the edge of her husband’s bed and gazed at him, then reached for a tissue. Dabbing her eyes, she bowed her head, and her shoulders began to shake as the sobbing—completely silent—began. Taffie drew near and reached for her hand.
“He’s been in and out of consciousness. Wakes up long enough to gaze up at us, then falls back asleep again. But at least he’s making progress. The doctors say it’ll be slow going, but we’re going to be here, to walk with him through this.”
“Of course you are.” Taffie gave her hand a squeeze. “And if ever there was a family that could pull together. . .well, I know you Antonellis have an amazing bond and that’s more important than ever now. Remember what the Bible says: One person can put a thousand to flight; two, ten thousand. Imagine, in a family your size, how many battles you can win as long as you stick together.”
“I know you’re right.” Mrs. Antonelli reached to wrap her in a tight hug and they stood together for a moment until the door swung open and Vic and Mallory entered the room.
Mallory took one look at the two of them and her eyes widened. “Has something happened?”
“No, no.” Mrs. Antonelli shook her head. “Don’t fret. I’m just having a moment.”
After a few minutes of quiet conversation, Mallory gestured for Taffie to join her in the hall. Once there, she poured out her heart. “I don’t know what’s going to happen to Mama Antonelli if he doesn’t make it,” she whispered. “And it’s breaking my heart to watch this. For both of them.”
“It’s going to be a long haul, but she’s a strong woman. God is going to see her through this.” Taffie tried to sound reassuring.
“I know.” Mallory took a seat on a nearby bench and leaned her forehead down into open palms. “Watching her makes me see just how much she loves him. It’s amazing, really. She’s. . .she’s taught me so much about unconditional love. I’ve never seen anything like that. Ever. I. . .I want to be like that.”
“You can be,” Taffie said.
“I don’t know,” Mallory said. “I’ve got a stubborn streak a mile long. And I’m used to getting my own way.” She shrugged and looked up, defeated. “It’s been a long time since Vic and I have really focused on each other. We’re both so. . .selfish.”
“Our parents are from a generation that really understood sacrifice,” Taffie explained. “I watched my grandpa pour himself out for others every day of his life. My pop’s the same way. And my mom. They’re just givers. And even though I haven’t known Ryan’s parents a long time, I can tell they’re the same. You and me. . .” She sighed. “We were raised in a different day and age. We’re part of the me-myself-and-I generation, hard as that is to admit. We’re inundated with messages about living to please ourselves.”
“Feels good in the moment,” Mallory confessed, “but living for yourself doesn’t work long-term. Ask me how I know. At the end of the day, you feel pretty empty. Especially when the person you love isn’t there to walk you through it.”
Taffie sat down next to her, working up the courage to ask a question. “Are you and Vic still separated?”
Mallory shrugged. “He’s back at home and we’re going through the motions of being married—as much for his mom’s sake as Casey’s.” Tears began to trickle down her cheeks. “We’re together in the same house, but we’re not a couple. Does that make any sense? We’re like two strangers. Roommates. Nothing more. Things are just. . .cold.”
“Wow.” Taffie nodded, though she had to wonder how such a thing was even possible.
“I’m tired of pretending.” More tears coursed down Mallory’s cheeks. “Tired of acting like everything’s okay when it’s not. And when I see Mama Antonelli—how she dotes on Vic’s dad. How she loves him with every fiber of her being. . .”
“You want that for yourself?” Taffie asked.
“I. . .I do.” Mallory nodded, then began to sob uncontrollably.
Just then, a male voice interrupted their private moment. “What is it? Is it Pop? Has something happened?”
Taffie looked up and saw Ryan standing there with fear in his eyes. She started to explain, but Mallory jumped in ahead of her.
>
“I’m sorry, Ryan. I was just confiding in Taffie.” Mallory dabbed at her eyes with a tissue, then gazed with great kindness at Taffie. “I don’t know why I poured all of my problems out on you. I hardly know you.”
“She’s easy to get to know.” Ryan joined them on the bench, reaching to take Taffie’s hand. “And to know her is to love her.”
Taffie looked at him, stunned. Did he just say love?
The word must’ve jolted Mallory, too. She looked at him with a hint of a smile through her tears. “That’s what I’m talking about,” she whispered. “I want to know what that feels like. I want it to be real. You can only go through the motions so long before reality hits.”
“I’m going to be praying,” Taffie assured her. “I know that God is in the restoration business. If you and Vic both seriously want Him to renew your relationship, He will do it. But you have to decide. . .once and for all. Make up your mind.”
“Make up my mind?” Vic now stood in front of them with confusion etched in his brow. “What are we making up our minds about?”
“To fall in love all over again.” Mallory looked up at him with a sheepish grin. “The happily-ever-after kind.”
The tightness in his face seemed to melt away as she stood and wrapped herself in his arms. In that moment, as Taffie watched the couple embrace, her heart flooded with joy. If she could have choreographed a victory dance, she would have done so—right then and there.
Instead, she turned to face Ryan, who slipped an arm over her shoulders and drew her close. She rested in the comfort of his embrace, reflecting on his earlier words: To know her is to love her. Overwhelmed with joy, she reached up and pressed a gentle kiss on his cheek. In that moment, the reality of her feelings for him registered.
So this is what it feels like. . .to be in love.
TWENTY-ONE
Boardwalk Brides Page 13
