Sharee straightened. “I haven’t been lucky. God has protected me.”
“Don’t talk about God. Janice believed in God and look what happened.”
“Things are not perfect just because you believe. This world is messed up, and—”
“You think I care about that?” Her eyes blazed. “I stopped caring three years ago! When John called last night, I knew I couldn’t wait any longer.” Her voice rose.
“This won’t help. This will just—”
“Shut-up!” She lunged forward.
Sharee ducked beneath Lorraine’s outstretched hand and dashed for the pond. Would she make it? A hand grabbed her shoulder and spun her around. Two hands thrust her to the ground. She hit the ground hard. The woman sprung on top of her, battering her around the head and shoulders again. Sharee tried to heave her off, but she was too big and heavy. She ducked her head lower, grabbed for Lorraine’s waist and pulled. The woman toppled forward.
Sharee scrambled to her feet. Her breathing ratcheted, but the pond’s closeness generated a surge of energy. Pounding feet let her know of Lorraine’s approach. She swerved right around a small oak and several bushes.
The pond’s edge dropped right into water. If she didn’t want to break a leg, she’d have to jump as far out as possible. She heard Lorraine’s shout behind her and leapt watery darkness.
***
When she hit the water and the muck under it, her legs buckled. Out of her right eye, she’d caught movement and a dark shadow on the bank. She twisted back around.
Lorraine skidded to a stop. The bushes had hidden the gator until they both passed it, but now the reptile rose and hissed. Lorraine jerked in its direction, slipped and plunged into the pond. The gator scrambled forward and dove into the water.
Sharee’s heart jumped. It was small—about four feet. It shouldn’t hurt them, but something lodged in her throat. She didn’t want to swim into the deep and chance it.
Lorraine rose on all fours then stumbled to her feet. Her head jerked back and forth. The green pond water ran down both sides of her head. Sharee stood up. They were feet apart, and the inky water washed against their knees. Lorraine’s face drew into a sneer, and she threw herself at Sharee.
A scream tore from her throat, and Sharee tumbled back into the water. The woman was on top of her, grabbing her head, forcing it down. Tearing at the claw-like hands, Sharee tried to push free, but her knees slid in the mud, and her face plunged beneath the surface.
The woman weight kept her down. Sharee ripped at the woman’s hands, bucked up, and tried to dislodge her.
Something hard and large hit her side, and the woman’s weight fell away. Sharee jerked her head up, gasping for breath. She twisted her head from side to side. Where was…? She stumbled to her feet. A wheelchair lay on its side in the water. A wheel and Bruce’s head showed just above the surface.
“Bruce!”
Her feet slipped in the mud, but she staggered to the wheelchair. It had fallen on its side, and Bruce held tightly to the wheel, holding his head above water. She grabbed the chair’s arms and tried to right it, but its weight combined with Bruce’s held it down.
Her heart double-timed. “I can’t get this, Bruce. Can you get out?”
“My leg’s caught, but I’m okay. Get Lorraine.” He jerked his head toward the deeper water.
Sharee glanced in that direction. Lorraine’s arms thrashed in the water, her eyes wide and panic-ridden. She shifted her focus back to Bruce and shoved at the chair again.
“Sharee, get her.”
“She can stand up there.”
“No, it drops off.”
“I’ve got to get you first.” Her feet sank deeper in the mud. She fought with the wheelchair, her breath hammering.
“I can hold myself up.” Bruce used one arm to push against the muck. “She can’t swim. Save her.”
Sharee planted her foot against the side of the chair and tried to lift it, but her foot slipped beneath the wheel, burying in the mud. Her heart thudded. They’d both drown this way. She fought to pull her foot free.
“Help!” Lorraine’s cry pierced her concentration.
“Sharee!” Bruce voice came impatient and edgy. “She’ll die. She doesn’t know the Lord.”
Sharee threw another look at Lorraine. The woman slapped the water in panic and disappeared beneath the surface.
“Sharee! Save her!”
She dropped the wheelchair, threw herself past him and into the deeper water. She dove into the murky blackness, feeling around. Nothing. She forced her eyes open. There. She grabbed a handful of clothes and kicked upwards.
When she broke the surface, Sharee gasped for air. Lorraine hung limp beside her. She found an arm and slipped hers under it, lifting the woman’s head from the water. She’d never taken life-saving courses, but knew enough keep the woman’s back to her. They both dropped below the surface again, and a surge of panic overtook her. She kicked harder, broke into the air and struggled toward the embankment.
Someone reached past her and helped pull Lorraine from her grasp. Spitting dirt and water from her own mouth, Sharee climbed from the pond and collapsed onto the grass. Pastor Alan slipped down next to her.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes. But get Bruce. Help Bruce.” She waved back towards the pond, heaving, trying to catch her breath.
Pastor Alan scrambled to his feet, stepping over both women. Sharee rose to her knees looking at Lorraine. Was she breathing? She put her ear to her mouth, but heard nothing. She looked at her chest. Nothing.
Do CPR.
CPR? How long had it been? Compression or the old way? Her own breathing was ragged. She leaned forward, entwined her fingers and began chest compressions.
Daneen dropped down beside her. “Is she breathing?”
“No, I…I don’t think so.”
“Okay. You sound exhausted. Let me do this.” She nudged Sharee out of the way.
Sharee staggered to her feet, turned and watched in horror as Pastor Alan wrestled to pull the wheelchair from the mud and the water. Only the wheel remained above the surface. He grabbed Bruce’s shoulder and lifted it and his head out of the water.
“No!” Sharee ran forward and splashed into the water. They fought the weight and the water until another set of hands joined theirs. The three lifted the chair and pulled Bruce’s body free.
“Bruce!” Her voice was high and uneven. “Bruce!”
John and Alan staggered back to shore and laid him on the ground. Pastor Alan bent over him. He listened for his breathing then started chest compressions.
John pulled her away. His arms enclosed her as they watched. Behind them, they heard coughing, someone spitting up…and, in the distance, sirens.
Chapter 15
Hundreds came for Bruce’s funeral. The road to the cemetery narrowed as cars parked and lined each side. Family and friends stood close to the grave, while others, drawn by the media’s coverage that highlighted Bruce’s wheelchair race to save Sharee’s life, circled the area.
The bright May morning, with its singing and preaching and talk of resurrection, reminded Sharee of Easter mornings as a child. She stood next to Bruce’s parents. They had chosen that place—as if they would support her. An impossible scenario. The worse grief in the world, she always heard, was to lose one of your children, no matter the age. Yet, the comfort of God, the presence of the Holy Spirit, surrounded the Tomlin family. She could see it in their faces.
A fog had surrounded her every day since Bruce had died, and now it settled more heavily, graying the sunlit service. She’d let Bruce die.
Pain spread through every cell in her body. She couldn’t talk about it. The guilt, the pain. Not to John or her parents or to God.
Bruce’s friends and relatives stepped forward to tell how much Bruce had meant to them— emphasizing the funny, touching, and compassionate things he had done in their lives.
Her thoughts drifted. The woman had planned to kill
her, and now she was alive while Bruce… Sharee closed her eyes. The world swam. She swayed.
John’s arm came around her, but she straightened, stiffening before he could say anything. Tears threatened every time she let his concern or his tenderness touch her. But it was because of her that he’d lost someone else for whom he cared; and she wondered if he blamed her as much as she blamed herself.
Pastor Alan stepped forward again, taking over the microphone. Behind him, the sun radiated, shooting out fingers of light around his head as if he were an angel. Sharee lowered hers. Angels and demons and God—did she believe any more? Did she want to? They all listened to Pastor Alan’s sermon. From behind, Marci Thornton touched her arm. Sharee glanced her way. Joseph stood beside her, holding Elizabeth. Marci neither smiled nor said anything, but for one instant Sharee thought, she knows.
The second thought came as quick. Of course, she knows. That little boy in the accident three years ago. She closed her eyes again. Love and pain. Life and death.
When she opened them, Miss Eleanor smiled at her—a concerned smile. Yesterday, she had come with Pastor Alan to Sharee’s apartment; and in the midst of turmoil and numerous visitors, she sat on Sharee’s couch and quietly prayed.
“You know,” Pastor Alan’s voice broke into her thoughts, “I don’t believe this happened to Bruce without—without Bruce having an idea that it might. A few weeks ago, he asked if he could sing again. He hadn’t sung since his accident. That night he sang, ‘It is Well with My Soul.’ The power of God was strong that night. Later, Bruce talked with me about what it would be like to actually be in God’s presence…about being in heaven…as if he knew…”
Mrs. Tomlin’s soft cry broke across the gravesite. Pastor Alan looked at her, his eyes filled with compassion. He glanced around at all those standing close then studied the many others behind them.
“God’s Word says that there is no greater love than for a man to lay down his life for his friend. Bruce did that for Sharee. It also says that we are to love our enemies; and in this case, Bruce went beyond our natural abilities to love in order to give someone else, not just a chance to live, but also a chance to live forever—a chance for salvation. He insisted that Sharee save Lorraine Wicker. We all talk about being like Jesus, but this…this was Jesus in action.
“‘What things were gain to me,” Paul says in the scriptures, ‘those I count lost for Christ.’ Bruce has lost his worldly life to gain eternity. He has graduated from this earth. We don’t think about the fact that God promises a place without sorrow, pain or death. That place is not here, but it is real. The place called heaven. That is where Bruce is now.
“Jesus bought us entry into heaven. He bought it with his death, burial, and resurrection. He paid the price. All we need to do is believe and accept what Jesus has done. Then we, too, can be in heaven when we die.
“And Bruce would want you to accept this gift. He wants every one of you in heaven with him.” The Pastor paused. A breeze, soft and finger-trailing, slid over the crowd. “We will make sure Lorraine Wicker has that chance at salvation that Bruce wanted for her. And for you, all you need to do is believe and accept Jesus’ sacrifice for you. If you would like to do this now, bow your head with me. Let’s pray.”
***
Sharee stepped out of the SUV, trying not to look at the field and the pond. The church office was straight ahead, the work buildings to its right. John’s truck was parked a few spaces down from hers. She took a long breath. She hadn’t seen him for four weeks. She didn’t want to see him now.
The leave of absence Downtown Ministries gave her had ended Friday. She’d gone home but even there the wounds bled. John had called every day, but talking to him proved hard. His phone calls were full of encouragement, full of references to God. She just wasn’t there yet. Maybe her faith would never be the same. She just didn’t want to hurt his. They both sensed her drawing away, yet all their conversations were similar to the one they’d had yesterday.
“Sharee, it’s okay to be angry, to hurt; but you can’t run from God. He won’t let you.” John’s words came with a gentle entreaty and with a soft laugh. “I know, Darling, believe me. I was there, as you know. When can I see you?”
“I told you, I just need to…to work through this on my own.”
“You are tearing me apart, girl.” Then the quiet settled between them. “You are tearing us apart. Don’t do this.”
But she couldn’t get a grip on the emotions, and she dare not let her thoughts or feelings surface. They would overwhelm her.
When he called this morning, he told her he was taking her to dinner. No arguing. He’d drive to Ocala. He thought she was still there, still at her parents, and she didn’t correct that thought. But she couldn’t do dinner. No tête-à-tête. No being alone someplace where her emotions might prove uncontrollable. She wasn’t ready. Why couldn’t he understand that?
She put her shoulders back and walked toward the work buildings. Better here. Better to meet him here and let him know she didn’t want to see him again…for awhile. At least, no dates, no…whatever. Seeing him here, on her terms, this once. Then not again. Unexpected pain tore with sharp fingers through her. A second later, she blinked hard and forced herself not to cry.
The door stood open. She took a step inside. Quiet and shadowed and cool. Something touched her. Peace?
A loud ringing caused her to jump. She twisted her head back and forth. John’s neat workbench sat on her left, Pastor Alan’s jumbled bench to her right. The ringing continued, and then she saw the phone on the John’s bench. She walked forward and picked it up just as it stopped ringing. The caller ID showed China Summers. The phone’s face went blank, and Sharee put the phone down. A moment later, she heard a beep and picked it up again.
A picture showed on the phone’s face. Sharee stared. China sat on a stone wall wearing a peasant dress, its hem hiked halfway up her thighs. The bodice of the dress had slipped down on one side to expose her bare shoulder. Sharee bit her lip, swallowed again, and fought the emotions rising in her. She started to sling the phone as far away as possible then stopped. The rising emotions, the frustration, threatened to bring the tears she’d tried so hard to keep under control these past weeks.
In slow motion, she put the phone down, turned, and walked out the door. Just leave, Sharee. Just leave. Her legs felt heavy. The car appeared farther away than when she came. As she reached it, she heard her name.
No. She couldn’t face him now. She fumbled with the car door then yanked it open. A hand slammed it shut.
“Where are you going?” His anger hit her, but as she looked up into his eyes, so did the hurt. He caught her arm. “It’s been almost a month. Were you just going to leave?”
She tried to pull free, but he held on. She fought against his hand, against his eyes, and his concern.
“Sharee.” A guttural sound, almost broken.
“China left you a message.” Tears started with the words. She tried to tug free again.
“What?” Complete bafflement.
“Yes. She sent you a picture.” She wanted to lash out at him, to ask how many other pictures the girl had sent; but she couldn’t. Maybe it was better this way. “John, I…this won’t work.”
“What won’t work? What are you talking about?”
“Us. I…it’s just…it’s not going to work.”
His fingers tightened on her arm. “Has something else happened?”
“No, I …it’s…”
“Do you think I’ll let you walk away without a better explanation than that?” Pain edged his words, and when she said nothing, he brushed his hands up and down her arms. “Let me help. Please.”
“What can you do? I don’t feel anything. I’m too dead.” The tears mushroomed, spilling forth as her words broke. She dropped her head.
He tugged her to him, wrapped his arms around her. “It’s all right. It’s all right to cry. To hurt. It will get better.” After a few minutes, she gained so
me control and pulled back. She had to leave. He was weakening her resolve.
“I can’t do this yet. I need to be alone.”
“You’ve been alone. You need to talk with someone.”
“No. I haven’t. I’ve been with Mom and Dad until last week. I need some time.”
“Until last week? You’ve been back a week?” And when she said nothing, “You’ve been home, and you didn’t tell me.”
“John, please…”
“Please what?”
“We can talk later. Just give me time.”
The dark eyes searched hers. His mouth twisted. “How long?”
“A couple of weeks. Give me a couple of weeks.”
“A couple more, you mean. If I had my way, I’d take you to the mountains or some place. Just the two of us.” He tilted his head to catch her gaze. “We could get married like we were going to and just leave for awhile.”
“No, I…I have to get back to work. I can’t.”
“Can’t? Or won’t?”
“John.” She prayed for the first time in four weeks. Please, Lord, let him let me go.
“All right. Two weeks, that’s all. I will camp on your doorstep if you even try to stretch this longer.”
She breathed a sigh of relief and stepped free of his arms.
***
Pastor Alan watched through the window as Sharee walked across the parking lot and headed for his office. John had said he’d given her two weeks, and those two weeks were up.
When he’d stepped into Alan’s office a few days ago, he’d paced back and forth before stopping and meeting Alan’s look.
“I’m concerned about Sharee. I can’t seem to get past her reserve right now. The wall she’s put up. We haven’t talked much these last few weeks, and I’ve seen her only once since the funeral. She’s making excuses not to see me. Of course, we agreed to put off the wedding. We couldn’t go through with that so soon after Bruce’s death.” He began to pace again. “We’ve talked on the phone, but she’s resistant to any help I want to give.”
“Is she feeling guilty about Bruce’s death?”
As Long As You Both Shall Live: A Christian Contemporary Romance with Suspense (Dangerous Series Book 2) Page 22
