Harry looked first at Brenda, then at David. The exhaustion on his own face matched the fear and anxiety on theirs. Neither of the Dodds could ask the question they were all waiting to have answered, and Harry seemed too drained to speak. Finally, with obvious effort, he took a deep breath and looked around.
“Joseph came through just fine,” he said, and a whoop went up as Brenda and David threw themselves at each other. The Dodd kids got to their feet, cheering and embracing. Sylvia threw her arms around Harry, and he laughed as tears came to his eyes.
“Can we see him?” Brenda asked over the noise.
“He’s still in recovery. It was a perfect heart, Brenda. Strong and healthy.” His voice broke, and he cleared his throat. “You can see him when they get him into surgical ICU. Meanwhile, the transplant team needs to see you both downstairs. There are a lot of things they need to go over with you.”
Tory was exhausted by the time she got home. Her children were still sleeping, but Barry was sitting at the kitchen table, drinking a cup of coffee and watching the news on television. He got up when she came in, and gave her a kiss.
“Is he all right?” he asked.
“The surgery was successful. Joseph has a new heart.”
“And?” Barry asked. “What happens now?”
“Well, it’s kind of touch and go. He’s going to be in SICU for a while. They’re watching him real closely. But they’re saying they’ll have him out of bed walking around by tomorrow, and he may be able to come home in a week or so if all goes well. The drugs suppress his immune system, so they figure he’s safer at home than in a hospital full of germs. We just have to see what happens.”
“You must be tired,” he said. “Let me get you some breakfast.”
“No, that’s okay. I’m not hungry.”
As she watched the news absently, a snapshot of a little boy with a buzz cut and huge brown eyes flashed on the television screen, and she glanced up as the anchor read, “Eight-year-old Tony Anderson was killed instantly when the oncoming car crossed the median and barreled into his family’s Ford.” The little boy’s face was replaced by scenes of the wreck that had killed him—and then by footage of the grieving parents in the hospital waiting room. Tory slowly got to her feet. The camera zoomed in on a little pair of dirty tennis shoes, clutched against the heart of the grieving mother. It was the same couple Tory had seen in the waiting room before the surgery, when she’d been looking for the Dodds.
“…pronounced dead at one thirty-five at St. Francis Hospital,” the report went on.
That woman, whose eyes she had met, the woman who had been clutching her child’s shoes and wailing with such horrible grief, had lost her child last night, not an hour before Tory had gotten to the hospital. Her eyes filled with tears.
Barry noticed it. “Honey, what’s wrong? Are you okay? What is it?”
“The news,” she said. “That little boy.”
“Did you know that family?”
“No, but last night…” She caught her breath. “I saw them in the waiting room. They were devastated. And there were cameras in the hall. I must have seen them right after the cameras filmed them.” She looked up at Barry, her eyes intense. “Do you think that could have been the heart that Joseph got?”
He looked thoughtful. “Did they say where his heart had come from?”
“No,” she said. “But Brenda was surprised at how fast they had gotten it. It was already at the hospital when they told Brenda and David. That wouldn’t have happened, would it, unless the child had died there?”
“Probably not,” he whispered.
He held her, letting her cry against his shoulder. “Why is this upsetting you so?” he asked.
“Because I looked that mother in the eye,” she said, “and I saw her pain. Then I went up to the room where everybody was celebrating that Joseph had gotten a heart. But it was that little boy’s heart.”
“Maybe,” Barry said. “But if it weren’t for that heart, Joseph’s parents would have been the ones grieving.”
“I know,” she whispered. “I know. It just hit me so hard. When you see dying children, and you come home to your own, you wonder why they were spared.” She pulled out of his arms and tried to catch her breath. “The kids aren’t up yet?”
“No,” he whispered. “They’re in Britty’s bed. Spencer claimed to be scared for her, so he got into bed with her.”
Tory managed to smile. When something frightened their son, he always claimed he was scared for his sister. “I’ll go see if they’re awake.”
She pulled out of his arms and headed for Brittany’s room. The two children lay tangled in the covers, Spencer in his Superman pajamas, Brittany in a Tennessee Oilers T-shirt.
She started toward them—and promptly tripped on Spencer’s shoes, lying in the middle of the floor. Steadying herself, she bent down and picked them up—and was immediately reminded of those shoes the bereaved mother had clutched last night, and the despair in her voice as she’d asked the doctor to put them on her son so his feet wouldn’t get cold.
How irrational. How perfectly understandable.
The woman had lost her son.
Tory closed her eyes and clutched Spencer’s shoes against her chest. New tears came to her eyes. Feeling Barry’s hands on her shoulders, she turned around and looked intently up at her husband. “I’m going to change, Barry. You’ll see. I’m not going to whine anymore. Why did I ever think that my only goal and purpose in life is to write, when I have these wonderful children?”
He just held her tightly.
“Mommy?” It was Spencer’s voice, and he yawned and stretched, then got up and reached for her. She sat on the bed and pulled him into her lap. Brittany woke up then, too, and sleepily said, “Hey, Mommy.”
“Hey, darlin’. Guess what? Joseph got a new heart last night.”
“Does he like it?” Spencer asked.
Tory grinned. “I’m sure he does.”
“Will he come home now?” Brittany asked.
“I think so. In a few days. If everything goes well.” She patted Spencer’s bare little leg, then ruffled Brittany’s hair. “So what do you guys want to do today?”
“Aren’t you tired?” Barry asked. “Don’t you need to sleep?”
“I’ve still got a little energy left,” she said. “I want to invest it in my family.”
CHAPTER
Forty-Six
Sunday morning, Barry and Tory decided to take Brenda’s children to their own church again. Brenda and David wanted to stay at the hospital with Joseph, who was doing well but wasn’t out of the woods. Because of the animal fair and the amount of time Tory had spent at the hospital with Brenda, she felt as if she knew a lot of the members of Brenda’s church already. They welcomed her and Barry as if they were family, and the children couldn’t wait to get to their Sunday school classes to tell of the miracle Joseph had received.
Instead of Sunday school that morning, the adults of the church met in the sanctuary for what they called a “power session.” Barry and Tory weren’t sure what they were getting into, but when they learned that it was an intense hour of prayer for Joseph’s recovery, they were all for it.
They all met around the steps at the front of the small podium and prayed from the bottoms of their hearts, one at a time as they felt led. By the end of the hour, both Barry and Tory felt as if they had been touched personally by the Holy Spirit. Their hearts felt cleansed; their minds were clear and alert. When it was time for the service, and they had Spencer and Brittany and the Dodd children back with them, they sat close to the front. Barry stayed awake the whole time—in fact, Tory saw him smiling and nodding during the sermon. And at the end, when they were singing the final praise songs before closing the service, Barry surprised her with the exuberance in his voice and the tears she saw in his eyes.
When they had dropped the Dodd kids off at the hospital and were on their way home, Tory glanced at her husband. “So what do you think about
that worship experience?”
He smiled. “I think I need to quit worrying about being a deacon. It’s time to change churches.”
The kids erupted with excitement in the backseat. Tory only smiled. “Are you sure, Barry? They depend on you a lot at our church.”
“They can depend on others,” he said.
“Maybe we’re supposed to stay and light a fire under everybody.”
Barry considered that for a moment. “I think we’re the ones who needed a fire lit under us. We’re not in any position to activate anyone right now. Let’s go to Brenda’s church for a while longer, and then decide whether we should go back to our church and get something going. But personally, I need some discipling.” He paused a moment. “You know what the pastor quoted today from Second Peter, about growing in respect to your salvation? I don’t think I’ve done that. As far as I know, I’ve never borne any fruit.”
“Me, either,” Tory agreed. “And then I see Brenda, and 1 think, Lord, if I can’t be like You, let me be like her.”
When the children were down for their naps, Barry came into the kitchen where Tory was reading the paper. He picked up his car keys.
“Where you going?” she asked.
He shrugged and looked down at the floor. “I thought I’d go up to the hospital and see David.”
“Really?” They had never been close friends. The relationship between families had primarily been between Brenda and her. “Okay. I’m sure he’d appreciate that.”
He nodded. “I’ll be back in time to take us all back to church.”
“Okay, you can bring the Dodd kids back with you.”
“Good idea,” he said.
As he headed to the door, Tory sat back in her chair, thinking. She wasn’t sure whether Barry had ever shared his faith with anyone before, other than cursory conversations with the children—but she had no doubt that’s what Barry was intending to discuss with David. That sermon must have given him a sense of urgency. She was thankful. She only hoped that David would listen—so that Barry would be encouraged to share his faith even more.
Then, maybe, she’d start doing it herself.
CHAPTER
Forty-Seven
At the hospital, Brenda was surprised when Barry arrived alone. He bantered with the kids for a while, welcome entertainment when they were all confined to the SICU waiting room—they were only allowed to visit Joseph for a few minutes every couple of hours. When Barry asked David if he’d like to go down to the cafeteria for a cup of coffee, and David agreed, Brenda was more confused than ever. She watched, perplexed, as they left the room. Then she turned back to the children, who were playing a game of Monopoly.
“Mama, I think the Sullivans really liked our church this morning,” Daniel said.
“Really?”
“Yes, ma’am. Mr. Barry even had tears in his eyes.”
“How about that?” Brenda said, amazed. She looked at the doorway again, wondering if that had anything to do with Barry’s visit. Just in case, she breathed a silent prayer for him.
Downstairs in the cafeteria, Barry and David sat at the table across from each other, eating a piece of pie. “So how are you holding up?” Barry asked.
“Fine,” David said. “I’m not going to lie to you. It hasn’t been easy.”
“I went to Brenda’s church this morning,” Barry told him, as nonchalantly as he could manage. “They had a power session for Joseph during the Sunday school hour.”
“Power session? What’s that?”
“It’s when they all get together and pray intensely for someone. I’d never heard of it before, but it was a really good idea. And then I come here and I see how well Joseph’s doing, and I’m just amazed. I really think prayer has had a lot to do with it.”
David smiled and nodded his head politely, as if he didn’t want to argue with Barry. “Doctors had a little something to do with it.”
“Of course,” Barry said. “But I believe that Joseph is doing so well because so much prayer went into it. Not that those of us who are praying should take any credit—I just mean that God answered.”
“Yeah, that’s what Brenda tells me. But you know me. I have trouble with that.” He crossed his arms on the table and looked up at Barry. “We were about to take Joseph home that night. We didn’t want him to die in the hospital. And then—there was a heart.”
“And you don’t think God was working all that out?”
David smiled and shook his head. “I can’t believe that. I think things just have a way of working out sometimes. And other times they don’t.”
“So you put more faith in accidents and coincidence than you do in God?”
“Not really,” David said. “I don’t have faith in accidents or coincidence either. They just happen. I guess I don’t have faith in much of anything, except for my wife and my kids.”
Barry didn’t know how to respond. He knew that Brenda had shared the gospel with David many times, and that nothing he said today was going to change David’s heart. Only the Holy Spirit could do that. Silently, he prayed for words that weren’t confrontational, but that would shoot through the faithlessness straight into David’s heart.
“You know, Brenda said something just before we got the heart,” David said. “We thought we were going to lose Joseph. I told her I couldn’t believe in a God who would take our child from us. And she pointed out that, even when our children were all healthy, I didn’t believe.” He glanced up at Barry. “She was right. You know, if there was any way I could force myself to believe, for Brenda’s sake, I’d do it. I’ve thought of faking it, going to church with her, sitting beside her, singing those songs loud and clear like I was one of them. But church and I have a long history together, and it’s not a very pretty one. I’ve done enough faking in my life. For now, I’d rather be honest about my disbelief. I’m not willing to fool my wife just for the sake of peace in the family.”
“I don’t know about your history,” Barry said. “But maybe if you went to Brenda’s church once, you’d find out it’s not like you remember.”
David looked down at his plate, frowning deeply, as if something Barry said had triggered a flood of memories. “I don’t think that would happen. I have trouble with the way they do things there. Even those power sessions or whatever you call them. I mean, they seem like name-it-and-claim-it mumbo jumbo to me.”
“It wasn’t anything like that,” Barry said. “We prayed that God’s will, whatever it might be, would be done.”
“Yeah, well, I really resented the elders praying over Joseph. But then the way they’ve supported us through this, bringing meals to the house, donating money, coming to the hospital…” He cleared his throat. “It wasn’t that way for us—my mother and me—when I was a kid.” David leaned back and stretched, and Barry knew that he’d said all he was going to say about his past. “But that whole business about God’s will—that’s another area where I have trouble. There’s something a little superstitious about trusting completely in God’s will, no matter what happens. Whether you lose your father, your husband, your home, your friends…”
Barry suspected that David hadn’t meant to say those last few words, but he decided it might be the opening he’d prayed for. “Are you talking about your mother?”
David looked down at his hands, folded in front of him. “It was like a mental illness with her. No matter what my father did, no matter how cruel the church was to us, even when we were out on the street, she kept saying it was God’s will. But it was just her excuse not to do anything for herself, not to try to make it better…”
“Sounds like a real burden to have to carry around,” Barry said quietly.
“What do you mean?”
“You have a lot to forgive. An awful lot, I’d say. That kind of stuff can weigh you down, control your life, until you cut it loose.”
“I’m over it,” David said, shrugging it off. “I’m just telling you, church and I don’t go together. But I live a goo
d life, even without believing what you believe. Brenda keeps talking about abundant life. I feel like our lives are pretty abundant. Sure, I could want more financially, that kind of thing, but other than Joseph’s illness, things have gone pretty well.”
“But when you have trouble, like this business with Joseph, there’s an awful lot that’s out of your control.”
David took a skeptical breath and looked off across the room. “So you think I should believe that God’s in control?”
“Sure. Because He is, whether you believe it or not.”
David shook his head and finished his pie, then abruptly changed the subject to football and fishing. Finally, they made their way back up to the SICU waiting room. Brenda looked up.
“I’ll take the kids with me now if you want me to,” Barry said. “We’ll get them back to church. Tory and I are planning to go back tonight. We’re thinking about moving our membership.”
Brenda caught her breath. “That’s wonderful! We’ll be going to church together.”
“Yeah,” he said. He glanced at David. “You tell Joseph to keep getting better, okay? Tell him they’re really missing him back at that church.”
“I will,” Brenda said.
Then with a wave, he headed out of the room, praying silently that the Holy Spirit would finish what he’d started.
CHAPTER
Forty-Eight
The night of the school board meeting, Cathy dressed in her most conservative dress and prayed that people would come. For the past couple of weeks, she had used those skills she’d learned raising money for Joseph’s bills. She’d gone from parking lot to parking lot, putting out flyers about the Monday night school board meeting. She’d made countless phone calls. She’d gone to baseball and soccer parks, left flyers on windshields, and chatted with parents she met there. She didn’t think she could have worked any harder if she’d been running for congress. All of this was hard for her. She wasn’t a confrontational person; she wasn’t used to rocking the boat or making people angry. But that, she suspected, was exactly what was going to happen tonight when she got up to speak to the people making decisions about her children.
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