by Diane Moody
I made my rounds then stopped by to visit with Donnie. He looked terrible. I couldn’t believe he’d been here so long. After two-and-a-half months, he’d become good friends with the entire staff on my floor, and I was so proud of them for taking such good care of him. I’d prayed and prayed for him to get that phone call, the one telling him a new heart was available. But so far, nothing.
We were into another round of verbal sparring when I heard my name paged.
“Be right back, Donnie. Not that you’ll miss me, of course. You seem to keep yourself well entertained without me.”
“You got that right. Besides, it’s time for my soaps. Don’t hurry back.”
I answered my page, and the operator connected me to the hostess office.
“Shelby, it’s Sarah Beth. Mrs. Baker asked me to page you. They just brought Dr. Love into the ER again. She wanted you to know.”
I took a deep breath and thanked her, then hung up. I raced back down the hall to Donnie’s room.
“Donnie, it’s my pastor. He’s in the ER again. I need to go.”
“Sorry, Shelby. Go. You know where to find me.”
This time the ER was fairly vacant. Apparently the church members hadn’t heard the news yet. I found Mrs. Baker sitting with Elsie who was sobbing.
This can’t be good.
Debra was at the hostess desk so I checked in with her. “Have you heard anything?”
“No, but it must be bad. No one’s making eye contact. And you know what that means.”
I certainly did. Working with patients day in and day out takes a toll. It’s hard to be openly compassionate around the clock. And when a situation is more serious than the staff may want to portray to the family, they avoid eye contact. At least some do.
“Do you know if he was conscious when they brought him in?” I asked her.
“He wasn’t, which probably explains why Mrs. Love is so upset. I feel so badly for her.”
We looked at my boss who was trying to comfort her dearest friend. Mrs. B looked up and waved me over. I quietly approached them. “Shelby, go see if the prayer room is available,” she whispered.
If ever an area of a hospital needed a prayer room, it was the emergency room. Just around the corner from the main waiting area, this particular prayer room was larger than those on the other floors. It had more rows of chairs and a larger kneeling area at the front. Finding the room empty, I returned and waved to Mrs. B, who quickly escorted Elsie there.
The day passed agonizingly slow. Eventually, I went back upstairs and tried to work, but I’m sure my patients thought a zombie had replaced their hostess. I ran several errands, helped three patients check out, and even played cards with a dear lady who asked me to help her pass the time. We don’t usually do that sort of thing, but I was glad for the distraction.
Before leaving for the day, I checked back with Mrs. Baker and learned that Dr. Love was in critical condition. I just couldn’t believe it. And I definitely couldn’t bear to give anchor to the thoughts that kept waving through my mind.
I wish Tucker was here.
I blinked, wishing that particular thought hadn’t buzzed through my mind either. Still, he would be able to tell me more and keep me updated on any changes in Dr. Love’s condition. If we were talking, that is.
How did life get so messy? Why did bad things always have to pile up this way? There wasn’t a single area of my life that wasn’t in turmoil right now. My job. Donnie. Dr. Love. Tucker . . . And even though I knew Jimmy wasn’t into all the things Tucker had suspected, I still wasn’t pleased that he seemed to be a little lost, wandering here and there. And gambling?
I shook my head as I walked back to the office to get my purse and finally call it a day. Sandra grabbed my arm, dragging me alongside her out of the building. “Hurry! I’ve got to get home and change!”
“Why? Another date tonight?”
“Not just any date. I’m going out with Trevor Knight!” She let out a little squeal and did her signature dance right there on the sidewalk.
I had to laugh. “Have I ever told you how much I love you?” I asked, drawing her into a side-hug.
“Huh? I love you too, but why’d you say that now?”
“Oh, nothing. It’s been such a sad day, but you always know how to bring a little sunshine when the clouds roll in.”
She hugged me back. “Ah, I’m so sorry about Dr. Love. He’s such a nice man.”
“That he is. But tell me about your evening. Where’s Trevor taking you?”
“He has tickets to see the Commodores! I can’t wait! How did he know I love them?!”
“The Commodores? Oh, I’m feeling some major envy coming on here.”
“Hurry!” She looped her arm in mine and propelled me toward the employee parking lot. “I want to take a shower and have time to do my nails!”
“All right, all right. I’m hurrying! Besides. I need to get home too.”
“Yeah? You have a date?”
We climbed into Sandra’s car. “No, but I have to write a letter.”
She cocked her head and pinned me with a glare as only Sandra could do. “You have to write a letter. Pray tell who you’re writing?” She roared the engine to life.
“Pedro, who else? I think your ‘boyfriend’ back home should know about your big date tonight. . .”
Chapter 35
I was clearly experiencing déjà vu. I’d been in bed a couple of hours, unable to sleep. Sandra had returned home earlier and already gone to bed after her “dream date” with Trevor. But once again, I couldn’t stop thinking about Dr. Love. I kept picturing him in ICU, lying there with all those tubes and monitors hooked up to him. I’d prayed and prayed but couldn’t seem to find any peace in it. I kept feeling the strongest pull on my soul to be there. At the hospital. Ridiculous, right? He was no doubt still unconscious. And even if he wasn’t, they’d never let me in ICU the way I’d snuck in to see him last time. Still, I knew I had to go.
About 1:00, I quietly got dressed, slipped out the door, and made the six mile drive to BMH. The streets seemed unusually eerie this night. I literally felt my skin crawl. Twice. But I knew I was doing the right thing. I didn’t know why. I just knew.
I showed my ID at the ICU desk and told the receptionist I was also a friend of Dr. Love’s. Of course, she couldn’t give me any information—patient privacy rules—but she did tell me he was still unconscious. I thanked her and took a seat in the waiting area, unsure what to do. At that point, I felt so silly for being there. I noticed a sign over at the hostess desk: Back in 20 minutes. I couldn’t remember who was working tonight, but I wasn’t really in the mood to talk to anyone. Then I remembered the prayer room down the hall, and once again, feeling that earlier tug on my soul, I went in.
It was quiet in there. So quiet. Soft lighting, extremely low. And nothing but the occasional, rhythmic clicking from a ceiling fan to disturb this peaceful haven. I made my way to the front, put my purse on one of the front pews, then knelt on the padded kneeling bench. At first I just repeated some of my earlier prayers, the ones that hadn’t seemed to help at all when I was home in bed.
Then I just started thinking about Dr. Love. About that first time we met in the church library. I remembered the faint scent of cigar that I later learned was so characteristic of him. His hidden little secret . . . though I’m fairly sure everyone in the church probably knew. I smiled at the memory. I remembered how quickly he put me at ease, how genuine he was, and how surprisingly “normal” he seemed for one who pastored such a large metropolitan church.
I remembered my many visits to his office and all of our chats. How he always made it seem like he had all the time in the world for me.
All the time in the world . . .
Oh God, please give him more time.
The tears came slowly at first and then something inside me seemed to break free. Like a dam that finally gave way, I couldn’t stop crying, my heart in so much pain for this good and godly man.
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“Why him? Of all the people You allow to get sick—why him, God? I just . . . I just don’t understand. This kind and gentle man, so beloved and so cherished by so many people. Why him?” A sob caught in my throat. I reached for the box of tissues on the edge of the platform then tried to dry my face. A useless attempt.
“Oh God, please . . . please spare him. Don’t let him die. Not now. Not like this. Surely there’s more You have for him to do on this earth.” I hiccupped a couple of times and continued. “He did so much for me, Lord. He helped me learn to trust again. To find my way again. And I know I’m just one of thousands he’s helped guide back to You. So why, God? Why?”
I cried silently, shaking my head, wishing I could find answers to my questions.
“Excuse me.”
I jumped up, startled at the sound of a man’s voice. He was sitting on the back row, the light all but non-existent in that corner of the room. And for the third time that night, my skin crawled. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t know anyone was—”
“No, I’m the one who’s sorry. I didn’t mean to intrude on your privacy.”
My heart was pounding so hard in my ears, I had trouble hearing him. I tried to take a breath but it kept catching.
“I couldn’t help but overhear and wondered if there’s anything I could do to help?”
Something in his voice sounded familiar. Still, this was awkward.
“No, but thank you. I’m sorry I was speaking out loud. I didn’t know anyone else was in here.”
I noticed he was fairly large as he stood up and started toward me, but oddly enough, I wasn’t frightened. Something in that voice was very reassuring. As he neared, he took off his glasses, and I felt my jaw drop. He made his way past the four short rows of pews until he was standing only a few feet away from me . . .
Elvis Presley.
“May I?” he asked, indicating he’d like to take a seat on the front row.
“Uh . . . uh . . .” Nothing else would come out of my mouth.
“Please,” he said, this time indicating I should sit down just across the aisle from him.
I nodded, unable to get anything else to come even close to my lips as I slowly took a seat.
“I truly didn’t mean to eavesdrop, ma’am. But if you don’t mind my asking, any chance this good man you’ve been praying for is Dr. J. Thomas Love?”
“Yes,” I said in something like a gasp. “Yes, but how—”
“Oh, that’s easy,” he said with that world-famous crooked smile. “Because that’s why I’m here.”
I grabbed another tissue, trying to restore some dignity to my hopeless appearance. “Mr. Presley, how do you know Dr. Love?” Of course, I remembered as soon as the words were out of my mouth, but I just let him tell me anyway.
“Please—call me Elvis. Oh, Tommy Love and I go way back. We first bumped into each other a long, long time ago at the Cadillac dealership in town.”
“You both bought your Cadillacs from my dad.”
“You’re related to Franco Brentwood?”
“No, my father is Jack Colter.”
“Cadillac Jack is your daddy? Well, what d’ya know. How’s that for a small world? Wait a minute. Are you the one I—”
“Met on Christmas eve a long time ago? You were there letting your friends pick out cars for Christmas. Yes, that was me.”
“That shy little girl I had to coax to sit on my knee? That was you?” His smile grew bigger.
“Yes, it was. Although, I have no memory of it. I’ve just heard the story told over and over my entire life.”
“Well, ain’t that somethin’? I hope you’ll forgive me for not remembering your name.”
“I’m Shelby. Although, at that time I went by my real name, Rayce.”
“That’s it—Rayce. And you were the prettiest little thing. Why, I can’t believe that little girl was you.”
I toyed with the rumpled mess of tissues in my hand. I realized there wasn’t a trace of mascara on them. Which made sense since I hadn’t put on any make-up before leaving the house. Oh great. I finally meet Elvis Presley—again—and I look like a train wreck.
I looked back up and found him staring at me. The hair was still jet black and thick, and he still had those beautiful blue bedroom eyes. His face seemed a bit puffy but I figured it was due to some of the medical issues he faced. I’d heard there were many. Still, the charisma was there. I could finally understand why hearts broke all over the world for this man. There was an aura about him, impossible to put into words.
“How’s ol’ Jack doing? Sure miss him.”
“He’s good. Still down in Birmingham. Still selling Cadillacs.”
“Well, who knows. Maybe next time I get a hankerin’ to buy some new ones, I’ll just run down there and buy ‘em from Jack. Good man, that daddy of yours.”
“Yes, he is.”
He scratched the back of his neck and let out a big sigh. “It’s a real shame about Tommy. He’s been a good friend to me over the years. I hate that he’s in such bad shape. Tore me up seeing him lying there like that.”
“You saw him? Tonight?”
“Oh, sure. I made a call. His doctor’s a friend of mine.”
Well, of course he got in to see him. He’s Elvis.
I felt my eyes well up again. “Still unconscious?”
“I’m afraid so. I’m used to seeing his face all crinkled up in smiles, used to hearing that laugh of his. Sure not used to seeing him . . . so lifeless.” He shook his head and looked down.
“He told me you snuck in to see him last time he was here.”
He lifted his eyes. “Oh, I do a lot of sneaking around, little lady.” He winked with that smile this time. “I even drop in for church now and then. Sneak in late. Sneak out early. Incognito, of course. Story of my life.”
I smiled at the thought of Elvis in some strange disguise. “He told me you all are good friends.”
“We are. I don’t get to see him that much, but sometimes when I’m in town, I’ll call him up. Ask him out to the house. We always talk for hours. He’s got this gentle way of telling you what the Bible says, what God says, without hitting you over the head with it, y’know?”
“I know. He’s been counseling me for several months. I just hope I get the chance to thank him for all the ways he helped me get my life—” I choked up before finishing the sentence.
He reached over and touched my hand. I looked at that famous hand on top of mine and just could not get it to compute in my head. Elvis Presley. Comforting me.
“I hope you do too, Shelby. But if you don’t, then don’t you worry about it. He knows. Tommy Love knows.”
I wept quietly, so frustrated at my inability to turn off the waterworks. He handed me a fresh white handkerchief. I thanked him.
“Shelby Colter, may I ask you a favor?”
I wiped my eyes again, then looked up into his. “Me? You want to ask me a favor?”
“Would you mind if I sang a hymn for Tommy?”
A baseball lodged itself in my throat and the floodgates opened again. I nodded, my face crumbling again at the sweetness of what he wanted to do.
“This is an old Mosie Lister song called His Hand in Mine. Tommy was always asking me to sing it to him. Somehow it just seems like the right thing to do right now.”
I tried to smile, couldn’t, so just nodded again.
And then he started to sing. That famous old hymn in a voice so quiet, I couldn’t hear him at first. The lyrics, so beautiful, so reassuring, sung in that deeply reverent way Elvis always sings his hymns. I couldn’t tell which affected me more—those lyrics or that voice. It was one of the most touching moments of my life.
When he was through, he bowed his head. I assumed he was praying.
After the longest time, he looked up, his face streaked with tears.
“I’m real glad I had a chance to meet you, Shelby—again. You tell your daddy hello for me, okay?”
“I will.”
>
He took my hands in his, and I felt every one of those big rings on his fingers as the distinct scent of Brut cologne wafted over me. “You make me a promise.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you. You promise me you’ll keep praying for our friend in there. You and me. Let’s keep Dr. Love lifted up before the very gates of heaven. Agree?”
“I promise. It was nice to meet you, Mr. Presley. Again.”
“Now, none of that Mr. Presley stuff. We go way back, you and me, remember? You just call me Elvis, darling.’”
“Nice to meet you again, Elvis.”
He squeezed my hand and then he was gone.
My knees gave out and I dropped back into the pew.
Oh, my goodness. Oh, my goodness. I found it hard to breathe as the reality of what just happened sunk in.
I met Elvis Presley.
I had a private concert by Elvis Presley.
No one is ever going to believe this.
I sat there for almost half an hour, going over and over every word, every glimpse at those beautiful eyes, every tone of his voice, every touch of his hand . . .
And I realized something. Even I didn’t believe it. How would anyone else?
And then I realized something else. I had a white handkerchief wadded up in my hand. A handkerchief monogrammed with the initials EP.
Chapter 36
The entire next day felt out of body to me. From the moment I woke up after only two hours of sleep, I was quite sure it had all just been a long and vivid dream. I chuckled at the absurdity of it. Impossible. I showered, dressed for work, and was about to head out the door, when I saw it. There in my purse.
The handkerchief.
It really happened? It really happened!?
“What’s wrong? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Sandra teased, passing by me as she walked out our front door.
I locked the door behind me and followed her to her car. “You’re not going to believe it.”
