by Diane Moody
“Believe what?”
I told her as we climbed into her car.
“You’re right. I don’t believe you.”
“Sandra! I’m telling you the truth! Why would I lie?”
She backed out and we were on our way. “I have no idea. It’s not like you, but it’s still unbelievable. When I got home last night, you were in bed asleep.”
I pulled the handkerchief out of my purse.
“What’s that?” she asked, keeping her eyes on the road.
I shook it at her. She glanced at it then did a double-take. That’s when she slammed on the brakes.
“SANDRA! Look out!”
A car sped past us, its horn blaring as the driver flashed a universal hand gesture. She quickly pulled off the road into a convenience store parking lot and stopped the car.
“That’s . . . you mean, that’s . . .”
“Yes. It’s his. He gave it to me because I couldn’t stop crying.”
She grabbed it from my hand. She pressed it flat on her leg, smoothing her hand over those initials. “Oh Shelby! ¿Tu conociste a Elvis Presley? You really met him?” Then she held it up to her nose and took a whiff. “Brut! You really met him! I can’t believe it!”
We were almost late for work by the time we arrived at the BMH employee parking lot. I told her everything. Everything he said, everything I said, and the way he sang the hymn, so soft and intimate as if singing it in the very presence of the Lord. She cried hearing that part, little softy that she was. Then came the squealing and the mile-a-minute chatter, much of it in Spanish.
The chatter continued through the rest of the day as Sandra told anyone and everyone about my encounter with the King. The girls were all thrilled for me, with the exception of Sarah Beth. Apparently I’d inadvertently encroached upon her sacred Elvis territory. She waved it off, quite unimpressed. I couldn’t have cared less.
It was hard to concentrate on my work, but I did my best. I was surprised to find “a return customer,” of sorts. When I checked my patient list, there was Mr. Wilbur Wilcox, my favorite train engineer. I couldn’t remember how long it had been since he was here—a month or so? The fact he was back so soon couldn’t be a good thing.
I tapped on his door and walked in. “Mr. Wilcox! How nice to see you a—” I stopped the minute I laid eyes on him. He looked pale and withered, a shell of the man I’d seen only weeks ago. I was absolutely shocked. “Mr. Wilcox, I . . . I’m Shelby Colter, your hostess. Do you remember me?”
He slowly tracked his eyes toward me and gave only the slightest hint of a smile as he nodded. “Yes. I remember.” I could tell it took a lot for him to get those three words out.
I approached his bed. “I would like to say it’s nice to see you again, but that’s not usually the case when you work in a hospital. How are you?”
He shrugged, looked away, then back at me. “I’ve been better,” he said, his voice raspy and quiet.
I didn’t want to tire him out, so I tried to make it brief. “I’m so sorry you’re not feeling well. I’m sure the doctors and the staff will do everything they can to help you get better. I’ll place my card here on your table in case you need anything. Don’t hesitate to call me. For anything at all, okay?”
A slight nod of the head and a weak smile was the best he could do.
I reached down and touched his hand. “You take care, Mr. Wilcox. I’ll be praying for you.”
As soon as I left the room, I bee-lined to the nurses’ station. “Helen, what’s going on with Mr. Wilcox on 903? I can’t believe he’s already back. He looks so much worse than before.”
“I couldn’t believe it either. Apparently the procedure didn’t work as well as they’d hoped. And to make matters worse, his wife didn’t give him the right dosage on his meds. She told Dr. Wells she thought she could save money by only giving him one pill a day instead of the six prescribed. Poor thing. She was so devastated when she heard the doctor’s response about that, she broke down and went home. That was about 4:30 yesterday afternoon. She hasn’t been back.”
“Helen, that’s so sad! When they were here before, she never left his side.”
“I know. Slept on that awful couch beside his bed every single night.”
“I hope she’s okay. Has anyone heard from her?”
“Come to think of it, no. Not that I know of.”
I just shook my head looking down the hall toward his room. “Can they do anything for him?”
“I hope so. They’re trying to figure out which approach to take at this point. He should have come back weeks ago instead of letting himself get so weak.”
“Life gets so complicated, doesn’t it?”
“You’ve got that right. We’ll do what we can, Shelby. Thanks for asking about him.”
I made the rest of my visits then headed to Donnie’s room looking forward to a nice long visit. Just as I was about to tap on his door, I heard the Harvey team paged to ICU. We heard those pages all the time, but I always tried to whisper a silent prayer for the patient needing the assistance of that expert team. And this time, I prayed it wasn’t Dr. Love.
I also prayed that my friend on the other side of this door would never need them. I knocked gently then entered Donnie’s room.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” he snarked. “You look awful.”
“Gee, thanks, Donnie.”
“Come. Sit. Tell Mr. Rogers what’s going on. Shall I call for some cookies and warm milk?”
I took the seat next to his bed. “No, thanks. But where’s your sweater that zips up the front, Mr. Rogers?”
He snapped his fingers. “I knew I forgot something. I’ll call Goldsmiths and have them send over a couple. Any particular color preference?”
“Oh, one of every color, I’d think.” I smiled.
He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. “I bet you think that’s a smile, but it’s actually a rather pitiful attempt of a smile. What’s got you so blue today?”
I told him about Mr. Wilcox and quickly noticed his countenance began to fall. Nice one, Shelby. Cheer up your severely cardiac-challenged friend with the tale of another serious cardiac patient’s woes. I waved him off. “You don’t need to hear all this. I’m sorry for bringing it up.”
“No, it’s okay. I’m not the only sad heart on this floor. I’m sorry to hear about his situation. But I’m sure you brightened his day with your Susie hostess spiel.”
“Cute. Very cute. Unfortunately, Mr. Wilcox was so weak, he couldn’t respond much at all. But enough about all that. How are you?”
“Oh, just a laugh a minute. Having the time of my life.” He pursed his lips and lifted a brow. It was one of my favorite Donnie-isms.
“You know all the nurses up here love you. They all have Donnie stories they love to share. You’re quite the rock star up here.”
He rolled his eyes. “I get that everywhere I go. Never a moment’s peace. The autographs, the constant flash of the cameras, blah blah blah. Such is the life of a celebrity. But someone’s got to do it, right?”
I grabbed his arm. “Celebrities! Donnie, I forgot to tell you! Guess who I met last night?”
“Well, let’s see. I watched Johnny Carson on the Tonight Show, so it couldn’t have been him. And I know Bob Hope is on tour again in some faraway war zone—” He stopped abruptly and sucked a lungful of air so fast, I thought he’d pass out. “You met ELVIS?!” he screeched in a half-whisper, half-squeal.
“I did! I finally did!” I clapped my hands like a shameless adolescent.
He threw his head back on his pillow, practically wheezing with laughter. “Tell me EVERYTHING. Don’t leave out a single syllable. Sit! Start. Now!”
“Well, I couldn’t sleep so I—”
“No!” He grabbed my arm. “No, I can’t wait. Tell me now. Did he kiss you?”
“Donnie! Eww? No, he didn’t kiss me! He’s twice my age and besides—”
“Besides what? You don’t like world famous celebritie
s who are filthy rich and have the world on a string?”
Now it was my turn to purse my lips. “No, I do not, thank you very much. And for the record, the thought never even crossed my mind. Now. Do you mind if I tell you what happened?”
He straightened his blanket over his legs, folded his hands on his lap, and shot me a look. “Do tell. I’m all ears.”
And I told him. He asked a million questions, just like Sandra had. He made more wild jokes and we laughed so hard—something we both needed.
“Did he have on all that gold jewelry? Was he wearing the famous TCB lightning bolt necklace?”
“No, I don’t remember seeing it, so I guess not. But he did have rings on every finger of both hands. Oh, and a gorgeous watch. When he put his hand over mine, I noticed how unique it was. A huge silver thing. Like antique silver, you know? And a wristband studded with a bunch of stunning turquoise stones and diamonds. It looked like something you’d buy in New Mexico.”
“Or Vegas?”
I smiled. “Good point.”
“No cape?”
“No cape. He was actually dressed fairly normal. I noticed he put a hat on as he left. Looked like a fedora. Maybe that was his low-key disguise to get through the hospital at that hour of the night.”
“Bummer. I was hoping he wore the cape.”
“You would.”
“And he really sang to you?”
“Well, no, he didn’t sing to me. It was more like he was singing for Dr. Love. Almost like a prayer on his behalf. It was really beautiful. I wish you could have heard it.”
“You and me both. In fact, I’m not sure I’ll ever forgive you for not inviting me down to join your private party.”
“Donnie! It was hardly a ‘party’! I was in that prayer room bawling my eyes out when he came in. What was I supposed to do? Say, ‘Excuse me, Mr. Presley, while I go fetch my friend Donnie. You just wait right here until I get back.’ Oh, that would have been class. Pure class.”
He stuck his chin up in the air. “So you say.”
“Don’t be silly. And get this. He told me he sometimes sneaks into our church to hear Dr. Love preach. He comes incognito. The whole nine yards. Can you imagine?”
“What’s his disguise? An Elvis impersonator?”
I laughed again at that one. “I don’t know but it’s not a bad idea, if you think of it. You better believe I’m going to be on the lookout next time I go to church. So tell me, what’s the latest? Have you heard anything?”
“Yes. In fact, just today they told me they’re renaming the whole wing for me now that I’ve officially become their longest-staying prisoner—er, guest. There’s to be a ceremony, the posting of a plaque—you must come.”
“I sent in my RSVP. Didn’t you get it?”
“Good one.”
“So, what are the chances of you telling me what really happened and not trying to pull my leg?”
“Okay, fine. Nothing new. There’s never anything new. They run tests. They ‘consult’. They run more tests. My levels are up. My levels are down. Meanwhile, I sit here on my butt, day after day after day. Case closed.”
“I just can’t believe it’s been so long. It absolutely boggles the mind. But then, I’m not a doctor.”
“And we’re all grateful for that.”
I whacked him playfully then stood up. “I need to go. I’ll pop in before I leave this afternoon, okay?”
“Pop away, my dearest. Pop away.”
As soon as I stepped into the office, I knew.
Mrs. Baker wasn’t seated behind her desk. I found her crying in the back office. Several of the girls sat around her, consoling her, many of them crying as well. Mindy’s arm was wrapped over her shoulder. I caught Sandra’s eye and let my face ask the question. She nodded, confirming what I suspected.
Dr. J. Thomas Love was gone.
He had slipped from this world into the presence of His beloved Lord.
I turned around and left.
Chapter 37
By the time Sunday rolled around, I really wasn’t in the mood to go to church. I had such an ache in my soul, still desperately wishing I’d had just one last chance to thank Dr. Love. To tell him how much he meant to me, how much he helped me, and how much I loved him. I kept remembering that night in the prayer room with Elvis.
“I just hope I get the chance to thank him for all the ways he helped me . . .”
“Don’t you worry about it. He knows. Tommy Love knows.”
In the greater scheme of things, I suppose it didn’t really matter. But it mattered to me. It seemed so strange to feel such deep sorrow for the loss of someone I’d only known a few months. But that’s just the kind of man he was. He always made you feel like the dearest of friends. The world would be a sadder place without “Tommy Love.” I knew mine would be.
Still, I hadn’t been to church in a while, so I thought I should go. Sandra was working the ER that weekend, so I went alone. Even at 10:30 in the morning, the mid-July heat was miserable. Just walking from my car to the sanctuary, I could feel the perspiration beneath my dress. Everyone had told me Tennessee summers were hot, but this was brutal.
I stepped inside the foyer, thankful for the blast of air conditioning that greeted me along with the famous Candy Man. Everyone at First Baptist knew the Candy Man. Charlie Driscoll served as an usher, manning his post faithfully every Sunday, greeting worshipers with a bag full of candy. The kids loved him. The children’s teachers? Well, that was a different story. After stoking up on sweets, the kids would roar into Sunday school on a sugar high, leaving their teachers and workers at wits end.
I selected a wrapped peppermint, thanked Charlie, then made my way into the sanctuary and took a seat. As I unwrapped the candy, I felt someone brush against my back, passing through the row behind me. I turned just in time to see Tucker sit down. Our eyes locked for a split second. It was the first time I’d seen him this close since our fight. Sure, it had crossed my mind that he might be at church today, but I figured I’d just avoid him. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a plan B.
“Hi, Shelby.”
“Hi, Tucker.”
“How are you?”
“Good, thanks. You?”
“Good.”
So. It’s come to this. Polite conversation and nothing more.
The organ saved the day, blaring into a majestic version of A Mighty Fortress is Our God. I smiled at Tucker then turned back around, more than grateful for the interruption. Of course, my mind was focused on the individual sitting behind me, so little else during the service filtered in. Mrs. Baker’s husband, the reverend, opened his message with a kind tribute to Dr. Love. Our programs included a picture of our pastor along with a brief note and a time for this afternoon’s memorial service. As the sermon began, I looked down at Dr. Love’s photograph, felt a sting in my eyes, and quickly tucked it inside my Bible.
When the service was over, I knew there was no way to leave without talking to Tucker. I decided to take the high road and act like nothing in the world was wrong.
“I hear you went to Nashville,” I said as we each emerged from our rows into the aisle.
“I was. Spent about a week there for a conference. It’s good to be home. Although I was sure sorry to hear of Dr. Love’s passing. Trevor called and told me. Will you be at the memorial service this afternoon?”
“Of course. I want to pay my respects.” I really wanted to get off the subject and keep the tears at bay.
“Well, then. I’ll see you later.”
With that, he turned and left. I hated this. Hated the awkwardness of it all. I’d had so little time to think about what had happened—no, I take that back. I’d avoided thinking about Tucker as much as I could. It all seemed so stupid. And yet, I could still feel the resentment, a slow burn deep within me. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t convince myself Tucker was right about my brother. I knew better. I’d seen Jimmy with my own eyes. He was fine. Footloose, perhaps, but fine.
&n
bsp; And yet . . . and yet, I missed Tucker terribly. Seeing him was even harder than I’d imagined. I’d missed his sweet smile, that goofy look in his eyes when he teased me, the compassion on his countenance for others. Regardless what I’d told Rachel, Tucker Thompson was a good, good man. He’d just stepped over a line. One I was not yet ready to forgive.
Not that he’d asked.
I grabbed a quick bite to eat at Danver’s, then ran a couple of errands in town before heading back to the church for the memorial service. I knew the church would be packed, so I made sure I got there in plenty of time. Or so I thought. I had to park in the farthest parking lot, then as I got closer, I found myself blocked behind a large group of senior citizens, some with canes. I didn’t know it was humanly possible to walk that slow. By the time I finally stepped inside the sanctuary, there were only a few seats left on the first floor. I ducked off to the right and took the stairs to the balcony, hoping for a better seat. It was nearly full as well. I found a seat on the back row and made the best of it.
When I finally looked below, I saw the casket. A stunning mass of red roses blanketed the coffin. I swallowed hard and reached into my purse for a tissue. There, beside my billfold and keys was the handkerchief. I felt a slight smile as I folded it into my hand. It felt right somehow, holding this reminder of the man who also loved my pastor. In a strange sort of way, I felt comforted just holding it in my hand.
The family entered as the organ quietly played Jesus, the Very Thought of Thee. I spotted Mrs. Baker, not far behind Elsie in the procession. Not family, but certainly the best of friends. Reverend Baker was already on the platform. He would be giving the eulogy. Once everyone was seated, the service began. From start to finish, it was wonderfully befitting the man whose life we celebrated. Reverend Baker’s message was touching, filled with humorous anecdotes of his life-long friend who loved to laugh. He told one example after another of the many lives forever changed because they’d crossed paths with Dr. Love. His voice cracked as he bid a final farewell on behalf of the family, friends, and church family.
