by Lois Richer
“I love it out here.” Zac felt along the rope and found it fastened to one of the chairs Abby had purchased for the meadow.
“On the other side of your chair, the rope continues to the gazebo,” she explained. “Or if you want to sit at the table, there’s a second rope that leads to it.”
“Perfect.” He seated himself, leaned back and sighed. “Absolutely perfect.” Then he remembered the twins. “I don’t hear the girls. There’s a creek behind those trees. If they fall in they’ll—”
“The girls are fine. They’re sitting in the gazebo, probably telling stories to each other.” As usual, a smile was audible in her words. “If you feel to your left, there’s a cooler tucked under the table. It has a lock, which will make it very difficult for critters to get into. But it’s the perfect place to store drinks and some snacks for you and your guests.”
“Especially Leo.” Zac grinned cheekily. “That man loves your cookies.”
“How’s he doing?” Abby asked.
“I’ve suggested he see a therapist.” Zac said it flatly, wondering if she would think he’d failed. Again.
“Why?” she asked. He heard only interest in her question.
“We’ve talked extensively and I’ve suggested a number of things that Leo has done. He’s made progress, but in doing so, we’ve uncovered other issues which I feel require a different type of professional.” He folded his arms across his chest. “You want to know something funny?”
“Sure.” That was Abby. Always encouraging.
“I was so rusty at counseling that at first all I could think of was to ask him questions, get him talking.” He huffed a laugh. “And then, bits of scripture kept floating into my head. I’d repeat them because I didn’t have much else to offer him. But according to Leo, those verses had a huge impact on how he has begun to view losing his child. He said they were exactly what he needed, yet I didn’t even realize I’d remembered them until the words came out of my mouth. Weird, huh?”
“Not weird at all, Zac.” He could hear the laughter in her words. “That’s exactly what the Bible promises if we tuck God’s words into our hearts. God is using you, even though you don’t realize it.” Her fingertips brushed across his arm. “I’m very proud of you for helping Leo even though you must have felt overwhelmed. But God wasn’t.”
The twins raced over and snuggled on his lap, their fingers caressing his cheeks.
“We love you, Daddy,” Zoe murmured, her head pressed to his shoulder. “You’re our bestest daddy ever.”
Mia copied her sister. “The bestest,” she agreed.
“I’m also the only daddy you have,” Zac murmured with a chuckle, though he clutched his precious daughters nearer.
Contemplating tomorrow terrified him. What if he never saw their faces...? No! He wouldn’t think like that.
Abby had reminded him that God had helped with Leo. She’d say God would be there when the bandages came off tomorrow.
Why couldn’t he trust God? What did he need to do to rediscover his security in God?
The answers eluded him as they walked home, as they put the twins to bed and as Abby said good night.
‘“Casting all your care upon Him; for He careth for you,’” she quoted before she left.
Zac inhaled her fragrance while listening to her footsteps dissipate. Then there was only silence and a breath of air caressing his face.
How was Abby so confident of God’s goodness? And why wasn’t he?
Chapter Ten
“Can you believe this weekend is Memorial Day?” Abby couldn’t stop the words even though they interrupted the CD playing on the car stereo. “Families will be heading off for their first camping weekend. Kids are finishing school. It’s so exciting.”
“The things that bring you joy constantly amaze me,” Zac mumbled. He pushed the button that ejected the CD. It had seemed to grate on his nerves as he’d constantly fidgeted during their drive. She could almost hear his heart begging, Please let me see today.
“Bonnie said everyone seems happier with winter gone and the warming sunshine,” she said with a shrug. “I think she’s right.”
“Ah, so winter’s departure is what’s making you so happy today?” he said, sounding amused by her cheerful tone.
“I’ve never experienced winter here,” Abby reminded him. “Truthfully, I’m a little afraid of it given all your family’s horror stories about massive snow dumps and frigid spells that last ages. But I loved the few flurries I saw when we first arrived in New York. And seeing the crocus and daffodils pop up was spectacular, too. So I can say I liked spring very much.” She winked at him, knowing he couldn’t see it. It felt good to tease him.
“I think you like every time of year. I think you’re one of those people who savors the day no matter what the weather is or where you are,” Zac mused. “I think carefree Abigail Armstrong just plain enjoys life.”
“I used to be carefree.” She thought back to the dark days after Levi was gone. She couldn’t wish him back, but some days she longed to see his little face again, touch his cheek. Hear his giggle. “That seems like a long time ago. It does feels good to really laugh, though, like when you lost that game you and the girls play.” She glanced sideways at him and decided to ask the question that had remained unsaid. “Don’t you enjoy life?”
“I’ll let you know after today,” he muttered.
“It’s going to be okay, Zac.” She couldn’t help reaching over to squeeze his shoulder. “God didn’t bring you this far to abandon you. I suppose it’s useless to say stop worrying?”
“I wish I could. My confidence level is at an all-time low.” He shifted restlessly and rubbed his chest. “I wish I hadn’t eaten breakfast.”
“There wasn’t anything wrong with breakfast. You’re nervous, that’s all. Lord Jesus, I ask You to comfort Zac right now. Soothe his anxieties. Let him feel Your presence and Your love flowing through him. Help him trust You. Amen.” She kept her gaze on the road ahead, hoping her rushed prayer hadn’t offended him.
Zac turned to face her. If he could see, Abby knew he’d be staring.
“Do you always do that?”
“Do what? Pray?” She nodded. “Always.”
“I mean, out loud? At the drop of a hat,” he added.
“You mean do I often blurt out a prayer in the middle of a conversation?” She chuckled as she took the exit toward his doctor’s office. “Not usually.”
“So why now?” he demanded.
“Because you need God’s help. And because I thought—hoped—it might remind you that God is always with us, and that no matter what happens, He’ll still be there, loving and supporting us. And to remind you that if we ask Him to build our faith, He’ll answer.” She eased the car into a parking spot and switched off the motor. “We’re here.”
“Thank you,” Zac said very softly. He made no effort to get out. “I need to be reminded of His love. Being blind—it makes you very self-focused, like you’re locked inside this ball where you’re the center of the universe and everything is about you.” He huffed out a deep breath, then reached out to feel for the door handle. “You continually help me realize life isn’t all about me and my issues. You’re a special woman, Abby.”
A rush of heat flooded Abby’s insides as she got out of the car and went to him. She held out her arm so he could place his hand on it, but she didn’t move right away. Instead she wasted a few seconds studying the missionary she’d come to admire so much.
“What?” he asked, tipping his head as if he was looking at her.
“You are a special man, Zac. You have a gift for relating to people. You listen to everyone, but it occurs to me that I haven’t listened enough to you.” She debated whether to say it but knew that it was cowardly not to. “You have made a tremendous impact on how I see the world. I value our—” she stopped, hesitat
ed, then said “—friendship very much. You have a lot to give. I hope you’ll realize that soon.”
Slightly embarrassed that she sounded like a gushing girl, she led him into the building, to the doctor’s office. As she did, she silently prayed for guidance and for help. What happened next was going to impact Zac in ways she couldn’t even begin to imagine.
Help me to help him, Abby prayed as they sat waiting. Zac’s hand touched hers as if he was seeking reassurance. Without even thinking, she threaded her fingers with his.
God, please?
* * *
Zac wanted to relax. He wanted to pretend he was confident about the outcome when the doctor uncovered his eyes. He wanted to act like a strong man of faith would act.
Only he wasn’t that man.
“Please follow me,” the office nurse said.
“Abby?” Zac reached out a hand.
“I’m right here,” she murmured as her arm slid under his hand. “The room is about ten paces ahead. Then we turn left.”
What would he do without her calming presence, her readiness to do whatever he needed? He didn’t want to even think about how uncomfortable his life would be without Abby in it.
Once inside the room, the nurse directed Zac to sit in the big examining chair, same one as last time, he felt certain. When Abby moved away, he experienced a strong sense of loss, as if his anchor was suddenly gone and he was adrift. If he could see today, she might start making plans to move on. He hated the thought, the feeling that he’d be alone. Again.
“Good morning,” Dr. Faber greeted them a moment later. There was the sound of the door closing before he said, “So today is the day, isn’t it, Zac?”
“I guess.” Inside he was screaming, Just get it over with.
“Let’s see how you’re doing. Perhaps you’d assist me as before, Nurse Armstrong?” Dr. Faber touched Zac’s face with a gloved hand.
“Certainly.” Abby’s wonderful fragrance suddenly filled Zac’s nostrils, and with it a sense of calm flickered inside. She’d be praying for him now.
“First I would like you to switch off the main lights. Over there.” A switch snapped. “Good,” the doctor said. “Let’s begin.”
Something, perhaps a towel, was draped across his chest.
“Now, Zac. I’m going to remove these coverings, but I don’t want you to open your eyes until I specifically tell you to. First I need to administer some ointment. Your nurse is going to hold your head because the ointment might sting a bit. That’s perfectly normal. Ready?” The specialist waited until Zac nodded. “Keep your eyes closed.”
Zac obeyed as the doctor freed his eyes from their bonds. Warm hands—Abby’s?—cupped his head on each side. Then his eyelids were lifted individually and something dropped into each eye. Immediately his eyes began to burn.
“Try not to blink for a few minutes,” the doctor murmured. “Eyes closed.”
It seemed like forever until the stinging finally diminished and Zac could breathe normally again.
“Hmm. Now drops,” Dr. Faber decreed.
The drops dribbled into his eyes and ran down his cheeks until Zac longed for the burning to stop. Just as he wished he had something to wipe his streaming face, Abby’s hands lifted and he felt the soft press of tissues against his cheeks.
“Don’t try to hold back. Let the tears come,” Dr. Faber ordered. “Is the burning diminishing now?” Zac nodded and the man continued. “The ointment released the detritus that has accumulated. The drops help soften that and carry it away. Now we must wash and refresh your pupils. Hold still.”
Zac wasn’t aware he’d moved until Abby’s hands tightened once more around his head. These drops soothed and comforted as much as her touch. Both felt so good he sighed with relief.
“The worst is over now. You may release him, Nurse Armstrong.” Dr. Faber added, “Thank you for your assistance.”
Abby murmured something but Zac was caught up in the light the doctor was shining directly into his eyes. Dr. Faber’s low grunting sounds were impossible to decipher.
“I’m going to switch off my examining light now and have Nurse Armstrong open the shade just a bit. When I tell you, I want you to open your eyes. Don’t strain, don’t pressure yourself. Just glance around. And keep blinking.” The doctor paused. “Now.”
Zac opened his eyes. At first he could only see smears, probably leftover from the ointment. As directed, he kept blinking, glancing from side to side, and slowly—so slowly—his vision began to clear. Slightly.
Frowning, Zac tried harder to focus. “I can’t see much,” he said as fear knotted inside him. “Blurs mostly. Some light.”
“Normal. All normal,” the doctor reassured him. “Don’t strain. I want to wash them again.”
Once that was over and Abby had dried his face, Zac tried again. This time the shapes in the room were clearer, though cloudiness at the edges remained.
“Is this the best I can hope for?” he demanded, finally giving in to his frustration. “All this waiting, all the treatments, and I still can’t see clearly?”
“You must be patient,” the doctor began.
“I’ve been patient,” Zac barked. His hands fisted as disappointment swelled. “I—I—”
“Zac.” Abby’s gentle, reassuring voice cut through the maelstrom inside. “All is well. Be at peace. We haven’t finished the race yet, remember? Let Dr. Faber continue.”
Somehow her quiet words calmed him. Even more than that, the tender touch of her hand on his pushed away his mushrooming fear that he’d never see as he wanted to, as he had before the attack.
“Sorry,” he muttered.
“It’s understandable. You thought that once the bandages were off, your sight would be totally restored.” The doctor’s next words sounded forced. “However, you suffered a great deal of damage to your eyes. I don’t believe you will ever fully recover your sight, Zac. Not as it was.”
The doctor’s words hit like a block of wood to his solar plexus. Zac couldn’t think, couldn’t imagine, couldn’t understand... Why, God? I wanted so badly to trust You again.
“Please continue, Doctor.” Abby’s hand squeezed his. Her serene voice broke through the storm whirling in his mind.
Slowly, exerting great control, Zac exhaled, steeling himself to hear the rest.
“I do believe, however, that your sight will get better than it currently is. It won’t be a fast process and you can’t hurry it along. You may eventually need another operation.” Dr. Farber’s face swam into view, a blob of misshapen features Zac slowly blinked into focus. “For the time being, you must wear these dark glasses, both inside and out, while your pupils adjust to light and dark.”
Zac blinked as his world suddenly went dark when the doctor slid glasses on his face. But this blindness was a temporary thing. Gradually his eyes began to adjust and he could once more make out shapes, light and dark, which grew more distinct when the doctor fully opened the shade.
“You will have a new prescription for eyedrops. Nurse Armstrong will administer them twice a day. They will help your eyes heal. Other than that, continue as you have been. Keep active, eat well, but most importantly, remain positive. Would you like me to refer you to a counselor or psychologist to help with that?”
“The counselor needs counseling?” The irony was so great that Zac couldn’t help but burst into laughter. He saw the doctor turn to look at Abby.
Abby. His vision was not perfect. He could not clearly see her, but as she stood in the light from the window, Zac caught his breath. Even with his muddled vision, she was stunning.
“Abby?” he whispered, just to be sure he was focused on the right person.
“Hello, Zac.” Her lips creased in a smile that stretched across her face, all the way to her eyes—gloriously wide eyes whose unusual hue he couldn’t quite discern, not that it matt
ered. Her face looked like that of a model. “Pleased to meet you.”
Dr. Faber cleared his throat and began speaking, but Zac heard very little of what he said. He was too busy staring, trying to see Abby more clearly, this woman who’d eased everything in his world since the day they’d met. She had made his life bearable.
“That’s fine, Doctor. We can do that.”
Zac heard Abby say the words, but it was as if he was in a fog. He couldn’t stop staring, trying to fully see the woman who had become the ground in his confusing world.
“Come on, Zac. We’re finished here for today.” Abby’s fingers around his wrist brought him out of his stupor. She thanked the doctor, then in her customary no-nonsense fashion slid her arm under his and led him out of the office.
Zac walked beside her, allowing his brain to absorb the shapes and colors, the changing shadows as they moved. Until they reached the exterior door. The sun shone so brightly he had to cover his eyes and allow her to lead him blindly to the car.
“You wanted to see,” she reminded him with a grin when they were inside the car.
“Actually, I don’t see that well,” he complained, grabbing a cap of his father’s that lay on the seat between them and slapping it on so the brim shaded his face. “Yet,” he added in an attempt to be positive.
“Better?” she asked.
“Much. I find it very bright, though not exactly clear.” He tried to surreptitiously study her and found she was looking at him. “Something wrong?”
“You tell me. I know you hoped your sight would be fully restored.” She sounded worried.
“Nowhere near that. Let’s say I’m better than I was, but I’m not where I want to be.”
“Not yet.” She nibbled on her bottom lip as she started the car and put it into gear. “He said things will slowly improve.”
“He said they should slowly improve,” Zac corrected, feeling a tightness in his throat. If he couldn’t clearly distinguish Abby’s features, how could he see Mia and Zoe? How could he be a doctor again?
