The feel of Donna’s arms around him.
Then the strangest thing happened. Charlie felt a tear slide down his cheek, and suddenly nothing made sense. There was no crying in heaven. The Bible taught him that. If he wasn’t in heaven, he had to be . . .
He had to be alive!
Donna . . . I’m here.
“Charlie, it’s me, honey. It’s Donna.”
She was standing right beside him. He felt the touch of her fingers against his face.
Like the rising sun, light began to fill his senses. He wasn’t sure how long it took—whether an hour or five minutes passed—but with Donna’s voice encouraging him, he opened his eyes. Just a crack at first. The light was blinding, and someone must have realized it, because the light dimmed again and he could open his eyes a little more.
Things were blurry, his mind fuzzy. He wasn’t dead. That much was clear. A man who looked like a doctor came up beside him and raised the back of his bed. Only a few inches, but the higher position allowed him to see objects, dark blurs, and lighter smeary areas. He blinked again and again.
“Charlie. I’m here.”
Donna! Charlie wasn’t sure how much time was passing. The process felt slow and fast and amazing all at the same time. More blinking, and as if the fog had lifted, he could see. Not just colors and shapes but people.
He shifted his eyes and winced at the pain it caused him, and there she was. His sweet Donna. He blinked once more, and she came clearer into view. He couldn’t talk. The doctor was saying something. He was waking up . . . good signs . . . vitals good. Charlie realized that something was in his throat. Sticking out of his throat. He reached up to grab it but couldn’t lift his hand. Not all the way.
“Hold on there, Charlie.” The doctor leaned over the bed and stared straight at him. “You’re waking up quickly, and that’s a good thing. Give me a minute to see how you’re breathing.”
Charlie forced himself to relax, to look at the faces of the people gathered around him. Why had they all come? How had they known? It hit him exactly who he was looking at. These weren’t just any people. They were customers.
His family.
Around the room, Donna watched several of Charlie’s friends start to cry. It was one thing to pray for a Christmas miracle, to believe in one. It was something else entirely to see it happen before their eyes. Charlie moved again and again, twitching and shifting beneath the sheets. He was coming back to Donna, but in what condition? Would he know her? Would he remember The Bridge and the people who loved him? Before she could let her fears consume her, she saw something else.
A tear rolling down Charlie’s cheek.
That single tear told Donna that the tenderhearted Charlie she had spent a lifetime loving was in there. As the doctor joined them in the room and smiled at the monitors, as the miracle continued to play out, Donna was filled with heavenly peace and one consuming thought.
This was a holy night she would remember as long as she lived.
C HA P T E R E L E V E N
Molly had never seen a miracle before.
She never knew until now that they were really something that happened. Like everyone in the room, she watched the scene through a veil of tears, unable to believe that here—on Christmas Eve—Charlie Barton was waking up.
The doctor explained to the group that Charlie needed a quieter room for the waking-up process. “It’s happening very fast. That’s a good sign.” He checked the clock. “I’d like to monitor him for the next several hours. If you could come back . . . maybe after dinner?”
Molly pulled Ryan aside as they headed for the elevator. “I have some business to take care of. I’ll meet you for dinner before we head back here.”
“Okay.” He looked surprised and a little hurt. They made a plan to meet at a diner on Main Street in downtown Franklin. Molly called for a ride and spent the next few hours in the office of a branch of her bank. She finished what she’d set out to do ten minutes before the bank’s early closing.
Others from the group joined them for dinner, so the conversation wasn’t focused on the two of them. Molly was grateful. This trip was about Charlie and The Bridge and maybe finding a faith that had never mattered much. A second chance for Charlie and for her. It was most definitely not about recapturing some long-lost connection with Ryan Kelly. Never mind that they were both single. Ryan wasn’t interested, no matter what Molly once thought she’d seen in his eyes.
The truth hurt. The sooner she could get home, the better.
They gathered in the lobby, and Molly listened with the others while Ryan placed the call to Donna. “We’re here. Can we come up?”
Whatever the answer, Ryan’s eyes shone with fresh hope. He assured Donna they’d be there in a few minutes. Then he hung up and looked at the fifteen or so who had gathered. Many of them had returned for this visit, and all of them waited in silence for Ryan’s report.
“He’s awake. Breathing on his own.” His voice caught and he stopped for a moment. He pinched the bridge of his nose and gave a shake of his head, trying to find his voice. He coughed a few times and tried again. “Sorry. It’s just . . . he knows who he is. The doctor said he has some confusion, but he doesn’t appear to have any permanent damage.”
Molly’s knees felt week. No damage? After suffering a head injury and lying in a coma for nearly two weeks? Maybe, God, You really did hear our prayers.
The others started talking among themselves, remarking that a recovery like this was hardly possible. Let alone on Christmas Eve. Ryan raised his hand to get their attention once more. Molly hated herself for thinking it, but he had never looked more handsome. “Listen up.” He looked more serious. “Donna will take the lead. Charlie doesn’t know about the books or any of it. He has only mentioned The Bridge once—when Donna asked if he knew where he worked.”
A ray of light shone in Molly’s soul. She could hardly wait to get to the sixth floor.
It took both elevators to get the group to the sixth floor, and this time they walked into the room quietly, respectful of any confusion their arrival might cause. They filled in the empty spaces of the room, and Molly took the spot beside Donna. Ryan looked for her as he entered at the back of the group. She turned away, and he found a place at the foot of Charlie’s bed.
Charlie was sitting almost completely up. The tube in his throat was removed, and as he looked at the faces around him, he reached for Donna’s hand.
“They came, Charlie.” She leaned in close to him. “Because of The Bridge, they came.”
A few of their names came across his lips but he was difficult to understand. His voice was raspy, the result of the respirator. Donna nodded at Ryan, and he stepped forward. “Hi, Charlie.” His eyes were damp, his smile shining from deep in his soul. “Merry Christmas.”
Charlie squinted a little, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Ryan Kelly.”
“Yes.” Ryan smiled and pointed to the others around him. “We all stopped by to give you a gift.”
Charlie raised his eyebrows, the look in his eyes as sweet as before the flood. “A gift?”
“Yes, Charlie.” Donna took hold of his hand. “Look over there.”
For what must have been the first time since he woke up, Charlie shifted his attention to the side of the room. Ryan walked to the first box and picked up a book at the top of the pile. “Books. We all pulled together a few boxes of books. So you can still be a bookseller, Charlie.”
“Books?” The raspy whisper couldn’t hide the shock. He turned slowly to Donna and then back to Ryan. “Every box?”
“Enough books to fill your store.” Ryan walked back to the foot of the bed. He gave Charlie’s foot a tender squeeze. “It’s the least we can do. After all you’ve done for us.”
Molly felt like she was watching a scene from a movie. In bits and spurts, the news seemed to sink in, and Charlie Barton began to cry. Not in a loud or desperate sort of way, the tears of a man whose struggle had taught him some
thing.
He was not alone.
“That’s not all.” Donna took over. She faced him and put her hand alongside his face. “People have given money, Charlie. So you can buy whatever books you don’t have in those boxes.”
His smile lit up the room, and his tears slowed. Just as quickly, his expression fell, and he looked at Donna. He didn’t say anything, but Molly could imagine what he was thinking. What good were books without a store? Before anyone could say anything, a nurse worked her way through the crowd. She was holding a large manila envelope over her head. “Donna Barton.”
“Yes?” Donna turned and faced the woman.
“This was left at the front desk for you. It’s marked urgent.”
Molly took a few steps back and leaned against the wall. Though she had a flight to catch in a few hours, she would’ve missed it to watch the next few minutes.
The others looked on, curious, while Donna opened the envelope and pulled out a few pieces of paper. As she began to read, her face grew pale and she dropped slowly to the chair. She lifted one trembling hand and put it on her husband’s shoulders. “I . . . don’t believe it.”
“What?” Charlie spoke a little louder than before. His energy seemed to be returning at a rapid rate. “Read it.”
Donna looked at the people gathered around her but paid no special attention when she glanced at Molly.
This is good, Molly smiled to herself. No one needed to ever know. No one but Ryan. And she would be gone before he could ask about it. She moved a few steps closer to the door, her eyes on Donna.
“The first piece of paper is from the bank. Confirming that an anonymous source has purchased the building that housed The Bridge.”
A chorus of quiet gasps and whispered discouragement rose from the room. Ryan took a step closer. “Charlie still has a week. It’s not the first of the year yet.”
“Wait.” Donna smiled, but the shock in her lined features remained. She held up the second piece of paper. “This explains everything. It’s a letter.” She looked at Charlie. “From one of your customers.” She took a slow breath. “It says: ‘Dear Charlie, it came to my attention that you and The Bridge had fallen on hard times. I have to believe you’ll be awake to hear this. The truth is, I couldn’t stand by and watch your bookstore fail. The years I spent at The Bridge were the best in all my life. So I bought the building, Charlie.’”
Concern held expressions motionless. The room remained utterly quiet but for the sound of Donna’s voice as she continued to read. “‘Once, a long time ago, I watched you sell a book to a single mother for a penny. From now on and as long as you wish to run The Bridge, that shall be your annual lease. One cent. The truth is, I would do anything for you, sir. Anything that was right.’”
Silent tears fell on the faces of Charlie’s friends, but Molly barely noticed. She was looking at Ryan, and of course, he was looking at her. The line from Jane Eyre was proof positive of where the gift had come from. She smiled at him for what would be the last time. Then she turned to Charlie and Donna, who was crying and laughing and hugging Charlie. “You don’t have to close, Charlie. Once you’re better, you can open The Bridge.”
There were no tears on Charlie’s face, not this time. Instead he was smiling, looking toward the window, his eyes shining with an innocence and awe usually reserved for children and angels. As if he knew better than to look for an explanation among the people in the room.
Not when the only answer was God alone.
Molly stepped into the hall and remembered something. Her copy of Jane Eyre. She had to get to the airport if she didn’t want to miss her flight. But maybe she had enough time. Besides, some things were more important than being home for Christmas. She headed for the elevator, and as the door closed behind her, she smiled. Her prayers had been heard. Maybe not for her and Ryan. But for Charlie Barton. Which meant God was exactly who the pastor had claimed He was.
The God of second chances.
C HA P T E R T W E L V E
She wasn’t coming back.
Ryan knew because of the look on her face. The sense of finality and good-bye mixed with a raw pain deeper than anything Ryan had seen in her. As soon as she stepped out of the room, he knew. She was gone. He watched her leave, watched her turn away and disappear, and there was nothing he could do, no way to stop her. Not without upsetting Charlie.
He hurried the remainder of the visit as best he could, and ten minutes later, when everyone was saying good-bye, Donna came up to him. “Ryan, how can we ever thank you?”
“One way.” He hugged her. “Reopen The Bridge.” He glanced at the clock on the wall. Molly had been gone eleven minutes. He didn’t want to rush the moment, but he needed to go. Needed to find her before she boarded the plane. If he let her get away now, he might not have another chance.
Ryan looked back at Charlie. He was visiting with the others. “Donna, I need to run. Tell Charlie I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“I will.” The creases in her forehead deepened. “Wait—where’s Molly? I didn’t see her go.”
“She had to catch a plane.” He frowned. “I think she was running late.”
“Tell her about the lease. I bet she missed it.” Joy and hope and life danced in the older woman’s eyes. “Molly should know what happened. It’s a miracle.”
“Yes. I’ll be sure to tell her.” Ryan took a few steps toward the door. “See you tomorrow.”
He rushed to the elevator, and once he was out the door of the hospital, he flew to his truck, his pounding feet keeping time with his heart. God, please . . . where would she go? Don’t let her get away yet. I know she’s married, but this might be my last chance to talk to her. Please.
Only when he was halfway out of the parking lot did he see the piece of paper. There, tucked beneath his windshield wipers, was something that looked like a note. He slammed on his brakes, jumped out of the truck, and grabbed it. The sky was clear, so the paper wasn’t wet. He held it up to the parking lot light and read it.
Ryan, it was nice seeing you. Good luck with the next tour. Molly.
What was this? Anger coursed through him. He crushed the piece of paper in his fist, and threw it to the floorboards. That was all? A quick “good luck” and she was gone? So she was married. Did that mean she couldn’t give him a proper good-bye when they’d probably never see each other again?
She couldn’t leave like this.
He squealed out of the parking lot and headed to the airport, driving like a maniac until the light ahead turned red. “Come on!” The Nashville airport was at least twenty minutes away. He stared at the signal and checked for cross-traffic. No one was coming. For a serious moment he thought about running it. At the same time, a voice of reason shouted to be heard. What are you doing? Chasing after her? Driving to the airport and then what? He would have to park and guess at her airline. By the time he got it right, she’d be through security, and it would be too late.
Same as it always was with Molly.
The unexplainable thing was that she wanted him to know. The reference to Jane Eyre in the letter left him no doubt who the mysterious donor was. She was waiting for him to look at her as Donna read the last lines of the letter. For what? So he’d know she had a heart? He already knew that. She’d given it to some other guy before Ryan had a chance. The light turned green, but he felt the fight leave him. Forget the airport. He wouldn’t find her, anyway. Instead he would go to The Bridge. He had one more book to give, the one on the seat beside him.
His copy of the Brontë novel.
He hadn’t planned to give it away, but after seeing Molly’s wedding ring, he’d changed his mind. She had long since moved on. What good would it do to keep something that stirred so many emotions in him, so many memories? Seeing her these past few days had confirmed what he’d always denied in himself: In the deepest part of his heart, he had always held out hope. If he kept the book, if he remembered the girl who gave it to him, then maybe someday they’d find each oth
er again. She’d come back and she’d be single and they could figure out what went wrong.
Now that hope was dead, so his copy of the book would be the first in Charlie Barton’s new collection.
He settled into his seat and turned his truck south toward Franklin.
Main Street was pitch dark. Besides the half-moon, only the occasional dim light from inside a closed storefront provided any light at all. Ryan didn’t care. He parked his truck in front of The Bridge, climbed out, and leaned against his hood. Charlie Barton was awake and had his store back. What more could Ryan ask for? Especially when everything about the last few days with Molly felt like nothing more than a dream.
He was about to get the key and walk inside when he noticed something. The front door was open a few inches. Franklin didn’t have a large community of homeless people, but that had to be it. Someone without electricity and a roof over his head had found a way inside. Ryan wanted to be careful.
Moving without a sound, he came to the front door and listened. A shuffling noise echoed through the empty storefront. The movement seemed to come from upstairs. Ryan took a deep breath and crept inside. If someone were sleeping here, that was one thing; especially with the store in this condition. But if vandals were having their way with the place, he’d have to take action.
He was about to move past the front counter when he heard another sound. A voice or maybe a video player. He couldn’t make it out, exactly. Adrenaline poured into his veins and put him on edge. What were these noises? Not until he reached the stairs did he realize what he was hearing.
Someone was crying. Sobbing. Soft and muffled and hopeless. His concern doubled. Whatever the situation, it no longer felt dangerous. He moved catlike up the stairs and peered around the corner, and what he saw made him nearly call her name out loud. It was her, of course. Even from the back he recognized her immediately, her blond hair catching the light of the moon from the nearby window. Molly Allen wasn’t on a flight back to Portland.
The Bridge: A Novel Page 11
