Relief flooded through Mercedes. Her brother had always been a constant in her life, and she should have known he wouldn’t desert her now. “You’ll lose your job.”
“I don’t think so. As long as I’m at the important meetings. They’d have a hard time replacing me on such short notice, but you know what? I don’t care if they do. We’ve been thinking about moving into Grandmother’s house when the baby’s born, anyway. We might as well begin working out how that might be possible. For now, it’s just a few weeks or months of extra flights. It’ll be okay. Family comes first.”
She hugged him. “Thank you.”
He returned the hug, holding her so tightly she almost lost her breath. His touch reminded her of Wayne and how safe she’d always felt in his arms. “I love him so much,” she whispered. “I never knew how much.”
“I did. I’ve always wanted what you have.”
“And now you have it.” She pulled away, trying to compose herself for Darrel’s sake.
Austin gave her a boyish grin. “Liana is everything I ever wanted. Except Liana—well, let’s just say, I’m not holding my breath for apple pie.”
“You’d be surprised what women will do for love.”
“I don’t even care about apple pie anymore. I want her just the way she is.”
“Mom will make you an apple pie,” Darrel said. “It’s Dad’s favorite.” His smile faded as he thought about what he’d said.
“He’ll be all right!” Mercedes said fiercely. “We won’t give up hope.” She reached for his hand. “Come on, I’m going to talk to someone about getting you in there to see him.”
Austin nodded. “Good idea. I’ll wait here for Liana and the boys.”
“Thanks.” Mercedes forced a smile and walked out of the room, Darrel in tow. Maybe if Wayne could hear his voice, it would help him fight. He and Darrel had an undeniable connection. Dr. Shubacker, if she could find him, would have to understand.
* * *
Two days went by, and Mercedes was still waiting for Wayne to open his eyes. They’d replaced the oxygen tube with a mask, and some of the drainage tubes had been removed, but he showed no signs of waking. She’d been home only once to shower since the operation, but she realized she couldn’t go on this way. Either Wayne would have to wake up, or she would have to return to the farm. The boys needed her. The farm needed her.
What if Wayne never woke?
Now that the possibility was upon her, she found she couldn’t comprehend a life without him. She lay back in the easy chair next to the bed, her face searching the ceiling. Why had she understood this too late? Being with Wayne wasn’t only about fulfilling a promise; it was about love. For so many years, even through the happiness and passion, she’d imagined a hole in her heart where Brandon had once been. Now she saw that as a fatalism she had nurtured, cheating both herself and Wayne from becoming everything they could be. She yearned for the chance to repair the damage because she saw now that there would never be anyone for her but Wayne. The knowledge had been in the life they’d lived, if she’d only opened her eyes to see.
There was a sound at the door, and she turned to find Brandon standing there. He glanced toward the bed and then at her. “Could I talk to you a moment?”
She nodded, touching Wayne briefly on the arm as she stood and walked to the door.
“Have you eaten?” Brandon asked as they walked.
“Yes.” If she counted an apple from the vending machine as eating.
He waited until they had reached an area of the hospital she didn’t recognize. No one was in sight. “Look,” he said. “About Wayne.”
“He still has brain activity.”
“Minimal.”
“It’s early yet. Darrel’s been bringing me stories of people waking up who were in far worse condition. They’re on the Internet.”
“I’m not saying to give up. I’m just saying it might be time to start preparing yourself for the worst. You have to consider that he might never wake up.”
Mercedes looked at her hands. “I have.”
He was quiet a long moment and then, “Come on, I’m buying you breakfast—or brunch, I guess, since it’s nearly eleven. The vending machine doesn’t count as real food.”
“Are you spying on me?”
“I asked the nurses to keep an eye on you, that’s all. They like me. I won’t take no for an answer. Come on.”
“Fine.” Mercedes did feel faint, and it was good to let someone take over for a change.
Chapter 23
Diary of Mercedes Walker Johnson
May 5, 2000
I can’t believe we have three sons now! My life grows fuller and happier each day. I love life and my family. I wouldn’t change a thing, not even the mud in the yard during the spring. Well, maybe I’d like a daughter someday, but if that’s not the Lord’s will, I’ll still be grateful for the great blessings I have. My path hasn’t always been straight, but God has been there to get me back where I should be. There is only promise in the future if we look ahead and not behind. I’m grateful for a husband who is also my best friend, for a brother who loves me and is close to my children. Even Daddy has asked forgiveness. I think maybe there is enough joy in me to make his life easier in his last years. I think Momma would want us to be friends. In his own crooked way, I think he loves me. Beneath the selfishness he always has.
Brandon took East Sunset Drive to North Federal Boulevard and then drove south to the Golden Corral. Not exactly his current choice of hangout, but he’d loved coming here with his buddies in the old days. They’d often eaten themselves sick, staying until the staff kicked them out far after closing—which wasn’t saying much since the restaurant usually closed at ten—and tipping the waitresses with more money than they could afford.
The restaurant was busy, but the staff was efficient, and they were soon seated near a window that looked out over the street, their plates piled with food. He looked around the crowded room. “Riverton’s grown.”
“It’s Friday. Everyone getting a start on an early weekend. I’m glad I live so far out of town. I mean, the growth is nice in some ways—we have more shopping—but I like things the way they were.” She flushed, as though realizing he might misconstrue her words.
“It’s still not very big. I mean, not compared to Boston or San Diego.”
“No.” Mercedes forked up a huge mouthful, eating the way a woman did when she was really hungry. Still polite and with grace but with an unconcealed urgency. “This is good,” she said after swallowing a couple of bites.
“Either that or we’re starving. I missed breakfast today, too—Dustbottom made me come in early.” For an additional test, but she didn’t need to know that. A barium swallow on an empty stomach, followed by an upper GI series—X-rays. Even now Dustbottom would be consulting with Dr. Peck and the radiologist. Though he’d be glad when it was all behind him, he wasn’t worried. He was no longer nauseated, and after two nights of good sleep, he felt strong. Still, sometimes friends had to be humored.
“You’re right—anything tastes good when you’re hungry.”
He’d expected her to be unsmiling and morose, but she was holding up well—unless it was a facade, and the sad thing was that he really didn’t know her well enough to say.
They talked about inconsequential things until their plates were nearly clean. “About Darrel,” she said at last, sitting back in her seat. “I still plan on telling him, but I haven’t found the opportunity yet.”
She thought this meal was his way of trying to push things, but Brandon had been thinking that if Wayne died, it would be better to wait some time before talking to Darrel.
“No,” he said. “I’d rather . . .” There was no kind way to say it.
Her eyes widened. “I have to be the one, Brandon. Surely you see that—”
“I don’t want anyone to tell him.”
“But we agreed—”
“I’m not saying I don’t want to be a part of his lif
e, because I do. But I don’t want him to hate me for hurting you right now. And I don’t want to make his life any less certain with what he’s going through. Let’s wait and see what happens with Wayne and then tell Darrel.” The tears gathering in his eyes made it difficult to see her face. He pretended to take something from the corner of his eye, blinking until the tears vanished. “I’ve seen how hard this has been on him these past few days. He doesn’t need anything else to think about.”
“Thank you, Brandon. Thank you so much.” Mercedes gazed at him in wonder, reminding him of how she used to look at him, except that it was gratitude, not love, that now shone in her eyes. “I—you can’t know what that means to me right now.”
“I think I do.” He felt both uncomfortable and jubilant under her gaze. “Hey, you ought to try this cantaloupe. It’s really good.”
She took the ripe bit he offered with her fingers, laughing as the juice sluiced down her chin. “Mmm, it is good.”
More comments about the food and the weather. Her sick cattle. Then silence. Apparently, they’d run out of conversation, or at least of the things they could address, but Brandon wanted more. “Mercedes.” Something in the way he said her name made her look up at him, her face abruptly wary.
“Yes?”
“About Wayne.”
She looked down at her hands. “He’s going to make it.”
“I don’t think so.”
A swift intake of breath, her teeth biting down on her lower lip.
“I did everything I could to save him, I swear it, but at this point I honestly don’t think he’ll ever wake up.”
She didn’t reply or raise her eyes. Brandon recognized shock and knew he had to give her something else to think about. He leaned toward her. “This isn’t the right time to talk about it, and I know I’m a selfish idiot for bringing it up right now, but maybe you’ll understand it’s because I’ve given up a lot myself recently. All because of how I feel about you. But what we had thirteen years ago was real, and I think we can have a future again. I’m willing to wait for as long as you need. I’m not Wayne, but you loved me once. I think you can again. Am I wrong?”
For a long moment she stared at him intently. He tried not to squirm under her gaze. Then a tender smile formed on her lips, and he dared to hope. She placed her hand over his. “I will always have a special place in my heart for you, Brandon. You were my first love. I believe if things had worked out for us back then, we would have had a good life together. We were young and adaptable. But things have changed. We aren’t the same people we used to be.”
“That doesn’t mean we couldn’t make it work.”
“I admit your coming here really confused things for a while”—her voice became momentarily unsteady—“but the moment I saw Wayne lying on the floor of our kitchen, I suddenly realized what is important in my life. These days, just about any movie you see or novel you read talks about self-fulfillment—and to the devil with anyone else. People have affairs; they betray those they’ve made promises to. They chase after every fad that offers a new life. But it’s all a lie. And it’s not right. Too many people give up relationships they have because they think something else is better. But in the end it never is better. It’s only trading one set of problems for another. Or one set of good things for another. It has to stop somewhere. The beauty and satisfaction in life is building long relationships that last.”
“You love him.” The words were like ash on his tongue.
“More than that.” She lifted her hand from his and covered her mouth, furiously blinking back tears. When she spoke again, her voice was strong and sure. “Wayne’s my best friend—he’s always been that—but I just didn’t see it until now. I know where I belong, Brandon, and I’m happy here with my family. Last week you said I’ve never loved Wayne the way I did you, and you know what? You were right. I was a girl when I knew you, and that’s how I loved you. But now I’m a woman, and I know what it is to love as a woman.”
The words didn’t surprise him as much as he thought they should. I knew, he thought. I knew all along. “But he’s dying.” Brandon’s voice was hardly more than a rasp. He wanted to say more, but he could see she understood what he meant, that he’d be willing to be her second choice—the backup. Was he really that desperate? Did he even deserve that much after ruining their chances so completely?
She gave a shake of her head that was neither graceful nor yielding. “Whether Wayne makes it or not won’t change anything. I can’t go with you to San Diego or Boston—or any place. I’m as much a part of the farm as Wayne is. I belong here. My father was right about that. I want to raise my children here. I want to live to be an old lady and be buried next to my baby—and Wayne, if he goes before me. I need to be on the farm to be close to him, even if he’s no longer there in person.” Tears again were falling in rivulets down her face.
“I could stay.” He was unable to comprehend the idea of losing her again.
Her eyes were wistful. One corner of her mouth twitched, as though she might have smiled had the situation been less serious. “You don’t belong here any more than Darrel does. The past is in the past, Brandon. I have to believe Wayne’s going to make it. I can’t imagine my life without him—but if he does die, I won’t be alone. Wayne is in every field and rock and animal on our land. I’ll never leave him. In fact”—she fumbled through her purse—“I need you to take back these letters. I can’t keep them.”
He knew what more she wasn’t saying—more perhaps than she recognized herself. If Wayne died, it wouldn’t be Brandon who would dry her tears on some future day. No, it would be a neighboring farmer or someone new come to the area to stay for good. She would live and laugh and recover and raise her sons with Wayne or someone else like him. Not with Brandon.
The realization shocked him, and for a moment he sat dazed, searching for what to say. Then he knew there was only one thing he could say that she’d want to hear.
“I’d better get you back to the hospital.”
“Thank you.” She stood gracefully, regally, and together they walked to his car.
* * *
Brandon watched Mercedes disappear down the hall, knowing she was forever out of reach. Moreover, he’d agreed to wait longer to tell Darrel the truth, which went against all his instincts. So why didn’t he feel more upset?
It was the right thing to do. He’d experienced a similar emotion when he was in Guatemala and Brazil operating on patients too poor to pay their bills. Doing good changed a person.
Or maybe he was in shock. Who could blame him, after Mercedes’ complete and utter rejection?
Still, he would have a relationship with his son in the end, and that was the bright spot in the whole mess. Soon enough Darrel would know Brandon was his father. If Wayne died, as Brandon expected, Darrel would eventually need him more and more.
He’d have to call Hannah tonight to tell her what he’d done. She’d be happy for Darrel and proud of Brandon’s patience.
“Brandon!” He turned to see Dustbottom approaching from the other direction. From radiology. He glided toward Brandon with his customary gracefulness that contrasted so with his disheveled appearance.
“You talked with Mercedes?”
“I told her I didn’t think he’d make it.”
“And?”
A strange fury rose in Brandon, slicing through his former complacency, and he had to force himself not to grab Dustbottom and shove him against the wall. “Even when Wayne dies, she still won’t be a part of my life.”
“At least now you know.”
Dustbottom was right. Yet Brandon should have known all this from the moment he’d first seen Wayne and Mercedes together. From the uncanny connection between them that was so strong it would call Wayne from the fields when Mercedes needed him.
Brandon’s anger drained away as suddenly as it had come. That was when he noticed Dustbottom’s eyes. Behind the glasses, the eyes that never seemed to have a color were the exact shade
of tears. Their usual distracted aspect had been replaced by a heavy sadness. Brandon felt as though someone had pushed him off a cliff. “You know my results.”
Dustbottom rotated his shoulders, causing his jacket to fall partially off one shoulder. Brandon had seen him go around like that all day, unnoticing or uncaring. He reached out and pulled it back into place. His friend didn’t acknowledge the effort.
“Everyone is unanimous. There’s no doubt.”
Brandon felt his whole body slump. “It’s back.”
“Yeah.”
“I’ll fight it.”
“It’s beatable. Hasn’t spread. We caught it early. Still, you know as well as I do that recurrence is not good news.”
Brandon felt a desperate, sweeping despair. It came to him with startling clarity that he’d wasted most of his adult life mourning his loss of Mercedes. Why hadn’t he lived and enjoyed the life he’d had? Why hadn’t he held onto Hannah? Hannah with her beautiful blonde hair and wry sense of humor. He’d been like a dog biting the hand of the person who fed him. All because of some vision of how his life was supposed to have been. What was it Mercedes said? That too many people gave up the good life they had for the false dream of something better. He was glad at least that she had the sense to recognize where her path lay.
He walked blindly to the exit, barely noticing that Dustbottom was still with him, until he felt the hand on his shoulder. “You shouldn’t be alone.”
Just in time Brandon bit back the sharp retort that threatened to burst from him. The last time, his anger and frustration had driven Hannah away, but he was finished acting as if his were the only valid emotions. “Thank you,” he said, forcing his voice to be steady. “I could use a little company.”
As they walked to Brandon’s rental car—neither trusted Dustbottom’s heap of junk—Brandon thought about his son with a mixture of despair and satisfaction. The only thing, apparently, that he’d done right was to tell Mercedes to hold off telling Darrel. Now his son wouldn’t have to endure the same pain he’d already experienced this week, watching Wayne lie in that bed. Well, not exactly the same. Darrel didn’t love him like he loved Wayne. But he might have, given the chance.
Fields of Home Page 24
