by Tefft, Cyndi
When I finally regained consciousness, my head throbbed and my eyes felt like sandpaper, but I didn’t care. My mother was there—I could hear her voice—but I didn’t care. I didn’t care about anything anymore. My chest ached like my heart had been carved out with a jagged blade, and tears flowed over my cheeks in an endless stream. I didn’t try to stop it. I knew I couldn’t stop it.
I was completely bound by an overwhelming despair. As I sobbed, I found I was physically bound as well, my arms and legs strapped down to keep me from flailing, which just added to the feeling of being trapped. I refused to talk or even acknowledge anyone. Mom eventually gave up and left me alone, mercifully closing the shades so the room was as dark as my mood. I remembered his arms around me as he cradled me against his chest, stroking my hair.
“I promise I’ll be here when you wake, lass.”
Latching on to the memory like a raft in an open sea, I played it over and over in my mind.
Aiden, can you hear me? Are you there?
Reaching out to him with my mind, I held my breath, waiting to hear his sweet voice in my head. The clicks and whirring of the machines echoed in the room as I strained, listening for the tiniest indication that he was there, that he’d heard.
Nothing came.
I was completely alone, mercilessly cut off from him, the love of my life, the man of my dreams, my protector, my lover, my friend, my husband. Gone. Heaving dry sobs tore at my lungs.
Aiden, I love you. I will always love you.
The words sounded hollow in my head, knowing he couldn’t hear them, but I had to say them anyway. It was the only comfort I had, to talk to him in my mind, almost like a prayer. And I did pray he would hear, that he’d know somehow I would not let go.
“God, how could you do this to me? I was supposed to redeem him!” I screamed, my eyes scanning the empty room as if expecting God to appear and answer me. I waited and listened, then let out my breath in a dejected sigh. The silence pressed down like a weight on my chest. Dozing off and on, I woke in a sweat, my hair plastered to my face and the sheets damp. Shaking all over, I retched repeatedly but nothing came out.
Sharon came in and muttered something about an infection in a reproachful tone, but my eyes glassed over. Sinking deeper into my pit of misery, I hoped the end would come soon.
I’m coming, Aiden. Wait for me.
Sharon covered my forehead with a cool washcloth and a shiver passed through me. She took my temperature, then forced me to drink a sip of water through a straw and tucked the blankets in around me. Sleep, when it finally came, was mercifully empty of dreams and at last I rested deeply, the pain and the emotional desolation eased in the void of consciousness.
Chapter 22
The warm glow of the lamp cast shadows across the quiet room. Blinking my eyes, I stretched my shoulders, feeling more human than I had in days. An unfamiliar man sat on the couch, watching me silently. He wore a cleric’s collar and a black suit, and had short, silvery hair and a kind smile. I frowned at him in confusion, thinking maybe he had the wrong room or something.
“Welcome back, Lindsey. I am Father O’Malley, the hospital chaplain,” he said, his voice was calm and metered.
“Back? What do you mean?” I croaked, wondering how he knew I’d been brought back to life.
“You’ve been out for a couple of days now. I’ve been coming by to see you often, checking on you and praying for your recovery.”
“Oh,” I said, unable to hide my disappointment. I didn’t have the strength to be polite, so I just stared at him, feeling empty and lost.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Absolute silence followed his question and I knew that he had no idea what “it” really was, but that it didn’t matter. Whatever I wanted to say, he was listening.
Do I want to talk about it?
I couldn’t tell my parents or my friends. They would say I’d hallucinated because of shock or something. After all, I had nothing to prove it had really happened. I looked again at my empty left hand where Nanny Fraser’s ring had been, my heart aching with loss.
“No… I, maybe… I don’t know.”
He didn’t change expression but waited patiently, listening. I groaned in frustration, torn between needing to talk about Aiden, to tell someone what I was going through, and not wanting to hash it out in words.
“Take your time,” he said. “There’s no rush.” He sat with his legs crossed, hands folded on his lap and though he never looked away from me, his gaze didn’t make me uncomfortable. Memories crowded my mind and I couldn’t think of where to start. My head told me he wouldn’t believe me anyway, so why bother? Still, there was something so serene and open about him, and I instinctively felt I could trust him.
Well, here goes.
“Father, I need you to… I mean, can you keep a secret?” He straightened in his seat and unfolded his hands, turning them palms up on his knees.
“I have a duty to report anything that has to do with abuse.” His eyes searched mine as if trying to divine the nature of my secret.
“No, it’s nothing like that.”
“Then yes, anything you say will be between you, me and our heavenly father. I will not repeat your confession to anyone, my child.”
I reared back, frowning and shaking my head. “Confession? No, I haven’t done anything wrong. That’s not what I mean.”
Unruffled, he tipped his head to me. “I apologize, then for assuming. In our broken human state, it is usually our own sin that we seek to keep hidden. What I should have said is that your secret is safe with me.”
I lay silent for a long time, trying to get up the courage to talk about Aiden and my experience. He just waited, like he had nowhere else to be and nothing better to do.
“Father, I… I died in that accident.”
His eyebrows rose slightly in interest but he said nothing, waiting for me to continue. I took a deep breath, wincing a little at the pain in my chest, and told him everything. I started out slow, awkwardly trying to describe the beauty of the meadow and the sensation of the air moving with me and through me, but gained momentum as I walked through my memories with Aiden. Tears flowed freely down my face and neck.
“And now he’s gone and I’m trapped here in this shell. I want to die again.” My eyes sought his for forgiveness, pleading for understanding. “I want to go back.” He took my hand in his own as I cried, a fresh wave of sorrow spilling out of me. Finally, the tears ran out and I turned to him, stricken. “Do you believe me?” I whispered, afraid of his answer, yet desperate for that connection and validation.
“Yes, I do.” His voice was unwavering.
Relief washed over me like cool water on parched soil. The quiet presence of this stranger had brought the only real solace I’d had in days. I felt compelled to tell him more and realized that I did have a confession after all.
“I’m really angry at God. I don’t understand why he would do this to me, to give me love and then tear it away like that. Is it because I didn’t go to heaven, because I wanted to stay with Aiden instead? Is he punishing me for that choice? I thought that God loved me. His presence was the most amazing feeling and now… Now, I don’t know. I just feel so alone.”
“Lindsey, you needn’t be afraid of being angry at God. We cannot pretend to understand His ways, but He knows us, our every thought and deed. He already knows you are angry and hurt, whether you tell him so or not. He sees each tear you cry and holds them all in his hands, my child.” His eyes were direct and clear as he looked at me. “I don’t know why God has chosen you to endure this hardship, but you are not alone. God has promised to never leave you or forsake you, and He won’t.”
The bonds of anger and depression began to loosen as he spoke. He didn’t push, but sat holding my hand, the kindness on his face an unspeakable comfort. I’d never known such pain in my life and blaming God was the only way I could cope. Yet here was this gentle, unassuming man reminding me of God’s love—a lov
e I had experienced first-hand. I began to break free of the misery, floating up to the surface for a much-needed breath of fresh air.
“Can I pray for you?” His caring words washed over me as he lifted me in prayer. As he spoke, the stirring of God’s presence warmed my chest as it had done before, the subtle energy radiating throughout my limbs to my fingertips and toes.
Thank you, God. Please help me.
I whispered the heartfelt prayer in my mind, knowing He was there. I didn’t know why He’d sent me back, but I knew He was with me. Completely spent and yet feeling more whole than I had since my return, I slumped back onto the pillow.
“Godspeed, Lindsey MacRae,” Father O’Malley whispered before he quietly left my room.
Chapter 23
The next day was Christmas Eve and the hospital was doing its best to celebrate the holiday season, giving stockings to all the patients. Volunteers wandered through the sterile hallways singing Christmas carols and I joined in, singing from my bed. I settled against the pillows and switched on the television. “It’s a Wonderful Life” was on and I smiled, remembering the many times I had snuggled close to my dad to watch the movie at Christmastime, a paper bag of greasy popcorn on my lap. George Bailey was going on his tirade about how he should never have been born. I felt a kinship with George Bailey, thinking about how my family would have fared had I not been brought back.
I thought about my mother’s worried face when I first woke up, and how emotional my dad had been when he described my injuries to me. Ravi obviously felt guilty about the accident; I could only imagine what it would have done to him had I been killed.
You were killed. The ache of loss was ever present, but I made a concerted effort to push it out of my mind.
I miss you. Tu me manques, mon amour. I stroked the soft fabric of my stocking as I spoke to him in my mind, my heart heavy.
“I will not count the days if you’ll promise me the same, my love,” I remembered him saying when he asked me to marry him, his eyes full of emotion. Apart from him, I felt like a prisoner, scratching the number of days gone by on the cell wall, waiting for the end.
I’ll come back to you, Aiden. I don’t know when, but I will.
Soft strains of Christmas carols rang through the halls again, but I didn’t sing along this time. Instead, I buried my head in my pillow and cried myself to sleep.
~
Christmas morning was unlike any I’d ever had before. As a child, I would wake up early and rush into the living room to see what Santa had brought. My stocking would be sitting on the couch, stuffed with goodies that spilled out over the cushions. Mom and Dad would take their infuriatingly sweet time getting up, making coffee, and getting breakfast started.
We always had the same casserole on Christmas morning. It was the one thing my mom actually enjoyed cooking. By the time breakfast was over, I’d hardly be able contain my excitement, jumping up and down like a jitterbug and pulling on my dad’s sleeve. He’d laugh good-naturedly and tousle my hair, then crawl under the tree, distributing the presents into piles, “playing Santa.” As an only child, my pile was always three times larger than both my parents’ combined, but they loved to watch me open presents. It was my favorite day of the year and they always seemed to get along on Christmas Day, even right up to the end.
This morning though, I woke up to an empty hospital room with no presents, no tree and no casserole. A new nurse came in with a tray of cereal and fruit and wished me a Merry Christmas. She told me Sharon had the day off and I was glad that she did, but the nurse’s unfamiliar face just reinforced my feelings of isolation. My parents hadn’t called or told me when they’d be coming by, and though I knew they would eventually come, waking up alone and staring out the window from my hospital bed was not my idea of Christmas morning. I ate my cereal and cheered myself up by talking to Aiden in my mind.
Joyeux Noël, mon cher. Merry Christmas, my love. I wish you were here.
I knew it was foolish, but I found great comfort in talking to him like he could hear me. With a sigh, I switched on the television. A Charlie Brown Christmas was on and I settled back in bed to watch it, trying not to feel sorry for myself. Around noon, Mom and Nick showed up with a brightly wrapped present.
“Merry Christmas, sweetie! Santa’s here!” Mom beamed at me, her voice overly cheerful as she lay the present on my lap. She was obviously trying too hard, which in truth, just made it worse. I gave her a quick hug and tried not to let her see how I really felt.
“Thanks, Mom. Hi, Nick.” I gave him a fake smile that didn’t reach my eyes. Still, he seemed surprised I’d acknowledged him at all.
“Hi, Lindsey. Sorry you have to be in the hospital on Christmas Day. That really sucks.” He caught me off-guard with his frank assessment and I laughed.
“Yeah, you can say that again.” This time I actually did smile at him and he returned it, his eyes warm and friendly.
Mom sat on the bed at my feet, her hand on my leg. “We went over to the dorm this morning to get some clothes for you. The doctor said you’re doing really well so they’re going to let you check out tomorrow.”
“I get to leave tomorrow? Oh my gosh, that’s awesome!” She handed me the suitcase and I stroked it lovingly, looking forward to getting out of the horrible hospital gown and feeling like a human being again. She grinned at me, obviously not done with the good news.
“Nick and I talked about it,” she said with a sly smile, “and we decided that I’m going to come stay with you until you’re ready to go back to school. We rented a furnished apartment here in town, close to the college so you can still see your friends.”
“Really? Oh, Mom!” I flung my arms around her neck and she laughed, kissing me on the temple.
“Merry Christmas, sweetheart. Are you going to open your present now?” She gestured to the gift with an expectant smile. I tore off the wrapping paper to reveal a shiny new laptop computer.
“Wow, thanks Mom. This will be really helpful at school.”
“It’s from both of us.” She was quick to correct me. “Your old computer is really outdated so Nick picked out the top of the line laptop and had it pre-loaded with all the bells and whistles. It even comes with a wireless card so you can get the Internet anywhere you get a cell signal. Cool, huh?”
My mom was about the least computer-literate person I knew, so it was clear that Nick did all the work putting the gift together for me. I felt a little awkward accepting such an expensive present from him after hating him for so long, but I had to admit it was a really nice gift. I took a deep breath and smiled up at him.
“Thanks, Nick. It’s great.” He looked so sincerely pleased that I started to feel bad for harboring such resentment toward him. We all smiled at one another, not sure what to say next.
“Lindsey, pumpkin? Merry Chr—” Dad’s voice echoed in the small room as he pushed the curtain aside and stopped mid-sentence. His smile faded as his eyes locked onto Nick’s.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Dad said, his voice filled with ice.
“Gary…” Mom started, but Nick put a hand on her shoulder.
“It’s okay, Elizabeth,” he said.
Dad flinched when Nick touched my mom and he narrowed his eyes, seething hatred. “It’s not enough that you’re sleeping with my wife, now you have to move in on my daughter as well? On Christmas Day no less?”
Mom leapt to her feet, hissing furiously at him. “Where do you get off calling me your wife, you possessive bastard?”
“Well, that’s what I’ve called you for the last twenty-one years,” Dad spat back.
“Well you can stop now, for God’s sake. Or have you forgotten that we’re divorced? Maybe it’s the drinking that’s fogged your memory.” Nick tried to calm her down, but she shrugged off his hand angrily. “I’m not your wife anymore, Gary. I’ll sleep with whomever I damn well please, and I don’t want to hear one word about it from you.”
Dad didn’t back down and they stood n
ose to nose in front of my bed, snarling at each other. “And how is that different than before, Elizabeth, since you saw fit to sleep with this asshole while we were still married? Or have you forgotten that little detail?” Nick started to jump into the fray but Dad just raised his voice, ignoring him. “And if I drink,” he snarled, “it’s only because you drove me to it!”
“STOP IT!” I screamed.
All three of them shut up instantly, dropping their eyes to the floor. “I can’t believe it’s Christmas Day and the three of you are standing at the foot of my hospital bed screaming at each other.” I shook my head in absolute bewilderment. “If you can’t get along for this one day, then you can all just leave right now.” Crossing my arms, I gave them my most pointed glare, daring anyone to try and contradict me. Dad mumbled an apology and Nick took Mom by the shoulders.
“Come on, Elizabeth,” he said. “Let’s leave them alone. I’m sorry, Lindsey.” Mom quickly kissed me on the cheek and glared at my dad as she left the room. Dad sat across from me on the green sofa with a heavy sigh and put his head in his hands.
“I’m so sorry, baby. You’re right. It’s just… Oh God…” He stopped, fighting for control over his emotions, and I watched him in silence, unsure of what to say. “It’s just that nothing’s been the same since she left, and I thought that Christmas might be the one sacred day that she wouldn’t be flaunting him in front of me, that maybe she still cared enough to spare me that. But I was wrong. And I’m sorry.” Tears strained his voice and my own eyes welled up with compassion.
“It’s all right, Dad.” I felt an inane urge to say ‘Merry Christmas’ but it seemed weak and pathetic after the spectacle with Mom and Nick. So instead, we just sat there in silence as he struggled to pull himself together. Finally, he took a deep breath and looked up at me, wiping his face and forcing a smile.
“I brought you a present.” He glanced at the computer on my lap and nodded in acknowledgment. “It’s not as fancy as that, but I hope you like it.” It was a hard cover journal, its stiff pressed pages dotted with tiny flecks of color. The paisley pink cover had a swirling capital L in the center.
