by Lyn Cote
The A & W had drawn quite a crowd so the five of them sat outside on one of the picnic tables. As Rosa watched Marc and Johnny discussing the game as if it had been a World Cup match, she reveled in the moment. She sipped the sweet creamy black cow and stirred the pale brown froth with her straw.
People glanced their way and many waved. She waved back, letting herself enjoy being here with Marc and her happy son. A memory she would cherish. Though the fear of Johnny becoming too attached to Marc still lingered, it had ebbed to a distant foreboding.
If Marc said he would help with Johnny’s team, he would. Marc was too good a man to promise what he couldn’t deliver. He wouldn’t abandon Johnny. I knew that before tonight. And his agreeing to stand in for the coach had somehow drained power from her insecurity.
Now that they were well into September, dusk came a bit earlier. As the shadows lengthened, Consuela with Johnny and Naomi walked toward their respective cars not far away. Rosa found herself walking Marc to his pickup. Too late, she realized that the two grandmothers had somehow maneuvered her into walking him to his truck. She sighed inwardly. They were conspiring to matchmake again. But she didn’t care. Tonight all worries had taken flight, vanished.
The two of them halted by his driver’s side door. An invisible, cozy warmth enveloped her. “Thanks for the root beer floats,” she said, gazing at him in the low light.
“My pleasure.” He lowered his face toward hers.
He’s going to kiss me. The realization sent tremors of expectation through her. Not one warning bell clanged.
He bent lower still and brushed her lips with his. Rosa couldn’t think; she could only feel, experience the wonder of Marc Chambers’s velvet touch.
“I’ve wanted to do that for the longest time,” he whispered.
She couldn’t form words so she smiled and leaned forward. He bent his face. With the barest movement she brushed her lips across his. Just as he had done to hers.
He pressed his palm against her cheek and stroked his thumb across her cheekbone once, twice. She closed her eyes, the better to savor his touch. Then he kissed her forehead, sparking more wonder. “Good night, Rosa.”
“Good night, Marc.” Such simple words said but packed with such meaning. She forced herself to step away.
Without another word, he got into his truck. She watched him drive away. Then she walked the short distance to her car. Did her feet touch the earth?
Slipping behind her wheel, she did not meet her grandmother’s eyes, face reality. She wouldn’t let anything dissipate her gladness at this moment. Tonight I will be happy. I will not worry about tomorrow.
She drew a ragged breath and started driving toward home. Her heart sang an old Broadway musical song, “I Feel Pretty”—and she wanted to dance, clap her hands and tell the world. Nothing bad is going to happen. Not this time. Please, Lord.
Chapter Seven
His neck muscles tight, Marc stood beside his friend Spence. They watched the soccer team gather on the field. Marc churned with second thoughts about this coaching. Overnight a prelude of the winter to come had blown south from Canada and was scheduled to blow on eastward tomorrow. Now, however, the sun hid behind the chilling gray veil of layered clouds. The young soccer players all wore sweaters as did Marc and Spence.
“Don’t look so tense,” Spence said. “With kids this little, you can’t do much wrong as a coach. I just use what I learned from my, from our, years of being coached.” He gave an apologetic smile. “A little toned down. We aren’t coaching a team playing for a state championship.”
Marc nodded with understanding. Yes, their coaches in high school had driven them to give their best and they had. This gave Marc something of a wake-up thought. Over the past months, Marc hadn’t let his mind go back to high school at all.
Throughout those years Caroline had been a girlfriend and then a friend. And he had not wanted to think of her young and alive because then memories of the accident fatal to her tagged along. As a consequence, good memories of those times had been sacrificed. That isn’t right. I should remember both good and bad times.
“Just watch me coach and you’ll be fine.” Then Spence clapped his hands and shouted, “Let’s get started! Gather ’round, team!”
Unable to stop himself, Marc glanced this way and that, seeking Rosa. He glimpsed Naomi and Consuela. The two grandmothers were bundled up in their lawn chairs on the sideline, knitting. And then his gaze found Rosa. She sat hunched forward on a bleacher, wearing a red-and-white University of Wisconsin sweatshirt with the hood pulled up. Her hands were pressed between her knees for warmth. Where had all their summer days gone?
He waved; she waved back. Even from here, he caught the brightness of the smile on her pretty face. His mouth curved up in response.
Spence started the kids running around the field for team exercise and waved Marc to join him and the kids. “Let’s get our exercise, too,” Spence teased.
Marc loped along at the easy pace. Johnny slowed up and jogged alongside Marc. And then Rosa appeared at Marc’s elbow. “I needed to get my blood pumping, too,” she explained.
Marc adjusted his stride to keep them in step.
“How’s Amigo?” Johnny asked, breathing hard.
Marc grinned. “Amigo is just fine. Let’s concentrate on soccer, okay?”
Johnny grinned. “I can run faster than you can!”
“Bet?” Marc asked, speeding up. Rosa laughed out loud and raced to keep up with them.
Rosa waved to them as they passed her.
At the end of the run, Marc panted. His muscles had warmed and his face was flushed. These pleasant sensations gave him confidence. And Rosa touched his shoulder and whispered in his ear, “Thanks for doing this. Thanks.” Then she jogged back to the bleachers, leaving him warmed heart-deep.
The practice flew past, fast and energetic. At the end, he hurried to greet a smiling Rosa coming down the bleachers.
A yelp of pain and a sudden outcry turned Marc away.
He saw Consuela lying on the ground and his grandmother kneeling beside her.
“Abuela!” Rosa cried out and began running toward her grandmother.
Marc with Johnny also raced toward Consuela and reached her first. “What happened, Gram?”
“She stood up and then just collapsed,” Naomi replied.
Rosa knelt beside Marc. “Abuela, what’s wrong?”
Consuela groaned. She rubbed her side. “Mi ca…dera duele.”
“It’s her hip,” Rosa said.
“Yo no me puedo levanter.” Consuela panted with the exertion of speaking.
“She can’t get up.” Rosa looked to him.
He read her request for aid clearly. “Spence! Help me carry this lady into the backseat of my grandmother’s station wagon. We’ve got to get her to the hospital. Now.”
Marc and Spence picked Consuela up, making her cry out sharply again. Carrying her as gently and quickly as possible, they laid her on the long wide backseat of the station wagon. Naomi got behind her steering wheel. “I’ll head right for the hospital E.R. She’s not having a heart attack or a stroke. She’s not bleeding, so don’t worry.”
Marc slammed the door by Consuela’s feet. And his grandmother started the car and drove away. He turned to Rosa. Her anguished expression wrung his heart. He gripped her hands in his. “I’ll meet you at the emergency room. Are you okay to drive?”
She squeezed his hands in reply and then released them, taking Johnny’s hand and running toward her car. Marc jumped into his pickup and waited to see if her car would start. It did. He gunned his pickup out onto the county road with Rosa’s sedan right behind him. He began praying, “God, let Consuela get help, the right help, right away.”
He chanted this prayer over the ten-mile ride to the hospital. Then he parked in the E.R. lot and hurried to the entrance to stand beside Rosa and Johnny. Two nurses, one male and one female, were helping Consuela out of his grandmother’s station wagon and into a whe
elchair. Marc put his arm around Rosa’s shoulders. She looked up into his eyes.
He pulled her closer. “Don’t worry.” He said the words but wished he could do something for this brave woman.
Lord, help us out here, okay?
Consuela’s face twisted with pain. The sight pierced Rosa’s heart and she gasped at the phantom pain. Marc’s arm around Rosa’s shoulders gave her the extra stamina she needed to remain calm, at least on the outside. Johnny would be quick to pick up her alarm. I mustn’t frighten him. Staying close to Marc, she gripped his hand and began a soft flow of reassuring words in Spanish—for Johnny, for Consuela—for herself.
Naomi came to stand on her other side, taking Johnny’s free hand. Their presence held great comfort. Rosa walked through the automatic doors. Recalling Marc’s distress at the VA, she glanced up, but read only concern in his eyes.
Consuela was rolled into an examining area. Rosa squeezed Marc’s hand, asking him without words to care for Johnny. He nodded. She bent to her son’s level and cupped his soft cheek in her palm. “Johnny, please stay here with Marc and Senora Chambers.”
Her son nodded, his bangs flopping up and down. The sight caught around her heart. Consuela hadn’t felt strong enough to stand to make the effort to cut his hair. I should have insisted she go to the doctor. I knew she was walking with more and more difficulty.
Naomi put a hand on Rosa’s shoulder. “Now don’t you go worrying. We’ll take care of Johnny. You go with your grandmother.” Naomi patted her. “Go on. He’ll be fine.”
Rosa nodded her agreement and momentarily pressed her hand over Naomi’s.
Then she hurried into the examining area where they’d taken her grandmother. One last glance backward showed her Marc and Naomi, each holding one of her son’s hands and walking toward the line of chairs in the waiting room.
The loss of Marc’s nearness left her bereft. Marc glanced at her over his shoulder. His gaze connected with hers, sending her reassurance without words. She felt it, a ripple of warmth through her. How she longed to ask Marc to come with her, but that wasn’t possible. Instead, she faced what she must. Lord, help.
Hours passed as the initial exam, the taking of X-rays and now the consultation took place. Consuela had been given a shot for the pain and was resting on a gurney in the hallway near radiology. Johnny, Naomi and Marc had come to hear the prognosis with Rosa. The hours in the hospital had sapped her hope, made her feel remote as if Marc’s earlier comforting touch had not been real. She stood apart with her hands tucked under her arms. She kept her eyes from seeking Marc. Was it because she was so close to tears?
A doctor motioned them into a small room where he clipped the X-ray onto a glass panel. “I’m afraid your grandmother isn’t going home tonight.”
“What is it? Did she break her hip?” Rosa asked, unable to keep from shuddering with dread.
“No, I really don’t know how she has been managing to walk at all,” he said in a matter of fact tone. “The ball of her hip is nearly eaten away because of bone on bone friction. The cartilage in her right hip is completely gone and must have been for a long time.” He shook his head. “She needs a hip replacement ASAP.”
“A hip replacement?” Consuela said in a weak voice. “Oh, no.”
Rosa gripped her hand. “Don’t worry. No te molestes, Abuela.”
Marc came up behind Rosa and rested a hand on her shoulder.
“Yes, fortunately,” the doctor went on, “we’ve had a cancellation in surgery tomorrow afternoon. I’m going to schedule your grandmother with our orthopedic surgeon. You are in good luck twice because he is going on vacation in three days.”
Surgery? Tomorrow? Rosa was a ship in a storm at sea, tossed on wave after wave. She caressed her grandmother’s hand, trying to grasp this development. Marc gripped her shoulder. Johnny came to Marc and took his free hand. Rosa wanted to turn and bury herself against Marc’s reassuringly solid chest.
On Consuela’s other side Naomi approached the gurney. “Now don’t you get upset, Consuela. The surgery isn’t fun, but you’ll be able to walk normally again very soon.” Naomi looked to Rosa. “And don’t you worry about Johnny. You need to stay here with your grandmother.”
Rosa had already thought of this problem. She couldn’t leave her grandmother here alone. The thought hurt Rosa’s heart. She wiped away a stray tear. “Yes, when she’s upset she speaks in Spanish. I—”
“Don’t worry,” Marc said.
“We understand perfectly.” Naomi patted Consuela’s hand. “Rosa, give us the key to your apartment. Marc can take Johnny home to get his nightclothes and stuff for school tomorrow. I’ll come back in the morning with a change of clothing for you. And I’ll sit with you through the surgery.”
“No, you don’t—”
“No argument,” Marc said.
“Someday you may have to sit with Marc while I have something fixed.” Naomi grinned.
Rosa smiled at Naomi’s comment. “Thank you.”
“Gracias,” Consuela agreed. “Gracias a Dios.”
“We’re glad to help,” Marc said.
Rosa bent. “You mind Mr. Chambers and Senora Naomi, okay?”
Johnny nodded with a solemnity that nearly broke her heart. “Abuela is going to be okay?” he asked.
Consuela spoke up, “I will be fine, Johnny. Don’t worry.”
Rosa kissed his forehead and rose. The nurse had come to show them to the elevator and to Consuela’s room. Rosa gazed into Marc’s caring blue eyes and whispered just for him, “I’ll be all right.” He nodded and she handed him the spare house key, their hands brushing.
Again she wished she could ask him to stay longer. Instead she rushed to catch up with the gurney. As she stepped into the elevator, she waved to Johnny. Leaving him was hard but he would be safe with the Chamberses, with Marc. Marc raised his hand in farewell to her. It enfolded her as a gentle prayer. Gracias a Dios por Marc.
Feeling flattened by all that had just happened, Marc let Johnny out of his truck. On the way home from the hospital, he had decided that Johnny should stay with him. He didn’t want Naomi to have her sleep interrupted.
Marc hoped and prayed that he wouldn’t wake Johnny with any of his nightmares. He hadn’t had one for about a week. But a visit to the E.R. and all this trouble might trigger another onslaught. Lord, I can’t have a nightmare tonight. And please comfort Rosa.
To say that Johnny was not himself appeared to be an understatement. The normal happy kid had been replaced by a somber, sad-eyed little boy. As they walked toward the house, Amigo, Roxie and Dottie began barking. Dropping his backpack, Johnny let go of Marc’s hand and raced toward the dog run.
Marc picked up the dropped backpack, followed, watching the boy enter the dog run and throw his arms around Amigo’s furry neck. The other two dogs woofed and licked his face. Marc smiled, his load of worry lightened by this genuine welcome. Dog therapy—there wasn’t anything like it.
Johnny looked to Marc. “Can Amigo come in?”
“Sure.” Marc heard a car and turned.
Naomi drove into the garage and came out. She clapped her hands. “Roxie! Dottie!” Her golden retrievers bounded out of the dog run and straight to Naomi.
Amigo, however, stayed beside Johnny. Marc waited till his grandmother reached them.
Naomi said, “You boys go up and get Johnny settled then come down. I have supper in the Crock-Pot. Sloppy Joes.”
Not for the first time, Marc thanked God for this indomitable woman. Rosa had this kind of strength, too.
“I love Sloppy Joes,” Johnny said, brightening.
“Great. See you soon.” Naomi walked toward the back door with her dogs, frisking behind her. Marc offered his hand to Johnny who took it. Amigo loped along beside them and then led them up the stairs. Inside the apartment, Johnny halted, looking around, appearing deflated. Marc put a hand on his shoulder. Johnny turned into Marc, wrapping his arms around Marc’s waist and burying his face in Marc�
�s shirt.
Marc felt the telltale tremors of crying. Poor kid. He put his hand on the top of Johnny’s head as if blessing him. “You’re going to be okay. And so is your grandmother.”
Johnny looked up, tears on his cheeks. “But my other grandmother Maria went to the hospital and never came home. We put flowers on her grave sometimes.”
This jogged Marc’s memory. Jill had said that she’d lost her mother and Rosa had said she’d lost hers, too. Maria, Rosa’s mom. “Johnny, Consuela will come home.” Marc hoped he was telling the truth. Things could happen during an operation, bad things. God, be with Rosa.
In the dimly lit room, Rosa curled up in the recliner beside her grandmother’s bed, keeping vigil. Her back muscles had twisted into a spring about to break. The large round clock on the wall ticked past the minutes. 11:37 p.m. The white curtain between the two beds in the room had been pulled so that Rosa couldn’t see into the hall. Her grandmother’s roommate, fast asleep, made a kind of whiffling sound. In the hush of night Rosa counted the beats of her heart.
This was a painfully familiar setting. Dark memories flocked around her like ugly black bats, wings flapping. Her mother had been in this hospital many times over the course of her fight against ovarian cancer. Rosa scrubbed her taut face with her hands as if she could rub off the insistent fear. She must not let worry overwhelm her.
This is my grandmother, not my mother. This is just an operation to fix a hip. It’s not life-threatening. I must have faith. I must pray. But she found she couldn’t pray. Her mind shuddered with panic, leaving her thoughts incoherent.
The new nurse walked into the room. “Hi,” the woman said softly.
Rosa sat up, watchful and glad of any company. “Hi.”
The nurse wrote her name, “Kathy,” on the white board at the end of the bed. And then proceeded to check Consuela’s vital signs. Rosa watched, glad of the distraction and comforted by the nurse’s competent manner.
“Do you need anything?” the nurse asked Rosa.
Rosa thought of the list of things she needed, primarily an infusion of peace. “No, I’m fine,” Rosa mouthed the polite phrase.
