Abide with Me

by Delia Parr

  The moment she entered The Diner and saw Madge in the corner booth, Andrea knew that luck had abandoned her. Madge had already ordered; lunch was on the table. Andrea braced herself for a well-deserved reprimand and slid into the seat across from her sister. “I’m sorry. You wouldn’t believe why I got delayed. I tried to call you. How come your cell phone wasn’t on?”

  Grinning, Madge held up her arm, rotated her wrist and flashed her new purple wristwatch. “I had my alarm set so I wouldn’t be late for our lunch date, and I turned off my cell phone so I wouldn’t get distracted. Maybe I should get a watch for you.”

  Andrea grimaced.

  “I ordered the grilled chicken and walnut salad with low-fat raspberry vinaigrette dressing on the side for you, too,” Madge went on.

  Andrea glanced down at her lunch. So much for the BLT, fries and coleslaw she had intended to order, despite the doctor’s advice about the advantages of a low-fat diet. She managed a smile before she squeezed three slices of lemon into her tea and added half an envelope of sweetener. She took one sip, paused and glared over the rim of her glass at her sister.

  “It’s caffeine-free. You’ll get a taste for it. It’s better for you, so don’t argue,” Madge said righteously.

  Andrea sighed, set down the tea and flagged the closest waitress, who happened to be Caroline, and handed over the glass of tea. “Would you mind terribly…?”

  “One regular iced tea it is,” Caroline said, and winked at Madge. “I warned you she’d taste the difference.” She glanced at Andrea. “I’ll bring you a double. Since you’re such a great fan of salads, I’ll bring you a take-home container, too. You should box up half the salad before you add any dressing. Stays fresher, and it won’t get soggy,” she instructed before she left.

  “You should eat the whole thing now,” Madge suggested as she cut the chicken strips in her salad into bite-size pieces. “You probably didn’t bother to fix anything for breakfast, and I doubt you’ll take the time to make anything substantial for dinner. The least you can do is eat healthy and well at lunch. Honestly—”

  “Since when did you get appointed my personal dietician?” Andrea interrupted, shaking her head and drizzling dressing on a corner of her salad. “You can drive me to the doctor’s office. You can handle my insurance and tend my gardens. But my diet is off-limits.”

  Madge laid down her fork. “Somebody has to watch out for you. Eating right is…well, it’s part of recovery. Sandra let me—”

  Andrea cut off her words by laying her hand on top of Madge’s. “I know she did. I know you did everything to help Sandra. In fact, you probably helped her more than the rest of us combined.”

  Nodding, Madge lowered her gaze. “She said I was the best friend she ever had in the whole wide world, but it didn’t make any difference. No matter what I did or how hard I tried, I…I couldn’t save her. I was her best friend! I should have done more. If I’d done more, maybe…”

  Andrea sighed. “You couldn’t save Sandra. You can’t save me, either. That’s not your job. That’s God’s job. It’s His plan, not yours, and certainly not mine. You can’t blame yourself for Sandra’s death.”

  Madge laced her fingers together and rested them on the tabletop. She looked into Andrea’s eyes. “About a week before Sandra slipped into a final coma, she…she told me something. I haven’t been able to tell anyone what she said before now. Not even Russell.”

  Andrea drew a deep breath. “Do you want to tell me now?”

  Madge nodded. “We were alone in her living room. Sandra was stretched out on her couch, and I was sitting on the floor rubbing her feet. She liked that a lot.”

  “I remember,” Andrea whispered.

  “She was in a lot of pain,” Madge went on. “She spoke so softly, I had to strain just to hear her. She talked about Dan and Frank a lot and told me stories.” Madge shook her head. “I’ll never understand why she married either one of those men, not if I live to be a hundred.”

  “She had a one-track mind,” Andrea murmured. “Unfortunately, when it came to men, she always got on the wrong track.”

  “She knew that, even before she came back to church,” Madge countered. “Just like she knew she was going to die. She told me she was ready to go Home, but she felt guilty for wanting to leave her children behind and all of us, too. You know why?” She leaned toward Andrea. “She said she wanted to go Home because no one here on earth ever really loved her…and she knew He would.”

  Chills coursed through Andrea’s body. Sassy, spirited Sandra. She hadn’t lived life; she’d torn through life on her own terms, practically from the day she had learned how to walk. She had dated young, abandoned the faith her family embraced, married twice and divorced both husbands. A gifted artist, Sandra had been Teacher of the Year at South Jersey Regional High School, and a few years later, she was named Adjunct Faculty of the Year at the nearby community college. She had raised and educated two children, one from each of her marriages. Sandra’s elder daughter, Lindsay, had also become a teacher. She was now serving with the Peace Corps in Africa, and her sister, Samantha, was an Army nurse stationed in Germany.

  Surrounded by love and success, but with no faith to guide or sustain her, Sandra had felt alone and unloved. Only months before her illness had been diagnosed, she had rediscovered and reclaimed her faith—an answer to prayer for all of her family. Andrea and Madge and Jenny had stood by Sandra’s side when she was welcomed back into their community of Believers. Little did they all know how soon He would call his prodigal daughter all the way Home.

  Madge’s words echoed in Andrea’s mind. She was not sure, but she felt that the experience of facing her own mortality, ever since her first dance with cancer over a year ago, gave her the insight to understand Sandra’s meaning and to help Madge to understand, too. “I think all Sandra wanted to know was love,” she whispered.

  Madge leaned back and looked down at her lap. The burden she had carried for nearly a year was etched in her expression. “I thought our love would be enough to make her want to stay—and to fight harder. It wasn’t. It should have been.”

  Andrea shook her head. “Our love sustained her to the end of her life. In your heart, you know that. But it was her soul that craved to be reunited with Him for eternity. If you believe He plants the seeds of desire in our hearts, then you also have to believe He called her Home. His voice whispered to her heart so she could go to Him willingly, even eagerly. That doesn’t mean she didn’t love us or want to stay with us. She just loved Him more.”

  Madge toyed with one of her earrings. “I never thought of it that way.”

  Andrea held silent and watched faith and relief ease the troubles from her sister’s expression. When Madge finally looked up at Andrea, her eyes were clear. “How come you’re so smart and I’m so…not smart?”

  Andrea grinned and picked up her fork. If it made Madge happy to see her sister eating a salad, then she might as well do so with a smile on her face. “’Cause I’m the oldest.”

  Madge grinned back. “Yes, you are. By twenty-one months. And don’t think for a moment I’ll ever let you forget it.” She glanced down at their salads and back up at Andrea. Her expression was solemn. “You’re not ready to leave us yet, are you?”

  Andrea dropped her fork, which bounced on the table and fell to the floor. “No, I’m not ready. Of course not.”

  Caroline arrived, set two glasses of iced tea on the table and retrieved the fork. “I’ll be right back with a new one. Oh, I forgot your box. I’ll bring that, too.”

  “Hmm. Make it two boxes,” Madge suggested with a sudden twinkle in her eye. “We’re going to take the salads home. Bring us a couple of double bacon cheeseburgers, well-done, fries and a side order of onion rings. That okay with you, Andrea?”

  Laughing, Andrea nodded her approval.

  “Good. Now, while we’re waiting, I have to tell you about the meeting I had with the pastor and Eleanor Hadley about the Shawl Ministry. We organized the
ministry several months ago, but it just hasn’t caught on as quickly as we thought it would.”

  Andrea fixed her caffeinated iced tea and drank a full glass while Madge recounted her meeting, in more detail, no doubt, than what was in the official minutes. By the time she stopped talking, the meal was nearly finished.

  “I have to admit that I’d never heard of anything like the Shawl Ministry before,” Andrea said, genuinely intrigued by the idea of women gathering together to pray and knit a shawl for someone suffering from anything, whether a devastating illness or simply old age, sudden tragedy or merely loneliness.

  “It is taking a little longer to get it started then we imagined,” Madge reported, “but we all think it’s something we have to do. We have the community center. We have the need, and Eleanor has been doing her best as the coordinator. Unfortunately, we just haven’t been able to get enough women to join, so we came up with some good ideas about publicizing the ministry more.”

  Andrea nodded and checked her watch. She did not bother to remind Madge, yet again, that some women, Andrea, in particular, did not have the luxury of spending their days doing volunteer work. Not when they had to earn a living. “It’s after two. I’m showing the Campbell house at three. Call me later, and we’ll work out the calendar for my appointments,” she suggested.

  Madge’s eyes widened. “I forgot! We were supposed to go over your chemo schedule so I could put it on my calendar.”

  “I’ve got to run,” Andrea said, taking some bills from her wallet to pick up the lunch tab.

  Madge snatched the check away. “This is my treat. Go ahead.”

  “Love you. Thanks!” Andrea was in a rush to get back to her office for a file she needed. If she was lucky, Madge would be so involved with her latest volunteer activity, she’d forget to call, and Andrea could drive herself to her chemotherapy appointments but that was probably too much to hope for. Standing at the curb, waiting for the light to change, Andrea mulled over the idea of the Shawl Ministry, and an image flashed through her mind of the bags and bags of yarn and knitting needles she’d seen yesterday piled next to Jane Huxbaugh’s rocker. Andrea was far too busy and too preoccupied with her health to even think about getting involved with the Shawl Ministry, but getting Jane involved was another matter…although perhaps a little like thinking you could lead a horse to water and make it drink. Getting other people to welcome Jane Huxbaugh into a ministry presented another problem, and inspired such a clear image of horses stampeding in the other direction that Andrea dismissed the idea completely.

  Green light. She stepped off the curb. For one moment, she was fully upright. In the next, she felt a thud and was airborne. Then she hit the street. Hard.

  Chapter Eight

  The ambulance ride was a blur. The stay in the emergency room at Tipton Medical Center lasted until nearly eleven o’clock that night. The final diagnosis of Andrea’s injuries was a relief: no broken bones. Still, a bruised left shoulder and a badly sprained left ankle were proof enough that the left side of her body had borne the brunt of her fall.

  Exhausted but comfortable, thanks to pain medication, Andrea was propped in bed with a pillow behind her as yet another emergency-room physician arrived to review her chart and her test results one last time before releasing her. He was young enough to be her son, too, just like all the other professionals she had encountered at the hospital during her visit. Didn’t anyone over the age of fifty work in hospitals anymore?

  The young doctor stopped reading her chart for a moment, lifted a brow and shook his head. “A skateboard accident? Next time you’d be better off wearing protective gear,” he admonished.

  She sighed. “I was hit by a skateboarder. I was simply trying to cross the avenue on foot. I wasn’t skateboarding.”

  He had the decency to blush. “Sorry. That makes more sense.”

  She tightened her jaw. She was annoyed that the skater had actually struck her, but she was more annoyed she had not seen or heard him approaching. “I’m just grateful I didn’t break any bones,” she admitted.

  “You might not be,” he warned. “Your ankle is severely strained. You’re lucky you didn’t tear a ligament. It’s going to be a good six to eight weeks before you’ll be able to put any pressure on that ankle and try walking again. If you’d broken it, you’d have been able to get a walking cast and had an easier time of it.”

  He wrote out a prescription, handed it to her with a set of preprinted instructions and signed her release. “Make sure you take the pain medication with food and follow those directions. Have you got any questions before I turn you over to your family?”

  She swallowed hard. “How long before I can drive? I have to work, and I’m a real estate agent. I need to be able to drive. My car is an automatic,” she offered as an afterthought.

  He paused. “Rest up for a week. By then your shoulder won’t give you any trouble, and you’ll be able to maneuver about on crutches. You can try driving then, but I wouldn’t recommend it.”

  She clenched her jaw. “Crutches. For six or eight weeks?”

  He shrugged. “That’s the best I can do. Don’t forget to keep that ankle elevated. It’s important. I’ll send your sisters back again now. They’ve got a pair of crutches for you to take home, but it won’t be easy going for a few days.” He shook her hand. “Good luck. And watch out for skateboarders,” he cautioned before he left.

  Andrea tapped her fingers on the mattress. A week at home. Six to eight weeks on crutches. Five weekly chemo treatments. And no driving. How in glory could she manage all that and still run a business?

  She closed her eyes and tilted back her head. “I don’t mean to be ungrateful, Lord, and I truly am thankful that my injuries aren’t very serious, but wasn’t having my cancer come back again enough of a cross? Aren’t I worried enough, wondering if I’ll be able to keep working as usual throughout my treatments? Did I really need this, too?” she whispered.

  All the fears and frustrations of the past few weeks rose up within her. And today’s harrowing accident added enough pressure to overwhelm her. Suddenly, tears streamed down Andrea’s cheeks. She brushed them away quickly, only moments before Madge and Jenny entered the cubicle.

  Madge was carrying a pair of old wooden crutches, with some sort of stuffed gray critter on top of each armrest. Fortunately, the critters were not purple. “I had my neighbor bring these down for you. She broke her foot a few years back. Look!” Madge tugged on one of the critters. “They’re squirrels. Aren’t they cute? They’ll help pad the crutches so your underarms don’t get sore.”

  Andrea managed a smile while Jenny steered a wheel-chair next to Andrea’s bed and helped her from the bed to the chair. “Michael’s waiting outside with your car to take you home. Madge and I will follow behind in her car. Ready to get out of here?”

  Andrea gripped the arms of the chair. Despite being well bandaged, her ankle throbbed unmercifully, until Jenny raised the footrest and elevated Andrea’s leg. She let out a sigh. “More than ready.”

  It did not take very long to reach the car, get strapped in and situated, but Andrea did not relish the prospect of reversing the process when she got home.

  Michael eased her car forward. “I’ll take it slow,” he promised. “How are you doing so far?”

  She grimaced. “Great. I’m sorry to be such a bother. Who’s minding the girls?”

  He hesitated. “Cindy Martin.”

  “But she’s only eleven or twelve.”

  “She’s twelve. Katy and Hannah have been asleep for hours, and Cindy’s mom is right next door, in case there’s a problem. They both wanted to do something to help. They’re pretty shook up.”

  As they rounded a corner, Andrea braced herself by holding on to the dashboard with her right hand. “I suppose I made for quite a lot of gossip today, but I don’t really know the Martins all that well. At least not well enough to think they would be that upset,” she said.

  Michael glanced at her quickly, the
n turned his attention back to the road. “You don’t remember?”

  “Remember what?”

  “The skateboarder who hit you.”

  “I can’t remember him because I never even saw him. If I had—”

  “It was Jamie Martin.”

  “Oh.” Suddenly it all made sense, and Andrea sighed. At fifteen, Jamie Martin was the daredevil of all daredevils, the reigning king of the skateboard world in Welleswood. The fact that he ranked first in his class, served as a junior advisor in his church youth group and was on a fast track toward becoming an Eagle scout rankled most adults more than a little. “Is he…was he hurt?”

  “A few minor scrapes,” Michael reported. “Jamie’s always careful to make sure he’s wearing protective gear.”

  Andrea snorted. “I wish he was as careful to avoid pedestrians.”

  “He’s pretty upset about what happened,” Michael said softly.

  “So am I,” she snapped. Her churlish words echoed in the car, and she shook her head. “The kids need a place to skate, a safe place,” she murmured. “I thought the commissioners had been looking into that. What happened?” She shifted her aching ankle and saw her house down the block. She was almost home.

  Michael chuckled. “They’ve been looking even harder since this afternoon. The mayor called an emergency meeting for seven o’clock tonight. Your accident apparently inspired renewed interest in that matter.”

  “Great,” she muttered. As visible as she was in the community, she deliberately avoided politics and local controversies of any kind, although her role in Welleswood’s renaissance had required that she participate in both for a while. Her name, no doubt, had been invoked more than once tonight, and her accident put her square in the center of the never-ending battle between the critics of skateboarding and the advocates.

  As Michael turned into her driveway, she checked the clock on the dashboard. Eleven forty-five. Good. This horrendous day was almost over. She leaned back in her seat and relaxed. Nothing could happen in the next fifteen minutes to make the day any worse.