by Lisa Wingate
In the backseat, Nate slept, unaware. He awoke an hour later as we pulled into the hospital parking lot. Gripping his head, he leaned against the window. “I feel sick.” He groaned.
“Yeah, no kidding.” Drew jerked the back door open so that Nate almost fell out. “You ever take anything from Shad Bell again, I’m gonna make you more than sick, Bubby. You just keep that in mind. And you aren’t legal for beer, either. Remember that.”
Nate blinked at him, then bent over the storm drain and threw up.
Drew waved me away as I moved to help Nate. “You just remember this the next time you think about popping pills and getting drunk.” He stepped away and left Nate standing on his good leg, clinging to the side of the truck. Drew reached into the back of the truck and pulled out Nate’s crutches. “And, here, you can use your crutches to get into the hospital. I’m not going to carry you. You’re a big man drinking with Shad Bell. You figure out how to get yourself in the door.”
Nate took the crutches and turned to me, utterly miserable, looking for help. Then he glanced at Drew and stood straighter, bracing the crutches under his arms and starting up the walkway.
“Jerk,” he muttered, but there was a look of respect in him, as if he knew that what Drew did he did out of love.
Drew glanced over his shoulder, and Nate gave him a sarcastic smile, then continued limping toward the hospital doors.
“Sorry, Jen,” he muttered sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to get so wasted.”
“You shouldn’t be getting wasted at all,” I snapped, my nerves on edge. “Drew’s right. You’re too young to be drinking.”
Nate knitted his brows indignantly. “Daddy doesn’t care. He says as long as I don’t go through too much of his beer—”
“Well, Daddy’s wrong,” I interrupted. “Daddy’s so messed up himself that he doesn’t know what’s right anymore.”
To my surprise, Nate didn’t argue. He glanced at Drew. Had Drew told him the same thing? I wondered what Nate was thinking, but as usual, he didn’t say. “What did the hospital tell you about Daddy?” he asked.
“They just told us we should come.” I held the hospital doors open so that Nate could get through with his crutches.
A flurry of activity in the lobby caught my eye. Two dark-haired children, a boy and a girl, ran across the room toward Drew.
“Daddy!” they cried, their voices echoing through the granite enclosure.
Drew blinked in surprise, then bent down on one knee and scooped them into his arms. Closing his eyes, he buried his face between them and held on, whispering, “Hi, babies. How are my babies? Oh, God, I’ve missed you two.” His voice was choked with tears.
Darla came across the lobby as we stopped behind Drew. She and Drew looked at each other for a moment, uncertain; then he stood up, still holding the children. He reached for her, and she fell into his arms, completing the circle.
“Thanks, Darla,” he said against her hair. “Thanks for bringing the kids.”
“I’m sorry.” Her voice was thick with emotion. “Drew, I didn’t know. I didn’t know you were calling my parents’ house looking for us. I thought you were running out on the kids. That’s why I filed the legal papers. It was wrong, Drew. The kids need their father. I need you. What I did was wrong. I’m sorry.”
Drew kissed the tops of the kids’ heads. “We were both wrong,” he said. “It’s so good to see you guys.”
Darla pushed away finally, wiping her eyes. “They need you upstairs, Drew. Your father’s awake, but there are problems. I’m going to send the kids home with my brother. I want to stay with you, all right?” Her brown eyes were wide and uncertain, afraid he would say no.
He nodded. “Thanks for bringing the kids.”
“They miss their daddy. We need you, Drew. All of us.” She looked at the children, her eyes filled with love. Touching the side of Drew’s face, she met his gaze. “When all this is over, we’ll go home and talk, all right? We need some time, and the kids need time with their daddy.”
Drew nodded, too emotional to talk, then closed his eyes and hugged the kids to him again.
Darla stepped back and turned to us. “Hi, Nate. You look better.”
Nate nodded toward his cast. “Up on crutches now.”
Darla smiled. “You just behave yourself and do what the doctors say. Don’t be trying to get out of bed like you were that first day after the surgery.”
Nate looked sheepishly toward his feet. “Yes, ma’am.”
Drew set the kids down, resting a hand on each of their heads. “And these two are Frog and Toad. I mean, Alex and Amber.”
The kids giggled, clinging to Drew’s legs as Darla’s brother came from the other side of the lobby and told Darla he was going to take them home. Drew kissed them good-bye, reluctant to let them go; then we turned and walked to the elevator, none of us saying anything as the elevator climbed slowly to ICU. I watched the lights change on the console, watched each floor passing, and wondered what we would find when the elevator stopped.
I felt my body go numb as the doors opened. Drew glanced at me and nodded; then he took a deep breath, stepped from the elevator, and held open the door. We asked about Daddy at the reception desk, and the nurse led us to the ICU waiting room, rather than letting us go in to see Daddy. As she turned to leave, we stood just inside the room, waiting for her to give us some clue as to what was happening, but her expression was unreadable.
“Dr. Garland will be here in just a minute. He’s in with your father now. He asked that you wait for him in the waiting room.”
We moved to the comfortless vinyl chairs around the edges of the room, all of us silent, not knowing what to say or what to hope for. Darla laid her hand over Drew’s. He didn’t move to hold her hand, but didn’t pull away either.
Beside me, Nate tapped his knuckles against his cast, looking worried. He glanced at me and his lips twitched upward at the sides, a false attempt at a smile.
I turned to stare out the window as the minutes crept by.
Drew jerked upright when the doctor entered. Nate leaned forward, sitting on the edge of his seat.
I closed, then opened my eyes, and watched as the doctor scooted the magazines out of the way and sat on the edge of the coffee table, facing us. Setting a chart on the table, he introduced himself, gave his title, shook Drew’s hand. I barely heard what he was saying. I looked at his hands and pictured him holding Daddy’s life in them.
He paused, taking a deep breath, seeming to think about what to say. I met his eyes. Dark blue. Compassionate.
“The situation is this,” he said slowly. “Our immediate concern was the bleeding from your father’s kidneys and the damage to his liver. During the last surgery, we were able to stop the bleeding and remove the damaged portion of his liver, but this morning’s ultrasound detected multiple blood clots in his inferior vena cava. The danger, of course, is that the clots could break loose and travel to his lungs. There is too much risk in relying on medications alone to dissolve the clots. We will need to do another surgery for the placement of a Greenfield filter, which, in lay terms, is a cagelike device designed to stop clots from going to the lungs.”
I swallowed hard. “He needs more surgery? Is he strong enough for that?”
“We hope so. At this point, there is very little choice. The clot could move into his heart at any time, causing a heart attack. However, he is refusing any further surgery. He is extremely agitated and emotional. We were hoping that if you talked to him, you might be able to calm him down and convince him to sign the consent form. If he will not sign, the fact that he is heavily sedated, and therefore not fully rational, makes it acceptable for either of you to sign the forms as his next of kin.”
The doctor picked up his clipboard and stood. “He is, of course, still in ICU, so you’ll have to go in only two at a time.” He stopped in the doorway, turning back to us. “Remember to keep things calm and pleasant. Talk about things in the future he might look forward to.
If you have any unresolved family issues, now is not the time to bring them up.”
I wondered what I could possibly say. Daddy didn’t think much about the future. He lived one day at a time, and told us he figured he’d die before he got old. Maybe refusing the surgery was his way of making that prediction come true.
Drew and I looked at each other as the doctor turned and left the room. Nate grabbed his crutches and stood up, starting toward the door.
Drew followed him. “I’ll go in with him.”
I watched the two of them disappear around the corner, knowing my turn was next.
CHAPTER 21
EUDORA
I lost my courage as soon as I started into that armory building. I took two steps in, then ducked into the shadows behind the door and waited a few minutes until I heard Jenilee’s truck leave. Then I turned and slipped out of the armory. For a long time, I paced back and forth on the steps, tryin’ to decide what to do.
“You’re bein’ foolish, Eudora,” I muttered to myself. “Out here, pacin’ around like some silly girl. Just go in and say it. Get it over with. Just go in there, stand by that old man’s bed, and bury the past. Look him right in the eye and tell him you forgive him and you want him to forgive you, and you want to go on from here. It ain’t a shameful thing to ask for forgiveness. How else you gonna get that man out of your head?”
The truth was, I wasn’t sure that forgiving him would do the trick, but I was ready to try anything. That man had been haunting me, and I was tired of it.
Every time I lay down to go to sleep, somewhere in the dark of midnight he’d come, and I’d see him the way he used to be—with that mop of blond hair falling over his blue eyes, and that big smile, white against his sun-browned skin. In my dream, I’d feel the way I used to feel back then, with my heart flippin’ over and my insides fluttering. He’d take my hand, and we’d go into the old Bijou Theater and watch Judy Garland sing “Somewhere over the Rainbow,” and I’d lean my head on his shoulder and think it was the most beautiful song I’d ever heard… .
In the morning I’d wake with the words to that song on my lips. I’d touch the side of my face and almost feel him there. My mind would stay trapped in the past for a minute or two. Then one thing or other would bring reality back to me.
I would lay there feeling that old pain about everything that happened between him and me.
How could he have run off with my sister, Ivy? I’d wonder. Did he ever feel anything for me back then? Why do I even care after all these years? Why do I care so much?
The only thing I could think to do was bury the past, forgive and be forgiven, and hope that was what Ivy would of wanted.
I took a deep breath, straightened my arms, clutched my fists at my sides, and walked into the armory, ready to say it.
June, I think we need to bury the past once and for all. I don’t want to sit around stewing and feeling bitter toward you anymore. I want you to know I forgive you, and I want you to forgive me. We’ll go our separate ways, and that’s that… .
But as soon as I went into the armory building again, my courage went out of me a second time. I walked right past June and went to work filling the gaps on the picture wall, like that was what I come there for.
“Morning, Eudora,” he said. I could tell he was wishing I’d come over there and talk.
“Mornin’, June.” I tried not to look at him, but I noticed that he was sittin’ up in bed with a TV tray in front of him, sortin’ pictures, peeling the damp ones carefully apart, and laying them on the floor to dry.
“I got some more pictures sorted out for ya here. I figured, I was sittin’ here, I might as well make some use of myself. I figure by the end of the day I can have all these bags sorted through.”
June, I forgive you and I want you to forgive me… . “Well, that’s all right, I reckon, but ain’t you about ready to be heading home? You look like you’re getting around better.”
“Ain’t much to look forward to at the old house.” He sighed, a long, slow, sad sound that come from somewhere deep inside him. “Drew said the doors blew open in the storm, and the place is a mess. Guess I can’t quite get my mind around the idea of going home and tearing into all that.”
Me either. June, I want to bury the past. “Well, I hope Drew got your doors closed up good.”
“Um-hmm. I reckon he did.” He paused for a minute, and I heard him shifting on the bed. “Well, good mornin’, Doc Albright. How are you this morning?”
“Doing well, June.” I looked up to see Dr. Albright come in the door and stop by the medicine shelves, looking for something. “I just came in to pick up some things that I left in here. I’m on my way back to St. Louis this morning.”
I stopped what I was doing. “You’re not leaving this morning?” I wanted to talk to him about my worry that my mind might be slipping. Him being a doctor in a big-city hospital, he might know what to tell me.
Dr. Albright nodded, preoccupied and in a hurry. “Afraid I have to. The sheriff’s deputy got my car out of the mud and brought it back here, so I finally have transportation. I’m needed at home.” Something in the way he said it told me there was more to them last words.
Ask him, Eudora. Ask him now, or you ain’t gonna get the chance. See what advice he’s got about it, anyway. “Doc?” You know if you don’t ask him, you ain’t ever gonna get the courage to go to some other doctor and get looked at.
“Yes?”
“Do you have a minute?” Now or never, Eudora. “Just a minute to talk, I mean?”
He pulled his golf hat off and scratched his head, looking past me at the old letters on the wall. I’d seen him stand there and read them two dozen times in the past days.
“I suppose so. Sure. What was it you wanted to talk about?”
I saw June and the two other old ladies who had spent the night watching us. The last thing I wanted was for everyone to hear me. “Why don’t we take a stroll? Maybe go down the hill and get a cup of coffee? Looks like the men are making up one last breakfast before they pack up the van. Ain’t too many people left, but I reckon the ones still here will be glad for the food.”
Dr. Albright nodded. “I think they’re trying to use up the open containers of things before they pack up. Come on, we’ll see what they’ve got.” He motioned toward the door, and I hurried to catch up with him.
I waited until we were on the front steps to say anything. Finally I took a deep breath and let it spill out of me. “Doc, if I told you somethin’, it would be just between you and me, right?”
He nodded, giving me a serious look.
“Well, I … talked to Jenilee Lane about the internship program,” come out of my mouth. I don’t know why, because I thought I was all set to ask him about my problem. “She’s interested, all right. She said she’d have to see what happened with her father these next few days, but she could sure see where that program could give her a chance in life.”
The doctor smiled, seeming greatly pleased. “I would guess that you had a lot to do with her seeing the possibilities. I’ll have my office get the admission forms together and send them to Jenilee, care of Dr. Howard. He’ll be able to help her fill them out.”
A smile sneaked onto my face. “Well, anyhow, she’s pretty excited by the idea, but … well … I just want to make sure about somethin’ before I go pushing this any farther. There’s something I’m a little concerned about.”
He frowned, looking at me from the corners of his eyes.
I pushed on before he could say anything. “Well, I’ll just spit it out. I noticed, and not just once, that you give little Jenilee the strangest look. I can’t quite put a finger on it, but it was just … well … I just wondered what it meant. I wanted to make certain you didn’t have nothin’ … well, nothin’ … inappropriate in mind. She’s just a little twenty-one-year-old girl from a small town, and you’re a rich man twice her age, so you can see why I’d be concerned.”
The doctor raised an eyebrow, looki
ng offended. “Mrs. Gibson, for heaven’s sake. I’m a married man.”
“Well, that don’t always make a difference.”
“And a Christian.”
“I’ve known a time or two when that didn’t make a difference, either.” I glanced heavenward, hoping lightning didn’t strike. “Forgive me for sayin’ it, but to some folks Christian is just a word. I guess I was wonderin’ if you were one of them kind of folks, or if you’re the kind who would help a young girl like Jenilee just because she’s had some hard turns in life, and she deserves a chance. I ain’t tryin’ to offend you, but when I want to know something, I generally just come right out and ask.”
The doc chuckled. “Well, I would hope I’m the latter kind of person.”
His smile faded just as quickly, and he stopped walking. We stood there for a long minute, and I watched all the hard edges of him chip away like dried mud flaking off a calf’s hide. Finally he let out a long breath and his arms fell limp at his sides.
“Lately sometimes I wonder which kind I am. I wonder how I came from being young and filled with a desire to help people to what I am today—just another middle-aged man wondering every day if I can drag myself through the same routine for one more time.” He put the knuckles of his hand against his lips and closed his eyes for a minute, laughing under his breath. “It’s pretty funny if you think about it. Here I am, driving hard to make chief of surgery before I’m forty-five, and all the while, I can hardly force myself to go to work.” He pointed toward the motor home. “The only reason I came here was because my car got stuck in the mud. When I got here that night and started treating people, I thought—actually thought—‘Boy, this will look good to the hospital board.’ The sad truth is, that was why I sent the message for the church relief crew to come, because I wanted to make sure I had an audience for my heroics. I thought it would look good on my résumé—board member of a big church, successful doctor, country club member in good standing, family man, wife and three kids, adjunct professor of medicine, disaster relief worker. The whole package, you know? The perfect package?”
