A Time to Dance/A Time to Embrace

by Karen Kingsbury

  Abby drew back a few inches. “What is it, John? You’re scaring me.”

  He gulped and concentrated on the place where he’d felt it. Then, as though God wanted him to know it wasn’t a fluke or some figment of his imagination, he felt it again. Sort of a twinge or a burning sensation in his big toe. A place where he hadn’t felt anything since the accident.

  “Abby, you’re not going to believe this.” He looked straight at her, seeing past the surface to the heart of this woman he loved.

  “What? Tell me.” Abby leaned back further, looking down the length of him. “Is something wrong?”

  “No.” He pointed to his feet, his heart thudding hard against the wall of his chest. “Just now, just a few seconds ago . . . something happened. Something I can’t explain.”

  “What was it?” She climbed off him and stood, studying his legs.

  Suddenly he realized that what he was about to say would sound ludicrous. Maybe it was only phantom pain, something he’d read about where months or even years after paralysis a person might have the memory of sensation.

  He couldn’t say something that would build false hope only to destroy it when they found it wasn’t so. He’d tell her soon, but not yet. Abby was staring at him, waiting. Think, John . . . come on . . . make something up.

  “Well . . .” He smiled big at her. “I think we invented a new dance step.”

  The wind left Abby’s lungs in a rush. “John, I thought you were hurt . . . like maybe you couldn’t breathe or something.”

  He chuckled, hiding the excitement welling in his soul. “Nope. Don’t you know, Abby? Dancing is good for the lungs.” He patted his chest. “After a routine like the one we just did, I’ll be breathing good for days.”

  “You’re such a teaser.” Abby reached for his hand, and together they made their way up the pier and toward the house. “You shouldn’t do that. I really thought something was wrong.”

  They were halfway up the yard when it happened again. This time John had no doubt about what he was feeling. This was no phantom pain, no memory of previous sensation. He felt a burning twinge in his toe. And this time something else happened. Something he could barely keep to himself.

  His toe moved!

  John had no idea what that meant or why it was happening. But he had the strangest sense that something—or Someone—was working on his spine. It didn’t feel like the hands of a doctor or a therapist.

  It felt like the very fingers of God.

  Twenty-four

  CHUCK PARKER HAD JUST WALKED IN THE DOOR WHEN the call came in.

  He was an insurance broker, and this past winter had been busy— busier than any in his life. Not only was business booming, but with Casey’s driver’s license suspended for a year, Chuck or his wife had to drive the boy everywhere he went.

  The worst part about being so busy was that Chuck hadn’t had time to stage the meeting. Ever since finding out about Coach’s paralysis, Chuck had wanted a group discussion at school about the way they’d handled Coach Reynolds this past season. He’d made a handful of phone calls, but no meeting had materialized. The trouble was time. With so much on his plate, the idea had simply gotten away from him.

  But no worries. As long as he and the other parents had backed off from pressuring Herman Lutz, Coach Reynolds’s job was safe. Maybe they didn’t actually need a meeting. When Coach returned next fall, certainly he’d see that everyone had changed after what had happened. The players, the students. Even the parents.

  The phone rang three times before Chuck grabbed it. “Hello?”

  “Mr. Parker? This is Sue Diver down at Marion High.”

  Sue Diver . . . Chuck wracked his brain. Oh, right. Sue. The secretary at school. Carried a whole-life policy he’d written up for her back in ’98. He glanced at his watch. He had three evening appointments starting in thirty minutes. “Hey, Sue . . . what’s up?”

  “A letter came into the office today.” Her voice was low, troubled.

  “Okay . . .”

  “I don’t know if I’m supposed to be telling you this.”

  “I’m sure it’s fine, Sue. Otherwise you wouldn’t have felt the need to call.”

  His words seemed to work. He could hear her take a quick breath. “It’s a resignation letter from Coach Reynolds. He’s resigning effective immediately. Says that the game has passed him by . . . and that the parents no longer respect him.”

  What? Chuck felt as though the floor beneath him had given way. Why hadn’t he scheduled the meeting sooner? Now it was too late. If Herman Lutz read the letter, he’d have Coach Reynolds’s job posted on the state listing in twenty-four hours. Probably believing it was what everyone wanted.

  Only that wasn’t true at all. Not anymore.

  He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “I’m gonna need some phone numbers, Sue. Can you get me the names and numbers of all the guys on the team?”

  “I think so.”

  “Good.” He looked at his stack of appointment files. “I’ll make the calls tonight. What’s the next available time on the school calendar?”

  The sound of rustling paper filled the background. “Today’s Monday, let’s see . . .” More muffled paper sounds. “How about Thursday night?”

  Chuck looked at his calendar. He had four appointments scheduled for that night. “Perfect. Let’s set it for seven o’clock. In the auditorium.”

  “Okay. I’ll run it by the administration, but it shouldn’t be a problem. Parents are allowed to use the building for school-related meetings.”

  Sue sounded worried, like she was trying to convince herself. But it didn’t matter. After months of procrastinating, Chuck had the meeting scheduled. Now all he needed were the phone numbers. “You have those numbers nearby?”

  “Uh . . . can I fax you the list?”

  “Absolutely.” Chuck rattled off his fax number. “I’ll be waiting. And, Sue, thanks for the tip. We’ll have to get together one of these days and see if we can’t upgrade your policy.”

  “Sure, Mr. Parker. Listen, I have to go.”

  The moment Chuck hung up, his fax line began to ring. Chuck made three quick calls to cancel his appointments. Then, when he had the phone list in hand, he took a deep breath and began to call.

  John refused to get Abby’s hopes up.

  But that night, before they went to bed, he casually mentioned that he needed to see the doctor. Soon, if possible.

  “Why?” Abby had helped him into bed, and now she was getting ready.

  “I’m just concerned about my legs.” John forced himself to look relaxed. “They’re too thin.”

  “Honey . . .” Abby stopped and gave him a sad look. “The doctor said that would happen. It’s normal.”

  John searched for a way to convince her. “Not this thin . . . and not this fast.” He pressed the blankets down against his legs. As he did, his right toe moved just a bit. “I’m wasting away, Abby. The doctor needs to hear about it.”

  “Really?” A puzzled look came over her face. “Well, if you think so. I’ll call Dr. Furin in the morning.”

  The next day after breakfast John was drinking coffee in the kitchen when Abby found him. “He can see you at eleven today.”

  “Good.” He blew at the steam rising from his cup. “I’m sure there’s something he can do.”

  “Mind if I drop you off?” Abby was a blur of motion, straightening the kitchen and sorting through a stack of papers on the counter. “We need a few things at the store.”

  “Sure. Fine . . . I’ll be in the waiting room whenever you get back.” John couldn’t believe his good fortune. The last thing he wanted to do was talk about his toes moving in front of Abby. As hard as the past few months had been on her, there was no point getting her hopes up now.

  Two hours later, John was in the examination room when Dr. Furin walked in. “John . . . I understand you’re worried about the wasting process in your legs.”

&n
bsp; John gave a short laugh. “Actually, that’s not it at all. I just . . .” He reined in his enthusiasm so he could think more clearly. “I couldn’t tell Abby the real reason I wanted to see you. I didn’t want to get her hopes up.”

  “Okay.” Dr. Furin set his clipboard down near the sink. “What’s the real reason?”

  “Doc—” John’s smile worked its way up his cheeks—“I’m feeling something in my right toe.” John held up one hand. “Not constantly and not a lot. But several times yesterday and again today. Sort of like a burning feeling, a flash of pain, maybe. And a few times I’ve felt the toe move.”

  Dr. Furin’s mouth hung open. “You’re serious?”

  “Completely. You’re the only one I’ve told.”

  The doctor stood and paced to the window and back, taking slow, deliberate steps. “When we checked your X rays the first time, it looked almost as though you were one of the lucky ones. Your break was in an area where people sometimes regain feeling. But usually that happens within a few days, after the swelling goes down.”

  He paced a bit more, stroking his chin and staring vacantly at the floor. “Your feeling didn’t come back, so we took more pictures, did more tests. And after that it looked like I was wrong. Like the break was just a hair into the area where paralysis is permanent.”

  John studied the doctor, trying to understand. “So, why am I feeling something in my right toe?”

  “In all my years working with people who’ve injured their spinal cords, I’ve never treated a patient whose break fell so close to the dividing line. A fraction higher, you walk again. A fraction lower, you’re in a chair for the rest of your life. But maybe . . .”

  John waited until he couldn’t stand it another minute. “What?”

  “Recent research has shown that in a few rare cases, a break is so close to the separating line that surgery can be done to wire the spinal cord back together. Sometimes, after surgery, feeling can be restored. Even when it appeared that a person was paralyzed for life.”

  The news was more than John had hoped for. His hands shook as he stared at Dr. Furin. “And you think maybe I might be one of those people?”

  “We’ll have to do tests, but if I remember right, the first symptom is feeling in one or more toes. And I’m already certain your break happened in the area where research is being done.”

  John wanted to shout, to raise a fist in the air and holler at the good news. Instead he stayed quiet and turned his thoughts heavenward. God . . . thank You. Thank You for this second chance. He couldn’t wait to begin the tests. Whatever needed to be done, he wanted to do it. Because if a surgery might restore feeling to his legs, he was ready to go under the knife that afternoon.

  “Can you stay awhile?”

  John laughed. “Operate on me now, Doc! I’m ready.”

  “You need to know something.” Dr. Furin frowned. “Even if you’re a candidate for the surgery, there’s no guarantee it’ll work. The research is too new. So far it looks like only about half the people who undergo surgery ever regain feeling in their extremities.”

  “Look, Doctor, those odds are a whole lot better than what I had before I came in here. When can we start testing?”

  “I’d like to take more pictures and run a few more specific tests— tests that must be done in the hospital. Normally it takes weeks to schedule these types of pictures, but I had a cancellation today.” He hesitated. “I do think you need to tell your wife what’s going on. The tests will take most of the afternoon, and she’ll need to drive you to the hospital so you can take them.”

  John nodded. How would she react? Would she be afraid of being disappointed? Anxious? Excited? Either way, the doctor was right. It was time for her to know.

  Dr. Furin took a set of X rays, and thirty minutes later, John was in the examination room when Abby walked in. “Sorry.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “It took longer than I thought.”

  “Abby . . . sit down.” He motioned to a folding chair against one wall. “We need to talk.”

  Her face went slack, and he knew it was from fear. But she did as he asked, and when their knees were nearly touching, she swallowed hard. “What’s wrong? Don’t tell me there’s something else.”

  He couldn’t keep her waiting another minute. “Abby, yesterday . . . when I told you something strange was happening . . .”

  She thought back and then remembered. “When you invented that new dance step?”

  “Right.” He reached out and she took his hand in hers. “Well, that wasn’t exactly what was going on.”

  Her chin fell a little, but she said nothing.

  “The truth is, I was getting pains in my right toe.” His voice grew soft. “I was feeling it, Abby. I really was. Then when we walked into the house, my toe moved.” He glanced around the room, looking for a way to describe how it had felt. “I thought maybe I was imagining it . . . like maybe it hadn’t really happened. But then I felt it again before we went to sleep and again this morning.”

  “That’s why you wanted to come today?”

  John nodded. “I had to tell Dr. Furin. Because everyone had told me I’d never have feeling like that again. Phantom pain, maybe. But not real feeling. And there was no doubt this was real pain . . . real movement.”

  “So—” Abby ran her tongue over her bottom lip—“what’d Dr. Furin say?”

  John did his best to explain the situation, how once in a rare while a certain type of broken neck could be operated on and feeling, possibly restored. “It’s still a long shot, Abby. He wants to do more tests this afternoon. If I’m a candidate for surgery, he’ll know after that.”

  Abby’s mouth hung open, her eyes wide as she took in the news. She leaned forward, grabbing his chair with both hands. “You’re serious?”

  “Completely.” John loved the hope in Abby’s eyes. Please, Lord . . . get us through this. Give us a miracle. There was no audible answer, not even a still, silent whisper in his soul, but John was suddenly overwhelmed with an indescribable peace.

  “Okay, then. Let’s get you over to the hospital.”

  The tests took five hours and were as exhausting as they were long. Abby contacted Nicole midway through the day and asked her to pick up Sean when school was out.

  “What’s going on?”

  “I’ll tell you later.” Abby hurried through the conversation, anxious to rejoin John. “I promise.”

  Dr. Furin arrived near the end of the day and began reading the results with a team of spinal cord specialists. Finally, at six o’clock that evening John’s doctor met them in the hospital lobby.

  John prided himself on being able to read a person’s expression, but Dr. Furin could’ve made his living playing poker. It was impossible to tell the results from the look on his face. He motioned for them to follow him to a quieter corner where they wouldn’t be distracted.

  Abby held tight to John’s hand, so tight he could feel the pulse in her fingertips. “What’d you find out?”

  Dr. Furin allowed just the hint of a smile. “John’s a candidate for surgery. His injury is almost textbook perfect, the kind they’ve done research on.”

  For a moment, John let his head fall. He’d been granted a second chance! An opportunity, no matter how slim, to have his legs again. It was more than he could imagine, more than he could bear.

  When he looked up, he saw that Abby had covered her mouth with her free hand. Small soblike sounds were coming from her throat, but her eyes were dry. She was probably in shock, like him. Who’d have ever thought it possible? After so many months of being paralyzed?

  John had never heard of such a thing. “When can we do the surgery?”

  “No time soon.” Dr. Furin folded his hands and leaned forward. “I’ll want the nation’s top experts to perform the operation. I’ll assist, but since it’s their research, they should do the surgery.”

  “They’ll come here?” John still couldn’t believe he was having this conversation. “I thought with sp
ecialists you have to go wherever they’re based.”

  “They do most of their work in Arizona, but they’re willing to travel for an extraordinary case. I’d say yours fits that description.”

  “So when, Doctor?” Abby’s palms were damp. “How soon?”

  “It’s March now. I’d say four weeks. Sometime in mid-April. It’d probably take that long to pull the team together.”

  “Is there anything we can do between now and then?” John eased his arm around Abby’s shoulders and hugged her close. The feeling of hope was so strong it was almost a physical assault. If the doctor hadn’t been there, John would’ve pulled Abby onto his lap and held her until they were ready to talk about the possibilities.

  “Yes.” Abby’s teeth chattered. “Anything we can do so the surgery will be more successful. A special diet or exercises? Anything?”

  “Yes.” Dr. Furin looked from Abby to John, and back again. “In a situation like this, there’s one thing I’d recommend.” He paused and his eyes shifted to John’s once more. “Go home and pray. Have your kids and your friends and your family pray. Get the whole town praying. Pray for us . . . pray for yourself . . . pray for a miracle. After that we’ll put you under the knife and do our best. It’s the only chance you have.”

  Dr. Furin explained a bit more about the operation, and then he left. The moment he was gone, John turned to Abby and held out his arms. She climbed on his lap like a child who’d been lost for a week. Then, unconcerned with whoever else might be in the waiting room or passing by in the hallways, John and Abby brought their heads together and prayed. Not just because it was doctor’s orders, but because a miracle was standing on the front porch of their lives. And John intended to beg God night and day to open the door and let it in.

  Jake Daniels had a funny feeling about his mom and dad.

  His hearing was in one week, the one where he and his attorney would agree to plead guilty to a list of charges, things A. W. and the district attorney had agreed on. His dad had extended his leave of absence from work and was still staying at the hotel in town. But Jake wondered if sometimes he might be really sleeping on the sofa downstairs.