Through the Tears (Sandy Cove Series Book 2)

by Rosemary Hines

  Steve smiled and nodded. “What’s all that paperwork you’re packing?” he asked, pointing to the stack of pages she was placing on top of her clothes in the suitcase.

  “It’s Trevor’s thesis.”

  “What thesis?” his voice concerned.

  “His master’s thesis. He’s getting a marriage and family counseling license, and he needs a master’s degree before he starts his internship,” she explained, busying herself with her packing.

  “So when did you see him?” he asked, trying to sound casual.

  “Thursday morning. We had coffee together.” She felt uneasy, not sure how he would respond.

  “Since when are the two of you ‘coffee partners’?” Steve asked with an edge to his voice.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I don’t know. Never mind.”

  Michelle sighed. She wished she felt flattered by his apparent jealousy, but instead it made her uneasy and a little guilty. What was she supposed to do about Trevor? Pretend that he didn’t exist? Ignore his requests to get together for coffee? She had so few friends in Sandy Cove, and she still couldn’t shake the memory of how he had helped her understand her nightmares and resolve her fears.

  “I don’t want to leave on a bad note, Steve. If you’re uncomfortable with me having coffee with Trevor, I won’t do it again. He’s really only a friend.”

  “Don’t worry about it, babe. I trust you.” He tried to sound reassuring as he walked around the bed and embraced her. “I’m sure gonna miss you this week,” he added with a sigh.

  “Me too. But at least we know we’ll be together next weekend again.”

  “Yeah. This baby making project is paying off in more ways than one,” he said with a wink.

  After one more kiss, they pulled apart, knowing it was time to hit the road and get her to the airport. Before leaving, she carried Max down the stairs, giving him instructions on how to take care of Steve while she was gone. Then feeding him his favorite liver delight, she left him in the kitchen chomping away.

  “Next time Michelle comes home, let’s give her this book,” Starla suggested, handing Trevor a copy of My Path to Enlightenment Through Jesus.

  “Perfect.”

  “This guy really knows how to draw from scriptures and show the broader picture,” Starla added, remembering when she’d heard the author speak at one of their conventions. “Hopefully his writings will be the bridge she needs to see the wisdom of incorporating what she has learned from her grandfather with what she has been learning from us.”

  Trevor nodded, but he didn’t seem convinced. “Michelle’s a bright girl, Trevor. Give her a chance. She’ll figure it out. In the meantime, we need to keep meditating, tapping into the higher powers to reach her even when she’s not with us.”

  Trevor agreed. That was something he could do whenever he thought about Michelle, which was more often than he’d like to admit.

  Tim met Michelle at the airport in Bridgeport and filled her in on the latest news about their father. John had experienced a rather severe seizure, which required modification of his medication levels, but he had stabilized again quickly. The only other concern was potential problems with pneumonia if they couldn’t get him moving more. The nurses had begun sitting him up in bed for part of each day, and he was having some physical therapy, but he seemed to tire quickly. His neurological responses continued to improve, although his interaction was still very limited, and he had not regained movement in his left limbs.

  “So are they still thinking about moving him into a rehab facility soon?” Michelle asked hopefully.

  “Yeah. After the seizure they seemed worried, but once they changed the levels of his meds, he was fine again. They’ll probably move him in three or four more weeks.”

  “That sounds like what they were saying when I left.”

  “We just have to hope he doesn’t get pneumonia. Otherwise, he’ll definitely have to stay here longer,” he warned.

  “Don’t those antibiotics they’ve been giving him prevent him from getting that?” she asked, realizing she was probably asking the wrong person.

  “I don’t know, `Shell. I guess there’s no guarantee, or they wouldn’t be worried about it. Seems like the big deal is getting him upright more. Mom will be able to explain it to you better.”

  It was clear from his voice that Tim was ready to head back home. A week was more than he could take. Michelle felt a little guilty for taking off, knowing it had put some of the burden back on her brother. Brushing that thought aside, she reminded herself he had the life of a carefree bachelor most of the time. A little bit of responsibility wouldn’t kill him. She was a little concerned about his job though. He had a hard enough time holding down a job, without taking lots of time off to be up in Bridgeport.

  “How’s work going?” she asked him tentatively.

  “Slow. That’s why they let me come up here this week.”

  At least he still has the job, she thought. As soon as they got to the motel, Michelle put her bags in her room and headed over to see her father. She knew she’d find her mom there, too. “Are Grandma and Grandpa with Mom?”

  “Didn’t you know?” Tim seemed surprised.

  “Know what?”

  “They went home on Wednesday. That’s why I stayed for the rest of the week until you got back.”

  “I kind of thought they might need a break. I’m surprised Mom didn’t say anything about it to me when we talked on the phone.”

  “She probably didn’t want you to worry or change your mind and come back sooner.” Tim held onto her arm as they crossed the busy highway, and Michelle felt a wave of warm affection wash over her. Tim was actually acting like a gentleman -- toward his sister no less.

  She almost started to head toward the ICU, when Tim redirected her toward the corridor leading to neurology. “Auto pilot,” she said apologetically.

  “I know. I could navigate this place with my eyes closed,” he replied.

  Sheila looked up at them and smiled as they entered the room. John’s bed was elevated at the head, and he looked directly at Michelle and Tim.

  “Hi, Dad,” Michelle said enthusiastically. John tried to smile. One side of his mouth turned up slightly.

  Sheila stood and embraced her daughter. “It’s good to have you back, Mimi.”

  Michelle hugged her mom back. “Dad looks great,” she said.

  “He’s improving every day. They sit him up like this now.”

  “Tim was telling me that.” She turned her attention to her father. “You’ll be out of this bed in no time,” she said with a smile as she reached out and squeezed his hand.

  John nodded his head and smiled weakly.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  The next few weeks were a blur for Michelle as she tried to juggle two lives -- one at her father’s bedside, and the other focusing on her dream of starting a family with Steve. The unsettled feeling of living half her life in a motel in Bridgeport and the other half at home in Sandy Cove took its toll on her.

  “You look exhausted,” her mom commented one morning.

  “I am, Mom,” she admitted, her shoulders dropping as she let out a big sigh.

  “Well, I have some good news for you,” Sheila said with a smile.

  “What?”

  “They’re moving your father back to Orange County on Thursday.”

  Michelle couldn’t believe she was really hearing this. After all the trauma and waiting they had been through since her father’s “accident,” he was finally stable enough to begin rehab. “Oh, Mom,” she said, her eyes filling with tears.

  Sheila held out her arms and they embraced. “God is good,” she said softly.

  “Yes, He is,” Michelle’s voice revealed her relief. Her anthropology 106 course would be starting the following week, and she was glad she wouldn’t have to drop it.

  “Sit down with me and I’ll show you the brochure about the facility they are transferring him to,” Sheila sai
d as she led her over to the little table by the window.

  They sat together and poured over the information. It looked good to Michelle. All the rooms had views of either gardens or courtyards. A large gymnasium overflowed with physical therapy machines and equipment as well as an Olympic size pool for water therapies. It was difficult to imagine her formerly strong, independent father in such a facility, but she was thankful he was alive, improving and had such a well-equipped rehab option.

  “It looks great, Mom,” she said enthusiastically. “How long will he be staying there?”

  “The doctors couldn’t give me an exact time frame. They said the plan is for him to stay as long as he continues to progress. When he plateaus, they send him home.”

  “Do they think he’ll be able to walk again?”

  “Dr. Jeffries seems guardedly optimistic about it. He explained to me about how they train brain cells that aren’t damaged to take over for the ones that are. Your father may have a limp and require a cane for the rest of his life, but we are hoping and praying he will be able to regain his ability to walk.” Sheila replied.

  “We’ll keep praying for him, too. He’ll make it, Mom,” she said, putting her hand over her mother’s and giving it a squeeze.

  That evening when Michelle talked to Steve on the phone, she was able to explain how she would be returning home permanently after her dad’s pending transfer. With Thanksgiving coming up, Michelle still hoped to invite Kristin and Mark up for the holiday. They agreed to also include Ben and Kelly in their first Thanksgiving feast in Sandy Cove.

  “You call Kristin and I’ll talk to Ben,” Steve suggested. “What about your mom and Tim? What will they be doing for the holiday?”

  “Grandma and Grandpa will go down to Seal Beach and celebrate with them,” Michelle replied. She felt a little sad to be spending her first Thanksgiving without her parents and Tim, but was excited about having a holiday dinner at their new home. After spending so much time with her family during the past month, she knew they would understand. Besides, they’d definitely be together for Christmas.

  Wednesday night was a difficult one for Michelle. She sat by her father’s bed and thought about all that had happened over the past weeks in Bridgeport. Looking at his gaunt face brought tears to her eyes. Would her father ever be the same? He’d survived a harrowing brush with death, but would he live to regret that fact? “Please, God, help him find the strength to keep going,” she prayed quietly.

  John opened his eyes and looked at her. His expression spoke volumes of love without saying a word.

  “I’ll miss you, Daddy,” she whispered as she brushed a tear from the corner of her eye.

  He nodded, his brows furrowed with concern.

  “The rehab facility looks great. They’ll be able to help you get back on your feet again,” she added, hoping to sound encouraging.

  “I’ll........ be.........fine,” John spoke haltingly. His voice sounded strange, almost ghostly, as if it came from somewhere far away.

  Michelle gasped. “Daddy -- You’re talking!” Her voice cracked and her eyes shimmered with tears.

  “Dad,” she began again. John’s eyes fixed on hers. “There’s something else I want to say. I don’t know exactly how to put this, but... let God help you, okay?”

  He studied her pleading expression then took a deep breath. “Okay,” he said, the word seeming to echo from somewhere deep inside.

  A wave of peace washed over Michelle, just like it had when she prayed in the chapel. God was real. She just knew it. Somehow she and her dad needed to find a way to build the kind of faith her grandparents had. At least they were both open. Walking back to the motel room, she felt an inner confidence that somehow everything would work out fine for her dad and for herself.

  When Michelle returned to her husband’s embrace at the Portland airport, she came bearing good news and bad news. Her father was improving in so many ways. She eagerly told Steve about their conversation from the night before. But she also had some disappointing news. She had not conceived that month.

  “Hey, don’t look so sad. It’ll happen,” Steve replied reassuringly. “This has been a stressful month. I’m sure it’ll be different now that you’re home. Besides, remember the doctor said to give it three months.”

  “I know, but I was really hoping I’d be pregnant before Thanksgiving. It sounds silly, but I just wanted to be able to have that to be thankful for.”

  “Let’s just focus on being thankful your dad is doing so much better, and that you are back home,” Steve suggested. He drew her into his arms, stroking her back.

  Michelle suddenly felt childish and selfish. “You’re right,” she replied.

  They walked hand-in-hand to the car. All Michelle could think of was getting home and climbing into her own bed. She knew her husband was right, but she couldn’t help feeling incredibly sad that she wasn’t pregnant.

  The drive home was quiet. Steve played some soft music on the radio, and Michelle allowed the gentle rhythm to lull her to sleep. Before she knew it, they were pulling into their driveway. It’s good to be home, she realized, pushing all other thoughts out of her consciousness.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Michelle took her seat near the back of the class and surveyed the room. She watched as other students wandered in and sat down. An excitement surged through her as she glanced over the textbook on her desk. It felt good to be back in school.

  Having experienced an array of professors at Cal State, she’d prescreened this one on ratemyprofessors.com. The student reviews were almost all five-star in their verbiage, praising his style as casual, entertaining, and highly informative.

  While the students settled in, their professor entered the room with a leather laptop case slung over his shoulder and a tall takeout coffee cup in his hand. His sporty attire lent a friendly impression, but the words he scrolled on the whiteboard established his authority and intellectual prowess: Dr. Richard Chambers, Anthropology 101.

  Focusing on his set up for class, he unzipped the case and began hooking up the cables to link his computer with the projector. He tested the projector, aligning the image, then moved the computer into sleep mode and looked up to face the class.

  The students quieted down as they awaited his introductions and lecture.

  “Good afternoon,” Dr. Chambers began.

  “Good afternoon,” some of the students replied.

  “An interesting greeting, wouldn’t you say?” the professor asked as he studied their faces. “Good afternoon. This two-word phrase is a statement on our culture. In a society where all are innocent until proven guilty, where freedom is treasured and tolerance is required, we choose as a society to view each new opportunity as good and to greet each other with recognition of that goodness as we link it to the immediate time and days in which we reside.”

  Michelle could see the students around her soaking in his words. His smooth presentation and friendly countenance reminded her of Trevor.

  “My name is Rick Chambers, and I will be your anthropology professor this semester. It is my goal to lead you through a survey of society from the beginning of recorded history and to link the evolution of man’s social interactions with the current society in which we live. Since it is impossible to give an in-depth look at the development of man in one short semester, I’ll focus on those societies which were most key to bringing us to our culture, as we know it.

  “Some of what I teach will be familiar to many of you, especially those with an interest in history. Some of you may find this class to be a challenge to what you have been taught to believe about man and culture. This will be particularly true for those of you who have resisted the evolution of our society into a post-Christian era.

  “I welcome healthy debate and questioning in my class. Feel free to challenge me along the way, and let’s see if we can explore and uncover the truths that have led to our current age of enlightenment.”

  Michelle could already feel the te
nsion beginning to arise in her heart. She’d sat through a handful of classes at Cal State where Christian students had been mocked and derided by the professor, but that was at a time when she herself was questioning her beliefs. Sure, she’d always respected her grandparents’ faith, but she knew they came from a different era, a simpler time. It seemed natural to question Christianity in the pluralistic environment of a college campus.

  Today, it caused her heart to race.

  What would Dr. Chambers preach in this class? Would she be called upon to agree with his views on Christianity? Would she have the courage to challenge things he said if they trampled on her newfound faith?

  As if reading her mind, Dr. Chambers paused and made eye contact with her. He seemed to be looking into her very soul. His stare lasted a moment longer than was comfortable, then his face relaxed into a smile and he turned to look around the room.

  “Today we will begin with a look into the most ancient civilization of recorded history – the Sumerians. Their story was recorded by the ancient Babylonians, known for their Code of Hammurabi, a writing in cuneiform tablet. The Sumerians never left any record. Their society vanished without a trace. But we know of their existence and culture through the writings of the Babylonians.”

  The professor powered up his laptop and began his PowerPoint presentation as the students quickly began taking notes. Michelle flipped open her spiral notebook and followed suit. She needed this class for her general education requirements and decided not to worry about what the professor had said in his introduction. She’d do her best to remain anonymous, take her notes, write her papers, and then move on to her teacher prep courses the following semester.

  A baby was crying, the sound piercing Michelle’s heart. Where were the desperate sobs coming from? Why wasn’t someone helping the poor thing? She couldn’t see through the thick darkness that engulfed her, but she struggled toward the pathetic cries. Her feet seemed to catch on invisible vines or ropes that grabbed her ankles. Then there was silence. A sickly silence, like death itself.