by Dan Walsh
But his greater struggle came from the news about Art. His mom had left an urgent message at the Howard Johnson’s last night to call her at Shands as soon as he could. He’d gotten in around 7:00 p.m. after eating another dinner alone. It sounded like they’d almost lost him. Rick still didn’t quite get what happened, but Art’s vital signs had started crashing, and it took drastic measures to save him. He had stabilized somewhat since then, from what Mom had said in her call this morning.
She was still so upset; Rick thought he should close up the store and drive to Gainesville. But Father Charlie had called an hour later, saying he was on his way. Rick was sure Father Charlie would do more good for his mom than he could, so he changed his mind.
But that left him sitting in the store all day, with little else to do but think. He was actually happy every time the bell rang and a customer came in. Fortunately, none of the more eccentric ones had shown up. Rick felt he could manage the fake smiles and necessary Christmas cheer for the average customers, but didn’t think he could muster the kind of energy required to handle the crazies.
He looked at his watch. It was time. He picked up the phone and dialed the firm’s number, asked the receptionist to put him through to Mr. Rainey.
“Rick, how’s it going down in sunny Florida?”
“It’s . . . sunny all right, Mr. Rainey. How are things back home?”
“Getting pretty busy, but you know that. Happens every year. Everybody’s moving slow coming back from Thanksgiving, and now all the year-end stuff is starting to kick in. Got to get it all done before the Christmas vacations start up. You wrapping things up at that store?”
Rick had hoped for at least a few minutes of small talk before jumping in. “Not exactly, sir. That’s why I’m calling.”
“Oh?”
“My stepfather’s surgery was yesterday. He came through it okay, but there’s been some complications.”
“So, what’s that mean?” His voice had an edge.
“I guess it means that if he survives these next few days, he’s going to be stuck in the hospital a while, and my mom will be stuck there with him.”
“And you’re saying you’ll be stuck in that store down there a while longer.”
“Afraid so, sir.”
“How long?”
“Probably another week.”
“You said a week last week.”
“I know. I still have two more weeks of vacation time left.”
“You know that’s not the point, Rick. I’m sure you didn’t plan on taking it now, leaving all your clients hanging out to dry. We’ve got a ton of work to get through before the Christmas holiday.”
“I know, Mr. Rainey. But what else can I do?”
“I guess you gotta do what you gotta do, Rick. But so do I.”
“What’s that mean, sir?”
“It means I’m going to have to let some other guys take care of your clients while you’re gone. We can’t lose anyone—we won’t lose anyone—because you’ve got a personal situation down there. And Rick, you know the guys we hired. They’re like you, top-notch guys who know their stuff, know how to win people over.”
Rick knew what that meant. He might lose half his client list, or more, if he did this. “I understand, Mr. Rainey.”
“Well, as long as you do . . . I guess that’s all there is to say. Have a great week. Hope you get something to show for it.” And he hung up.
Hope you get something to show for it. That was the thing, wasn’t it? Rick had a sick feeling inside.
The feeling he had just committed career suicide.
33
Leanne had settled down somewhat from all the terror she’d felt immediately after things started going wrong. She still didn’t understand everything she’d been told. All she knew was that Art had done well through the surgery yesterday and for several hours after. Something complicated happened yesterday evening, and he’d almost died.
She was sitting beside Art now in the ICU, watching all the activity in the hall through the glass dividing wall. Dr. Halper had just left. He had been so kind. He’d changed his plans and stayed overnight to keep an eye on Art. He’d explained that Art had finally stabilized, but to a lesser place than where he’d been right after surgery. His blood pressure was still dangerously low. If he didn’t begin to respond to the meds they were giving him, he could be in serious trouble. He said he hated to leave her but had numerous patients back home to tend to.
Leanne was tired of sitting. She stood next to his bed, in the one place she could stand because of all the machines and tubes. Several of them were new or newer versions of ones back home, and she had no idea what they were doing. But she understood the blood pressure monitor just fine. She looked at it every few seconds.
Right now it read 63 over 41. She knew 120 over 80 was considered normal, so Art’s numbers were half what they should be. She reached for his free hand and gave it a squeeze. She tried to remember what it felt like yesterday morning when he squeezed back. She had been fighting off thoughts all day that God had just allowed Art to wake up like that to say good-bye.
“Leanne?”
She turned at the familiar voice. “Charlie!” There he was, Father Charlie, filling the doorway. He walked toward her, holding out his arms. She fell into them and released all her pent-up fear and emotion.
“It’s all right, Leanne. You just let it out.” He patted her gently on the shoulders.
She continued to cry for several minutes. She didn’t mean to, it just happened, seeing a good friend. “Oh my,” she heard him say. She leaned back. He was looking over her shoulder at Art. They parted and he walked to Art’s side.
“Oh Art. My good friend.” Tears welled up in his eyes. “Alice would be here with me, but she’s up north taking care of her mother.” He looked up at all the monitors. He seemed bewildered by the sight. “So what’s the latest? What are the doctors saying?”
Leanne filled him in as best she could. She got to the last part and pointed toward the blood pressure monitor. “That’s the one they’re watching the most,” she said.
“That’s Art’s blood pressure?” he asked. It read 59 over 39.
“It’s so low,” she said. “They said if it doesn’t get up to more normal levels, we’ll lose him.”
Charlie shook his head. “We can’t have that. Not after all this. I can’t believe God intends to take him after bringing him through the worst of it.”
“I hope you’re right,” she said.
“Leanne, I don’t know what’s come over me, but I just feel like I’m supposed to lay hands on him and pray, you know, like they do in the Bible.”
She had never heard Charlie talk like this. She wasn’t sure the church tradition he came from even believed in that sort of thing. She noticed a small black book in his hands. It wasn’t a Bible.
He noticed her looking at it. “I’m going to set this thing over here,” he said, laying the book on a small counter. “The prayer I’m going to pray isn’t in that prayer book. Why don’t you come over here with me? You hold his hand, and I’ll lay my hands on him, nice and gentle.”
She did. Then he pointed to the blood pressure monitor. “What should those numbers say?”
“What?”
“What numbers are the doctors saying they need to see on that monitor for Art to be out of danger?”
She looked up at the monitor. “He said that 40 has to get up to about 75 and that 62 has to get closer to 100. He said that’s what they’re hoping for.”
“Well, Leanne, I know this may sound crazy. But I’ve been praying for Art the whole drive over. Just talking to God out loud. In between, I’ve been remembering all the good times we’ve had and all the wonderful things I’ve learned from him. The more I did this, the sadder I got. By the time I got here, I was feeling like I was coming here to say good-bye. When I first walked in and saw him like this, I was sure of it. But something’s come over me, and I don’t believe that anymore.”
“What do yo
u believe?”
“Watch that monitor.” He closed his eyes. “Father in heaven, forgive me for being so bold, but I’m thinking I’m feeling this way because of you, something you’re doing here. I just can’t believe you mean to take my friend Art just now. Seems to me if it was his time, you could have taken him that first day, or any of the days in between. Or not let him make it through the surgery.”
“Look.” Leanne couldn’t believe it. Art’s numbers started climbing. The 62 now read 70, and the 40 now said 58.
“Then let’s keep going,” he said. “Father, Leanne needs Art back in her life. And so do all the folks down at the Book Nook. And all the folks over at their little church. And I need Art in my life, Alice and I both do. So please, dear Lord—”
“Look!” Leanne said. “They’re going up more every time you talk!”
Charlie opened his eyes. Art’s blood pressure read 91 over 69. “Then I’ll keep talking. Thank you, Father, for doing this. Thank you for reminding me you can do all things. I must have told other people that a thousand times, but I’m seeing it right before my eyes.”
97 over 72.
Leanne burst into tears of joy. God was doing it. It was a miracle.
“Lord, would you bring these numbers all the way back to where they need to be, and then keep them there so Art can start to get better. Thank you so much. In Jesus’ name, amen.”
101 over 76.
Leanne turned to Charlie. “You did it.” She gave him a big hug.
“He did it,” Charlie said, his index finger pointing upward.
“I know he did it,” she said. “But he used you. It’s like you saved Art’s life. You stay here. I’m going to go get the doctor.”
34
As he walked the beach early in the morning, Rick was beginning to find it easier to have positive thoughts about God. He’d actually talked to God several times, feeling almost sure he was being heard. The news from his mom about Art’s sudden turnabout with Father Charlie had certainly helped. And of course, it was almost easy to think about God while watching a glorious sunrise come up over the water, seeing its brilliant rays fan out through the clouds across the sky. Seeing the vastness of the ocean, pondering the source of endless waves breaking on the beach.
But this was more than a live nature show. Something was going on inside him.
When he awoke that morning, he’d expected to feel dread inside as he considered his job situation. Mr. Rainey had been his hero, his mentor, the man he’d wanted to model his career after. Rainey had it all. He could afford any one of these beautiful beach houses or the mansions Rick saw every morning driving over the bridge. And Rainey didn’t drive a Celica like Rick; he drove a ritzy, high-end Jaguar that cost as much as Rick’s small condo.
Everything Rick had done, every decision he’d made in the last five years, was to get in good with Rainey and stay there. Let Rainey lead him all the way to the promised land. Yet here Rick had been willing to let it all go in a single telephone conversation, and for what?
Hope you get something to show for it.
These words kept repeating in his mind as he walked along the water’s edge. He stopped for a moment and watched a little sandpiper running along the wet sand, pecking at the seaweed. It waited till the last moment when the water came rushing toward it, then fled, its little feet moving as fast as a hummingbird’s wings. It waited till the water subsided then rushed back to the seaweed once again.
It’s what all sandpipers did. This was their life. Rick felt right then that it was a picture of his life back in Charlotte.
The bigger question for him now was . . . what would he have to show for it at the end? He ran from everything and anything in his life that truly mattered, and he’d been running like this as long as he could remember. With occasional moments to peck at some seaweed. That was the prize.
But this morning was different. Rick didn’t wake up with the feelings of doom and dread he’d expected. Instead he felt . . . relief. Even freer somehow. He’d felt this sense of freedom the entire time he’d been walking along the beach.
These fine feelings continued to surround him as the morning went on, as he got ready to head to the store, as he ate his breakfast, as he traveled all the way across the bridge into the old, run-down downtown area. Right up until he pulled into his parking place next to the Book Nook. But then he saw that Columbo was back, peeking his head around the corner.
He’s back for his stupid Egg McMuffin, he thought.
Rick got out of the car and was just about to yell at him when Andrea pulled in behind him.
“Wait, Rick,” she shouted. She got out of the car, clutching a little white bag. “JD, don’t go. I’ve got your sandwich right here, and some hash browns to go with it.”
Rick couldn’t believe it. What was she thinking? He closed his door, hard.
JD stepped out around the corner, a big smile on his face. He turned his head and said to no one, “See, Taylor, I told you she’d come.”
It was ridiculous. JD didn’t look at Rick, just Andrea. Rick turned from the scene, walked down the steps, and unlocked the door. Behind him he heard her say, “You sit tight, and I’ll bring out your coffee in a few minutes.”
He turned the lights on, set his lunch behind the counter, and started going through the morning setup routine.
“Morning, Rick,” she said.
“Morning,” he said back. He plugged in the Christmas lights, popped in the Christmas music cassette. He noticed she went right to the coffeepot. Good, let her fix it.
This was going to be a problem in their relationship. Then he caught himself. You idiot, you have no relationship. He walked back to the office and took care of a few bookkeeping things that needed his attention. He heard her out there, doing this and that, humming, occasionally singing along with a familiar carol. Smelled the fragrant aroma of coffee. Heard her fix the coffee. Listened for the little bell to ring and knew she was bringing JD his promised cup.
When he heard her come back, he figured it was safe to come out and talk this over. He walked around the counter and sat on the little stool. He looked at her, his anger quickly muted by the look on her face. It was pure kindness.
“Before you say anything, Rick, let me explain.”
She was so beautiful.
“I was just so happy last night after we got your mom’s call. After being worried sick all day that we were going to lose Art, the way God brought him back . . . I don’t know. For the first time, I was sure he was going to make it.”
Rick didn’t see how this connected to Egg McMuffins. “I was happy too,” he said.
“Well, after we locked up, I was driving through town toward my apartment when I saw poor JD walking by himself down by the park. I just remembered how much Art cared about JD, all the effort he made to reach out to him, and I just felt bad.”
“Bad that I’ve pushed him out?”
She looked away from him. “Yes. I know you think it’s the right thing to do.”
“Andrea, it’s just . . . the guy is homeless. He smells. He lives in a box. He talks to himself.”
“I know. And Art knew that, but he didn’t care. I don’t care.”
“That homeless guy broke into the store, stole everything. If that cop hadn’t caught him before he left town, where would we be right now?”
“I know,” she said. “But that wasn’t JD. Not all homeless people are the same. Just like other people. Some are nice, some are cruel. Some work hard, some steal. That thief wasn’t even from around here. Don’t you remember what the officer said? He knew right off that a local guy wasn’t responsible.”
“But if you let guys like JD hang around here, people aren’t going to feel safe coming to the store. How many customers do you think we’ve lost because of him or guys like him hanging around?”
Andrea looked down. “I know. I’ve thought about that. I don’t always feel safe bringing Amy down here.” She looked back in his eyes. “But Rick, Art sees
something in JD, and I really think Art’s going to make it now. You don’t have to do anything with him. When I saw JD last night I told him this would just be for today, because I’m here. That he’d have to wait for Art to get better before he could start coming around during the week.”
Rick was relieved to hear that.
There was a brief pause. “So, are you still mad?”
“No, I’m all right. I don’t know what it is, but the guy just gives me the creeps. But I understand your thinking. And this really is Art’s place, not mine.”
Andrea smiled at him. How could he stay mad at her?
The rest of the day they stayed extremely busy. They had even more sales than the first Saturday after Thanksgiving. And of course, the constant topic at the counter had been Art’s miraculous recovery yesterday from the brink of death.
To hear the reaction of the customers in the store, you’d think Art had risen from the dead then walked on water. Praise the Lord. Thank you, Jesus. Hallelujah, Jesus. Over and over again. He let Andrea do all the talking. He just provided head nods and smiles. Several congratulated Rick as if he’d played some kind of role. He was glad to hear that Andrea’s version of the story contained no hype or exaggeration. He hated when people did that.
Rick had to admit, though, it really was a great story, and it challenged his mind in a good way each time she retold it. But after a day of it, Rick was ready to retire the subject.
Now it was almost quitting time, and the store was empty. What Rick had enjoyed most about the day was all the time he got to spend with Andrea. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but she seemed to treat him differently since their talk this morning. Nothing close to romantic interest, as far as he could tell. But there was a certain warmth in her tone and eyes. In those moments between customers, they talked and chatted not unlike a couple on a first date. Short get-to-know-you conversations.
In the last conversation, which, like all the others, had been interrupted by a customer, she started to open up about Amy’s father a little. Rick didn’t want to lose the momentum. She came back to the counter after cleaning out the coffeepot. “So, Andrea, I know we’ve got to start wrapping up, but you were talking about Amy’s father a few minutes ago—I think you said his name was Greg—and what happened there. Did you want to finish what you were saying, or am I being too nosy?”
