Rejoice

by Karen Kingsbury

  Ashley kept working her fingers into Hayley’s calf muscles—first the right leg, then the left—and finding ways to make her respond until ten minutes later a nurse came in with a long needle.

  “Time for her meds.” The nurse’s eyes looked tired, as though a lifetime of seeing children like Hayley had left a permanent mark.

  Brooke moved back and motioned for Ashley to do the same. As they did, Hayley began to cry, and her arms and legs, which had been calm while they were being massaged, grew stiff and rigid once more.

  “She wants us.” Ashley stared at her niece wide-eyed. As often as she’d been by to visit, she’d never seen Hayley so responsive. “Brooke, she knows who we are and she doesn’t want to be alone.”

  “I know.” Brooke’s eyes were wet, but her smile took up her whole face. “Now you can see why I’m so hopeful. She’s coming back to us, Ashley; I really think she is.”

  As soon as the nurse was finished, Ashley returned to her place by the bed. Hayley was crying again, turning her head from side to side. “It’s okay, sweetie; we’re still here.” Once more she took hold of the child’s stiff leg and eased her thumb into the tight muscles. And once more Hayley stopped crying and found Ashley’s eyes. “That’s right, Hayley; where’s your happy smile, silly?”

  The corners of Hayley’s mouth stretched and filled her face, and she pressed her head back into the pillow. The action reminded Ashley of something—something she couldn’t put her finger on until . . . She gasped out loud. “Brooke, she looks like a newborn. That smile . . . it’s the same one she had when she was two months old.”

  “Right.” Brooke’s tone was sure and confident. “That’s what I’ve been saying.” She moved back in place beside Ashley. “Now if we can just get the doctors to see it.”

  Ashley was quiet, continuing to massage Hayley’s legs and arms and hands. After a while, as they often did when she was with Hayley, tears formed in her eyes and spilled onto the child’s hospital sheets. They were strange tears, really. Not like any Ashley had ever cried before. The tears didn’t involve her sinuses or even the sound of her voice; they simply came. Falling like rain whenever she spent time with Hayley.

  “I want her out of this bed so bad, Brooke.” Ashley dabbed at her cheeks, but it did nothing to stop the flow. “I want her to sit up and tell us she’s only teasing, that she’s really still in there, still the Hayley we know.”

  “Exactly.” Brooke’s eyes never left Hayley. “I want her to tell me how she’s feeling, if she’s alone or afraid or if her legs hurt when they cramp up. I want her to ask about Maddie and talk about going home again.” She sniffed. “I want her to eat with a spoon, not through a tube in her nose.”

  “I picture her on her fourth birthday.” Ashley wiped at her tears again. “Riding her tricycle, playing catch with Cole . . . eating birthday cake with the other kids.”

  Brooke’s voice held a quiet resolve that hadn’t been there before. “Then we have to pray that way, Ashley. You and me and everyone else who knows her.”

  “I am, Brooke. Every day I am.”

  They were quiet then, and after fifteen minutes, Hayley fell asleep. Brooke and Ashley took their chairs again, the tears gone for now. Once they were settled, Ashley leaned forward and rubbed her sister’s knee. “Okay . . . what’s on your mind?”

  Brooke shrugged. “I’m wondering, I guess; why Peter isn’t here, why he thinks his being gone will make it easier for us.”

  A conversation came to mind, one Ashley and Kari had shared earlier today. Ryan had dropped in a few times to see Peter, and each time Peter had acted strangely. Ryan had talked about Peter’s behavior with Ashley’s dad and they’d reached the same conclusion: Peter might be taking something to get through the ordeal.

  Ashley studied her sister, not sure how much she should say. “Have you talked to Dad lately?”

  “Yes.” Brooke rolled her eyes. “Peter isn’t taking drugs. He might be drinking, but he wouldn’t abuse his privilege as a doctor; I know him better than that.”

  “I don’t know.” Ashley didn’t want to argue the point. But maybe if Brooke considered the possibility she might look a little closer at how Peter was spending his time. “Doesn’t it seem strange that he isn’t here more?”

  Brooke shifted so she was facing Ashley. “He’s guilty, Ash. That’s why he isn’t here. He’s chosen to cut himself off from me and the girls and the accident, because that’s the easiest way he can get through it.”

  “You think so?”

  “I know so.” She turned back to Hayley. “The guilt’s tearing him up.”

  These were waters they hadn’t crossed. Most of the time Ashley and Brooke spent these hospital hours talking about happier times, the years since the girls were born, the fun moments they’d shared as a family, Brooke’s insistence that God was going to work a miracle and give them Hayley back again, whole and well.

  Ashley closed her mouth and followed her sister’s gaze, allowing her eyes to fall on the blonde girl, still sleeping peacefully a few feet away. Give me the words, God. I don’t want to hurt her.

  A reassurance came over Ashley, and she felt the muscles in her shoulders ease some. “When’s the last time the two of you talked?”

  “Peter and me?” Brooke glanced at her, but looked immediately back at Hayley. “Days. He was here last Saturday for a few minutes—nothing more.”

  Ashley rubbed Brooke’s arm, willing her tone to sound kind and gentle. “Then how do you know, Brooke? What if he is using something?”

  Brooke’s eyes became stony cold. “What if he is?” She shifted her gaze to Ashley’s, but just for a few seconds. “He’s the one who walked out on this family.” Her chin quivered and her voice shook. “I refuse to chase after him, and I absolutely won’t beg him to take part in what’s happening here. Not when . . .”

  Ashley waited until she was sure Brooke wasn’t going to finish her sentence. “Not when what?” She leaned a bit closer to her sister. “Not when it’s his fault you’re here?”

  Brooke tilted her face upward and looked at Hayley again. Her expression remained frozen, her body still as if she might break if she moved an inch in either direction. Despite all that, a stream of tears forged its way down the sides of her cheeks.

  Ashley wasn’t sure why she didn’t let the issue go, but for some reason she felt God leading her, directing her to talk about what happened. Maybe then her sister would have a chance to work through the accident.

  “Brooke . . . is that what you think? That it’s his fault?”

  She didn’t say a word, but her head moved up and down twice, and the tears came harder, her shoulders shaking with the sobs she was holding back. It was the first time since Hayley’s drowning that Ashley had seen Brooke break down this way.

  “I . . . I asked him to keep their life jackets on . . . to make sure the girls didn’t go near the water without them.”

  Ashley knew only a few of the details, whatever Peter had shared with Ryan the night of the drowning. The detail about the life jackets was new. “Have you talked about what happened that day? With Peter?”

  “No.” A momentary guilt colored Brooke’s eyes. “I don’t want to talk about it. I can’t stand the thought of picturing Hayley’s last few minutes, the events just before she . . .” Brooke covered her face with her hands and hung her head. “I can’t do it, Ashley. I wasn’t there to help her.”

  Ashley felt her eyes grow wider. What had her sister just said? She hadn’t been there to help Hayley? A strange pounding sounded in Ashley’s ears, and a rush went through her veins. In all the weeks while they’d sat vigil beside Hayley, Brooke had never said anything indicating her own guilt.

  Until now.

  Brooke sat unmoving.

  Great, heartbreaking sobs shook her back, and she kept her face covered with her fingers. Ashley slid her chair closer to her sister’s and eased her arm around her shoulders. “Oh, Brooke. You think it’s your fault, too.”

&n
bsp; Her sister sat up straighter, but kept her hands over her eyes. “I agreed to be on call. I should’ve put the girls first, and then—”

  “No, Brooke.” Ashley’s voice was firm. “No. A million times no. God wants you to let go of that. Both you and Peter would do a hundred things differently if you had that day to do over again. So you took an on-call job. So Peter watched a baseball game. Those aren’t deadly decisions, Brooke; can’t you see that?” Ashley leaned her head against Brooke’s. “What happened to Hayley just happened, that’s all. Blaming Peter, blaming yourself won’t take you back in time and let you fix it. All you have is today, maybe tomorrow. None of us know even that for sure.”

  “Yes, but . . .” Brooke let her hands fall to her lap, and her eyes had the frightened look of a lost child. “If it wasn’t our fault, then . . . then that leaves only God. Don’t you see, Ashley? If I believe this is God’s fault, I’m not sure I could ever trust him again. I have to blame someone else.” She gave a slow shake of her head. “God sees all things, right?”

  “Right.” Ashley swallowed her fears. This conversation was way beyond her abilities, but still she felt the peace of God inside her, encouraging her to go on.

  “Okay—” Brooke sniffed—“here’s the problem. I just found God again, Ashley. All those years when we were kids and Mom and Dad took us to church and talked about Jesus? I never really believed—not until after September eleventh. I don’t know; maybe that was the first time I ever needed God.” She made a sad ironic huff. “Now I believe every bit of it. God is real . . . Jesus died for my sins . . . I want him as my friend and Savior so I can get through life here and spend forever in heaven, okay? I believe all of it.”

  She took four quick, jerky breaths and knotted up her features. “I can understand Hayley’s drowning because of something we did; because I shouldn’t have been on call and Peter shouldn’t have been glued to that stupid baseball game.” Her eyes narrowed, bright with pain. “But if it wasn’t my fault, if it wasn’t Peter’s fault, then I’d have to believe God allowed my daughter into the backyard by herself. And then instead of causing one of the adults to check on her, I’d have to believe that same God watched her fall into the pool and did nothing to stop her, nothing to save her.”

  “That isn’t true.” Ashley removed her arm from Brooke’s shoulders and met her stare straight-on. “Hayley’s alive, isn’t she?”

  A handful of emotions flashed across Brooke’s face. Surprise and anger, fear and desperation, and finally an understanding that came and grew stronger with every passing minute. The fight inside Brooke was gone now, and once more she peered through the bed rails at Hayley. For a long while neither of them said anything, but Ashley could sense the change in her sister. Something she’d said, something God had given her to say, had touched Brooke and even now it was working its way from her head into her heart.

  After several minutes, Brooke stood. When she opened her mouth to speak, her words were barely more than a whisper. “She is alive, isn’t she?” She took Hayley’s hand in hers. The hint of a smile played at the corners of her lips. “I never thought of that before . . . that maybe what happened to Hayley wasn’t anyone’s fault. Maybe it just happened, and God in all his mercy saved her life.”

  “Exactly.” Ashley stood next to Brooke and stared at her niece. “We’re all praying for her, Brooke. Even Peter must be praying.”

  Brooke ignored the part about Peter. She was quiet for a moment, and then she said, “Mom told me Pastor Mark has churches around the country praying for Hayley, thousands of people.”

  “Right. And you know what, Brooke?” Ashley remembered Hayley’s slow, strange laugh and the way she’d used her eyes earlier that evening. “I have a feeling God’s not finished with her yet.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  The best news of all came three days later on the first of December.

  At Brooke’s prodding, the doctors decided to retest Hayley’s vision, and that morning three of them entered her hospital room together, their faces a mix of shock and exuberance.

  Dr. Martinez took the lead. “Brooke, we have no explanation for the information we’re about to give you.”

  Brooke rose from her chair and faced the men, all of them doctors she’d seen at the hospital over the past few years.

  “Hayley can see.” A sound that blended awe and joy came from the doctor’s throat. “We checked her every way we knew how and there’s no question about it. Her vision has returned completely.”

  An explosion of color and light flashed through Brooke’s mind, as if the news had given sight again to her, too. Hayley was sleeping, but Brooke took hold of her hand anyway, her eyes still on the three doctors. “People all around the nation are praying for this little girl, gentlemen. She’s getting better; that’s the only explanation.”

  Dr. Martinez raised his clipboard a few inches and let it fall back to his side. “All we can tell you is this: It’s working.” He flashed a smile at her, one that said he shared her faith. “Tell everyone to keep praying, okay?”

  The other two doctors shifted their weight from one foot to the other, their eyes intent on the floor tiles. Med school didn’t teach doctors how to handle three-year-old drowning victims who spent fifteen minutes underwater and then regained their sight. Brooke understood the uneasiness of the two men. Medical books taught nothing about God.

  One of the two stepped forward, the lines on his forehead more pronounced than before. “We, uh . . . we have no explanation for what’s happened with your daughter.”

  Brooke smiled, willing them to understand. “I know prayer isn’t conventional medicine, Doctors.” She looked down at her daughter. “But you said it yourself. There’s no other explanation.”

  An hour later Brooke’s father knocked on the doorframe and leaned his head inside the hospital room. “Can I come in?”

  “Sure.” Brooke hadn’t stopped smiling all day. “Did you hear the news?”

  Her father came to the opposite side of Hayley’s bed and held on to the railing. He looked from Brooke to Hayley and back again. “She . . . she can see? They’re sure?”

  A ripple of gentle laughter spilled from Brooke. “Wait a minute, Dad. You’re Mister Prayer Man, remember? ‘Never underestimate the power of prayer’; wasn’t that you? Every time I bombed a test or struggled in any way?” She grinned at him from the other side of Hayley’s bed. “What do you mean ‘are they sure?’ ” Her smile pushed up into her cheeks. “Dad . . . she can see!”

  Since the accident, her father had been quiet and tense. Normally the strength of the family, in light of what had happened to Hayley, he seemed distant, almost irritated. Brooke hadn’t talked to him about it, because her father hadn’t stayed in the hospital room more than ten minutes at a time.

  Now, though, relief filled her father’s features and his eyes welled up. “Brooke—” his gaze held hers—“I have a confession.”

  He sounded serious, and Brooke took quiet steps around the bed and faced him, her back to Hayley. Was it something about Peter, something her father knew that she hadn’t found out yet? She steadied herself against the bed railings and searched his face. “What?”

  Her father reached out and took her hand in his. “Remember that first night, when we got the news about Hayley?”

  “Yes?” Brooke reminded herself to exhale. Whatever this was, it hurt him badly. She’d never seen him look so tormented.

  He shifted his attention beyond her to Hayley, and he shook his head. “Her doctors gave me the numbers from her initial tests and—” he tossed his hands— “she didn’t have a chance, Brooke. I couldn’t tell you that then, but I knew the truth. Children don’t recover from that kind of brain damage.”

  “Okay . . .” There had to be more to the story. Brooke waited, her eyes trained on her father’s face.

  “So I prayed something awful that night, honey.” Her father’s chin trembled and he clenched his jaw until he had control. “I prayed that God would ta
ke her home. Because according to her tests, she would never get out of this hospital bed, never know any of us, never even wake up.”

  Brooke had experienced more emotions in the past two months than in all of her life until this point. Standing before her, admitting his frailties, was the man she idolized, the one who had praised her abilities since she was a child, the one who had encouraged her to apply to med school. John Baxter, the strongest man she knew. All that and he was only human after all, human like everyone else.

  “Dad . . . it’s okay . . . really.” His admission sent her into his arms, and for a moment their roles seemed reversed—he, the repentant child; she, the forgiving parent. She pulled back and studied him, the sorrow in his face. “We all thought about it, Dad. At one time or another, all of us. It was easy to think she’d be better off in heaven, running and playing the same as she’d done before the accident.”

  “But now . . .” John nodded his head toward Hayley, and his voice dropped to an agonizing hush. “Now she can see!”

  “Yes!” Brooke felt an otherworldly joy fill her heart, spreading out from her veins into her limbs and heart and soul. A joy that went deeper than the ocean and higher than all the mountains in the world combined. “Yes, she can see!”

  Her father looked at Hayley again. “I doubted God, Brooke. For the first time in my life I doubted.”

  “But, Dad . . . look at how much God loves you.” Brooke took gentle hold of his shoulders. Her father would never know how close she felt to him in this moment, knowing that her hero could make mistakes and be big enough to admit them. She looked over her shoulder at her younger daughter. “He loves you enough to laugh at the limits you put on him.” She met his eyes again. “The limits all of us put on him.”

  “But not you, Brooke.” Her father kissed her forehead. “You believed from the beginning.”