Destiny Interrupted

by Ruth Davidson

  Brad tried to smile but it faded quickly as he fidgeted in continuing discomfort.

  “Did you know that your parents are coming up to get you tonight?” Whitney asked.

  “Some nurse told me they were.”

  “Are you glad?” Whitney questioned.

  “Kind of,” Brad replied.

  “You’d rather stay?”

  “No,” Brad said. “My arm hurts too much.”

  “You silly boy,” Whitney lightly chastised him. “I wish you would have found another way to entertain your new-found friends rather than jumping off rafters in the stables when it’s past your curfew. I am glad that you finally made peace with your bunkmates, though. I knew you could. I’m proud of you for trying. Do you like them?”

  “They’re nice,” Brad said.

  “Even the one you were fighting with earlier?” Whitney asked. “Is he nice?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m glad you got to know them better,” Whitney replied. “But I need to tell you something. Can you see why the camp has rules? Can you see why we need to follow them? They’re there to protect you from doing crazy things like you did tonight. Because of that you won’t be able to go horseback riding tomorrow and I won’t be able to spend the rest of this session with you. That makes me sad.”

  Brad stared at her with a sober expression, not speaking.

  “I am going to miss you and I am sorry that you got hurt,” Whitney said. “Can I do anything to help you while I’m here? Are you hungry or thirsty or anything?”

  “I’m thirsty,” Brad told her.

  “Let me grab you some water,” Whitney said. She found his empty cup and went into the nearby bathroom to fill it. She brought it out to him and supported his head while he tentatively drank. She was still helping him when a dark-suited, blonde-haired man walked through the door without knocking, a suit jacket slung sloppily over his shoulder, his tie loosened about his neck. “Hi, Dad,” Brad immediately greeted him.

  “Look at you,” his father said, frowning unhappily, his brows curling downward in growing frustration as he approached Brad’s bedside. “Are you okay?”

  Any earlier tears were abruptly gone. Brad’s eyes stayed planted on his dad. “Yeah.”

  “Some stitches and a broken arm?” his dad asked. “Is that what happened tonight?”

  Brad nodded.

  “You were jumping off the rafters in the stable?” his father questioned. “You were out with your group late at night when this happened?”

  “Yes,” came Brad’s subdued voice.

  “What is it with you people?” his dad suddenly yelled, abruptly turning on Whitney in unexpected vehemence, his face contorted in anger. “You can’t keep a boy safe for two lousy weeks while he’s under your care and supervision? You have to have parents jaunting up here all hours of the night to come rescue their children from your blatant neglect?”

  Whitney became abruptly startled by the direct attack and remained quiet, staring at Brad’s father in silent consternation.

  “Don’t, Dad,” Brad warned.

  “Don’t what?” his dad angrily asked.

  “Don’t talk to her like that,” Brad said. “Leave her alone. She’s my friend. She didn’t do anything.”

  Brad’s father humphed angrily. “Yeah right, she didn’t do anything. I don’t pay you people not to do anything. All I can say is that the camp is footing these stupid hospital bills. I won’t be paying for them, that’s for sure.” He pivoted angrily and walked back outside without another word.

  Both Whitney and Brad watched him leave. Whitney turned to Brad in the quiet aftermath. “I don’t think your dad is too happy tonight.”

  “My dad is never happy,” Brad informed her. “He yells a lot.”

  They sat together for a few minutes, still recovering from the disturbing confrontation, when they were interrupted by the arrival of a young nurse who began bustling about the room. “There’s a man outside,” the nurse observed in a low tone as she worked, “who I think might be a little upset over current circumstances. He’s letting everyone know.”

  “That’s my Dad,” Brad observed, looking at Whitney as he spoke.

  The nurse eyed Whitney sympathetically before she turned toward Brad. “How are you feeling?”

  “A little better,” Brad said.

  “We can give you some painkillers,” the nurse informed him. “Would you like some before you leave?”

  “Yes,” Brad said.

  “All right,” the nurse replied. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” She glanced at Whitney as she walked out. “I think his mother just arrived. She’s waiting outside. Perhaps you could show her in.”

  “I’ll do that,” Whitney quickly responded. She lightly squeezed Brad’s hand. “I’m going to go talk to your mother for a minute. We’ll come right back in to see you.”

  “Okay.”

  Whitney turned and left, immediately aware of the loud raucous down the hallway the moment she left the room. She saw Trevor standing silently against the wall a short distance away, not saying a word, his dark brown eyes locked on Brad’s father as the upset man continued his loud, fuming tirade. “It’s shoddy irresponsibility,” he accused Trevor, his face flushed and red as he spoke. “You can’t tell me I’m the first person up here rescuing a child from your substandard care. Is it going to take a lawsuit to make you change your practices? Is that it?”

  Trevor remained inflexible, not responding to the uncontrolled taunts. Only the cleft in his left cheek showed the stress of the moment as it deepened in cold resentment. Still, Trevor made no move to retaliate or push verbally back. He remained silent and grave.

  “John, settle down,” a trim, tired-looking woman interrupted him as she approached the two of them standing there. “You don’t need to have a fit. People are trying to sleep. Besides, we’re not going to sue. You know our son. He was the one who broke rules and stayed out past the time he should.”

  “You think you can tell a bunch of twelve-year-old kids to stay in past hours and they’re going to do it? That’s ridiculous,” Brad’s father said. He turned to face Trevor once again. “Those kids should have been monitored much better than they were. They should have a supervisor 24/7.” He continued his heated verbal lashing as Brad’s mother turned toward Whitney in obvious discomfort.

  “I apologize for his behavior. He’s out of control, as usual. There won’t be any lawsuits or any other types of repercussions, I personally guarantee it. He just gets so confrontational,” she said as she sighed tiredly. “How is my son?”

  “Brad is fine,” Whitney answered. “He’s in a little bit of pain right now but the worst is over. He’s already stitched up and they’ve completed his cast. I’ll take you to him.”

  “Thanks,” she replied, turning with her toward Brad’s room. Whitney glanced once more at Trevor, who still stood in a cold, stoic calm beneath the continued barrage, before Whitney walked into Brad’s room with his mother trailing on her heels.

  Brad seemed immediately relieved when he saw his mother enter. “I see you’re getting out of camp a bit early,” she greeted him with a tired smile. “Are you okay?”

  “It still hurts,” Brad complained, his tears starting afresh.

  “It will hurt for awhile and I’m sorry about that,” his mother consoled him. “Do you think you’re up to driving home tonight? I got you some pillows and a blanket in the car to help keep you as comfortable as possible.”

  “The nurse said she’d bring some pills for me first,” Brad said. “She said she’d be right back.”

  “Okay,” his mother said. “We’ll wait for her before we get going. I’ll start gathering your things. Do you think you’ll be prepared to go after you get your medication?”

  Brad nodded.

  Now that Brad had settled into his mother’s care, Whitney decided it was time to excuse herself. “I’m going to leave and let you two have some privacy. Do you think you could call me at camp sometime n
ext week and let me know how you’re doing, Brad, how your arm is and everything?”

  “Yeah,” Brad said.

  “Good,” Whitney said. “I’d love to hear from you again. Goodnight to you both. I hope you have a good trip home, Brad, and I hope you feel better soon.”

  “Thanks,” Brad said tiredly.

  “Goodbye,” Whitney said.

  “Bye,” Brad responded.

  “Thanks for your help,” his mother said with genuine sincerity as Whitney turned to leave. “I really appreciate how you’ve handled this situation with my son.”

  “I’m glad I could be here,” Whitney answered. “Goodnight.”

  “Night.”

  When Whitney walked out of the room once more, the hallway had become quiet. Trevor stood alone where Brad’s father had left him, looking drained and fatigued. His dark eyes immediately centered on Whitney’s face as she walked toward him. “Let’s get out of here,” Trevor said. “I don’t have too many fond memories of this place and this little incident just reminded me of a few I’d rather forget.”

  Whitney glanced at him curiously as she fell in beside him. “Brad’s mother gave me her personal word that there will be no lawsuits against the camp.”

  “I’m not worried about any lawsuits,” Trevor answered. “Brad’s father was just blowing off steam. He doesn’t know he already signed a permission slip that frees us from any liability, especially when his son was breaking rules he’d promised he’d keep.”

  “If that’s blowing off steam, I’d hate to see what happens when he gets really mad,” Whitney observed in a dry tone. “I don’t have to wonder where his son got his temper. It’s a good thing nothing more severe happened tonight. Can you imagine what his father would have done if Brad had been seriously injured?”

  Trevor glanced at her sideways with an odd expression before he spoke. “I certainly can imagine what his father would have done,” Trevor said. “If you remember, this isn’t the first time I’ve had to deal with the repercussions of an angry father after an accident at the camp. I had to deal with a similar incident two years ago.”

  Whitney looked over at him in bewilderment, flustered for a few seconds as she tried to understand what he’d meant. “What do you mean?” she questioned, disconcerted. “You’re talking about my accident? You’re speaking about my father?”

  Trevor nodded firmly. “I am.”

  Whitney crinkled her brows, at once confused. “I don’t understand how that could be. My father told me that you never spoke to him directly about what happened. He said that…” Whitney abruptly cut off her words, realizing she shouldn’t have said what she had. It wouldn’t help bringing the situation out in the open anyway, not with the way things still were between them. The past was over and done and it needed to remain that way. “Never mind,” Whitney finished, shaking her head in dissatisfaction at her mistake. “I apologize for speaking openly. I shouldn’t have said anything. It was wrong of me to bring up the past, especially at a time like this.”

  Trevor looked at her with a searching expression. “What exactly did your father tell you?” he questioned, his tone becoming almost terse.

  “I don’t think we should speak about it right now,” Whitney hedged uncomfortably. “It’s late and we both should be getting back. Besides, it happened a long time ago.”

  “Yes it happened a long time ago, but there isn’t a day that goes by that I haven’t thought about it or dealt with it to some degree,” Trevor replied. “I’m sure it’s been the same with you. I would like to know what your father told you. After all this time, don’t you think it’s fair that I do know?”

  They were out of the bright hospital lobby and nearing the Jeep but Trevor stopped in front of the bumper and faced her. Although only a dim streetlight illuminated his features, Whitney could feel the intensity of his gaze. She quickly dropped her eyes to the ground, trying to regain her composure, before she lifted them to his face once again. She knew she couldn’t escape telling him the truth no matter how hard it would be to repeat it. “My father told me that when you found out that I might not make it—or that if I did live, I might be damaged physically or otherwise—he said you chose to completely sever our relationship,” Whitney explained. “He said that you never came near me or tried to see me again. He said it was over for you the moment you found out that I might not be okay. I assumed that’s why you never came to the hospital to see me.”

  Trevor remained rigid, his eyes boring into hers. “That’s what your father told you? That’s what you heard about me?”

  “Yes,” Whitney affirmed.

  “And you believed it?” Trevor questioned sharply.

  Whitney abruptly tensed at his tense, angry tone as she gazed up into his features, startled by his reaction. “I didn’t have any reason not to believe it,” Whitney told him, trying to remain calm. “I never saw you after the accident. You never came to the hospital.”

  Trevor pointed over to the building behind him in frustration. “You don’t think I went to that hospital? You don’t think I know every inch of that front lobby as I paced back and forth waiting for any kind of word about your condition? You don’t think the sight of that place makes me literally sick when it brings back memories I’d rather forget?”

  Whitney took an uncertain step back from him, not knowing how to respond. She lifted her brows in unexpressed distress. “I didn’t know you were there with me,” Whitney told him, her voice strained. “I don’t know what happened. When you ask me to tell you about the past, what can I say? All I can tell you is what I’ve been told. I do know that when I regained consciousness, I never saw you again. I was taken home and I never saw you or heard from you at all. I’m only telling you my experiences and what my father told me. But I’m willing to listen to whatever you have to say. Perhaps you could explain what went on. I want to know. I’ve always wanted to know your side of the story.”

  Whitney could tell Trevor tried to forcibly relax his rigid stance, making himself take in deep, calming breaths as he did. He indicated the Jeep with a slight jerk of his head. “Let’s talk in there,” he said. “Brad and his parents will be coming out and I don’t want them to overhear.”

  Whitney humbly complied, soon after climbing onto the hard seat. She stared out the window in front of her, hardly able to face Trevor directly. What had happened? Why did he seem almost irate when she’d only repeated what her Dad had told her? Had her father told her the truth?

  “What do you remember about the accident?” Trevor asked after he settled himself inside, his large hands tensely gripping the steering wheel in front of him.

  “I don’t remember anything about the accident,” Whitney said, shaking her head. “I don’t remember anything at all about that whole day—maybe even a few days before that. I just don’t remember anything.”

  Trevor whipped his dark head over toward hers, at once taken aback. His dark brows were raised. “You remember nothing from the day of the accident? Nothing at all?”

  “There’s nothing I remember about that day,” Whitney responded. “I’m not really sure how many days I lost before or after that but that day is completely gone from my memory. I only have vague memories of that summer—being up at camp, working rotations, spending time with you. But there’s not one clear memory of the day of the accident. I only remember waking up in the hospital, wondering where I was and what had happened to me.”

  Trevor stared straight ahead, obviously trying to digest the information. It took some time before he spoke again. When he did, his dark brows were pulled downward in troubled contemplation. “Did you understand where we were on the day of the accident?” Trevor questioned. “Were you told that?”

  “My Dad said that you and I had gone up to the canyon to go four-wheeling,” Whitney stated. “He said we were coming home late at night through the pass and that we somehow got off the trail. That’s when we rolled. You were thrown clear but I wasn’t.”

  Trevor turned his he
ad toward her, letting his eyes wander to her cheek. “You had a deep gash on your face…”

  Whitney unconsciously traced the place as he spoke.

  “…and you were bleeding badly,” Trevor continued. “There was blood everywhere—on your clothes, streaming down your face. You wouldn’t move and you wouldn’t respond to anything I said. I couldn’t tell if I was losing you or not. I called an ambulance and they brought you to this place.” Trevor paused again, this time noticeably disturbed by the memories that arose in him. His forehead was crinkled in distress and his lips were turned downward in a subtle frown. “For four days—four long, miserable days—I paced that lobby, waiting to hear about your condition. I could hardly eat, I scarcely slept—I just kept waiting to hear about what was going to happen to you. It got to the point where I could take anything except those vague, evasive replies and sitting there waiting endlessly for who knew what. I just wanted to know—even if it meant finding out that you wouldn’t be okay or that we might lose you. I just needed to know.”

  Whitney had been staring at him in shocked disbelief. “You stayed at the hospital with me? You never left?”

  “Do you need proof?” Trevor asked with elevated emotion. “I could tell you your doctor’s name. I could tell you the procedures they performed, the visitors you had, even the color of the balloons in your room. I could tell you whatever you wanted to know about during those four never-ending, nightmarish days.”

  Whitney sat limply in the front seat, feeling drained. She could hardly believe it. Why had her father lied to her about what had happened? Why had he told her Trevor had walked away from her and had never come back? Why had he claimed Trevor had ceased caring for her the moment he thought she might not be okay? “I don’t know what to say,” Whitney said in incredulity. “What you explained to me is not how I understand the situation. Why, if you were there like you said you were, did I never see you or hear from you again?”