Ginnifer, his high school girlfriend, would have been running around the house from one end to the other, emphatically stating that ‘this’ and ‘that’ would simply have to go, making room for a different ‘this’ or ‘that.’ Bouncing through every nook and cranny, she’d exclaim that ‘this’ was too old-fashioned, and ‘that’ was worn out and antiquated. In his mind, he saw her in her cheerleader outfit, complete with pom-poms, which she’d shake at anything that actually ‘worked’ for her, which would be few and far between.
Cherise, his girlfriend the first two years of college, was the future “psychiatrist par excellence.” She would analyze everything about- and in the house, expounding on its merits versus its liabilities. She wouldn’t care at all about the sentimental value to Conyer. Her job would be to logically decide what worked and what did not in light of a list of criteria that she would have written out on a legal pad before even arriving at the house.
And, heaven help us, DeAnna, his girlfriend in college during his senior year, would be the worst of the three. She was only in college because her parents insisted. She’d stuck it out the duration, but knew from Day One of her freshman year that the very day she graduated she’d be flying back home, where she would find a man, marry and have children en masse. She would probably love the house, but since it was local, she’d say it needed to be sold immediately, so that the profits could be re-invested in a huge McMansion in her folks’ home town.
Then, without meaning to, Conyer shifted his gears from his past to his present by mentally inviting Giselle into his aunt’s and uncle’s home. He saw her open the door and enter into the stately foyer. Her eyes would increase in size to that of a silver dollar, and her mouth would open to a large “O,” and the first words from her mouth would be… and that’s where his vision stalled.
When he realized he was mentally inviting a woman into his newly inherited home, he was embarrassed. And, even though there was no one present who even suspected it, he couldn’t rid himself of the feeling that he was doing something wrong by thinking such serious thoughts about a young woman, who from all appearances, hated him. She just hated him. Why did she hate him? It made no sense. He wasn’t driving. He didn’t cause the crash. Couldn’t she see how unfair it was to hold him accountable for something in which he was faultless?
Chapter 11
While walking through Aunt Tierney’s estate home, Conyer smiled off and on repeatedly. There wasn’t a direction he looked that didn’t bring old and sweet memories.
In the kitchen, he looked up at a particular place in the ceiling. It was still there!
When he was no more than ten years old, he was spending the day with Uncle Derrick. The day included lunch. Uncle Derrick was delegated to making the two of them a fresh fruit smoothie, while Conyer made peanut butter and marmalade sandwiches on pumpernickel bread. Conyer remembered how he’d turned up his nose at the sandwich combination. Uncle Derrick told him he’d never tried one before either, but there was little choice, since pumpernickel was the only bread in the kitchen, and the only jam was orange marmalade.
Neither of them was really excited with the combination, but decided to at least try it. Uncle Derrick had told Conyer that if it tasted bad, they’d throw it out and each have a bowl of cereal instead. The only cereal choice was Raisin Bran, so even that wasn’t much of a consolation. Interestingly enough, they both were stunned when they ate their first bite of sandwich. They chewed while facing each other. Then, they swallowed and each took another bite. Conyer was the first to voice his opinion.
“Woo hoo! This is great, Uncle Derrick!” Uncle Derrick agreed. As it turned out, they both liked it so much that they each had a second sandwich.
But, Conyer looked back up at the ceiling which had triggered the memory in the first place. It wasn’t the sandwich memory that was the “real memory.” It was the ceiling!
Since Uncle Derrick was in charge of the fruit smoothies, Conyer wasn’t paying close attention as his uncle began his concoction. And, had he, he would have been pleasantly surprised. There were grapes, bananas, strawberries, peaches and blueberries… all of Conyer’s favorites.
Unfortunately, however, it was the creation process that went awry. Poor Uncle Derrick had been paying such close attention to what went in the smoothie, that he ignored what didn’t go on the smoothie… the blender lid. At the first flip of the power button to the high setting, it was as though Mount Vesuvius had chosen their kitchen in which to erupt. Uncle Derrick quickly flipped off the switch, but not before at least half of the smoothie contents became residents on the ceiling. What a mess! Conyer had felt the pulling toward laughter beginning within him, but knew this was not a good thing that had happened. However, when the whole event broke Uncle Derrick into a fit of laughter, Conyer had no trouble joining him. Within fifteen seconds flat, both of them were sitting on the floor, unable to control themselves as they watched large plops of juicy fruit pieces dive to the floor, leaving colorful splotches behind. Especially Uncle Derrick, who for the second time, in Conyer’s memory bank, had wet his pants.
Conyer was transfixed by the ceiling stain that still remained to this day. Conyer never knew why they didn’t have the ceiling refinished. Heaven knew they had enough money to not only fix the ceiling, but abandon the house and build a whole new house, if they wanted to instead.
Uncle Derrick had, of course, wiped down the ceiling, but a faint pinkish stain remained to this day. He was happy to see the stain was still there. It was a part of his lifetime of memories. He wished he could share this memory with Giselle. What?! What made him think of her again?! Like she’d care anyway!
Walking around the rooms, there were few locations in the house that didn’t trigger more memories of his childhood, and this aunt and uncle who had so richly blessed his life. And, without exception, as he mentally recounted each one, he was telling them to Giselle. Of course, in his mental fantasy, she was laughing and rejoicing in the telling of each one. At a point when he yet again realized he was having sweet fantasies of telling Giselle his stories, but that in fact the woman wouldn’t even talk to him, his heart fell, and his face lost the sweet smile each one brought.
What Conyer began to ponder at that point was that Giselle had said at the hospital that she was a Christian. If his memory was correct, when he’d offer the gift of his Bible, she had said she was a Christian and had her own Bible. What he remembered most, however, was the venom with which she’d spewed this information.
Knowing that Christians had angry moments just like anyone else, he admitted that she had been through quite the trauma, lost her car, probably irreparably injured her leg, and lost her dancing career.
Either Giselle was going through the stages of loss, anger being the one she was stalled in right now, or she possibly wasn’t really a Christian. Oh, how he hoped she was! And, with the support of family and friends, she would come out the other end of the process in victory. He knew he prayed for her many times daily. And, although he was still banned from visiting her in her hospital room, he so hoped that the ballerina sculpture would bring some joy to her, and let her know someone really cared about her.
Conyer wished he could be in her room when the ballerina sculpture was delivered to her. He had been told at the store that she had gazed at it longingly several times. Maybe it would both bring her some joy in this turmoil, and soften her heart toward him. He so wanted to be able to tell her exactly what happened that day, and share her pain in its ultimate demise of her dancing dreams.
As he thought about it now, he questioned his decision to sign the gift card with his nickname. Connie was what he was as often as not called by friends from church and community, but those were people who knew and loved him. Giselle wouldn’t even talk with him, acted as though she actually hated him, so maybe he should have signed it more formally from Conyer Whitefield. Oh well… too late to change it now! “Connie W.” as the signature on the gift would have to do.
Conyer did
n’t even remember that he’d never been allowed to say his nickname when he was telling Giselle. She had abruptly stopped his comment about what his family and friends called him mid-sentence. To her, he was Conyer… simply Conyer.
Maybe he’d go to see her in another day or so to see how she had viewed his giving her this gift. Surely Connor would tell her that he, Conyer, knew that she’d been looking at it several times through the window. Maybe when she could see that he was thinking of her, she’d warm up to him… maybe just a little.
Aunt Tierney had taught Conyer as a child that whenever someone came into your thoughts, you should immediately lift them up to the Lord, because you never knew if they needed prayer at that very time. So, Conyer brought Giselle Danvers before the Throne of Grace at that very moment, asking that the Lord would work in Giselle, healing her body and her spirit.
*****
“Ooooo…,” Giselle sighed as she reached into the bag Connor had handed her and “unearthed” the magnificent wood-carved ballerina sculpture. For a moment she forgot to breathe, so in awe of the gift as she was. When she did finally remember to take in a fresh, cleansing breath, the look on her face and the words of her mouth gave Connor true indication of how deeply touched she was that someone had actually given it to her. All hers! For always!
“Oh, it’s the ballerina slippers sculpture! It’s truly the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen!” In the moment Connor saw her reaction and heard her words, for a micro-second he wished he had been the one to give this gift to her, rather than just the “delivery man”.
Several minutes passed with no words between them as Giselle turned the sculpture around and around, sliding her fingers lovingly over every square inch. And, where much of the time her face since the accident was etched with frustration and undeniable anger, at this moment all lines disappeared and were replaced with the innocent look of pleasure as one would see on the face of a child having just received a longed-for Christmas present.
Connor watched her quietly until the silence became uncomfortable for him.
“Do you like it? If I had to guess…” he said, with a huge grin, “I’d say the answer is a resounding yes!”
This was the first time Giselle had looked up at Connor since first laying eyes on the coveted piece of art.
“This is for me? You mean it’s mine?!”
“Yes, of course.”
“But, this is too expensive. I saw the price tag when it was in the window. I can’t accept this!” As Giselle placed the sculpture back in the bag and was handing it back to Connor, he could see that she believed he was the giver, and this was the perfect moment for Connor to say that someone else had purchased it for her. Unfortunately, in that moment of weakness, he was having difficulty doing so.
Remembering, of course, that Conyer had included a gift card with it, he knew he’d be discovered as soon as she read it, so he resolved within himself to tell her.
“No… you see…” And, it was during this moment that Giselle noticed the gift card that had been attached. She wildly tore it open. Somehow she knew that what Connor was going to say would probably be revealed in the gift card. She held up her index finger to silence him while she read: Giselle, Praying for you daily. Connie W.
“Connie… right? Connie, what did you say your last name is?”
“Whittier,” Connor replied, confused by her question at that moment, and not continuing to explain the gift wasn’t from him.
“Oh, you own the store,” she said, as she again gazed at the logo and wording on the bag. And, it matched the name signed on the card. Not only was this gift from him, but he made it himself.
“Yeah. I haven’t had the store that long, and it’s yet to be decided whether it will be successful or not, but I do own it.”
Giselle decided in that split second that if Connie was the owner of the store, and he was the wood sculptor as well, she guessed there was no reason that she couldn’t accept it. After all, it was his work to give away, if he chose. She’d looked at it longingly for some time. It had never occurred to her that she had been gazing at a piece of art that would belong to her in a few short days.
As pale and bruised as Giselle still looked, her face did have beauty to it in spite of the ravages of the accident. For a split second, Connor remembered the look of her damaged foot and leg and his face slightly screwed up in some revulsion. But, with the hope that she would make progress physically and return to the looks of the elegant and graceful young woman that stood at his store window those several remembered days, a smile returned to his lips as he told her he was so glad she liked it as much as she did.
For just a split second, for no apparent reason, Connor thought of another beautiful young woman named Doris, that he had so terribly disappointed, to the point that he couldn’t even darken the steps of their shared home church again. What about this young woman made him think of Doris? They weren’t anything alike. He guessed it was because he remembered the hurt on the face of Doris when he’d sworn and shoved her in the parking lot of the dessert place when that guy rammed the door of his own car against the passenger door of Connor’s car. First her look of shock, then disappointment. Somehow he wondered if Giselle would react with the same shock, then disappointment when she realized he wasn’t the giver of the wood sculpture, but had allowed her to think he was. Interestingly enough, he still didn’t tell her. After all, he’d never actually said it was from him. It wasn’t his fault that she thought it was.
Looking at the artwork once again, Giselle told Connor that she didn’t know anyone could create something so beautiful as this.
“Thank you. I’m honored that you think my wood sculpting is worthy.”
Opening her lips to continue her praise and thanks, her comments were stopped by the entrance of her therapist.
“Time for you to come with me, young lady,” Greg said, smiling. “You’ve got some pretty important work to do with me this afternoon.”
Connor could see by his scrubs that he was associated with the hospital, and quickly figured that he must be Giselle’s physical therapist. Standing quietly where he was, Connor watched the physical therapist bring the wheelchair he entered with around to the side of her bed that was away from his location. Giselle asked him to throw her her sweats, which lay at the foot of her bed. When he did, she asked him to help her into her wheelchair, and told him it would just take a second for her to wheel into the bathroom and get changed into them before he wheeled her off to the therapy room.
Giselle was uncomfortable having Connor.. no, Connie, stand and watch her, but even after looking over at him and thanking him again for bringing the lovely gift, hopefully dismissing him from the room, he stayed where he was.
She didn’t want to hurt his feelings after he had brought her such a lovely gift, so Giselle tried to ignore his presence and pull herself off the bed and into her wheelchair. When Connor heard her repeatedly grunt and moan while transferring her body weight from bed to chair, he decided he’d had enough. With one last glance at Giselle, as she painfully moved, Connor said, “Bye, Giselle. Feel better,” and disappeared out through the hospital room door.
With one last backward glance into Giselle’s ‘hospital domain’, Connor saw Giselle white-knuckle the armrests of her chair while hunting for security in her seating position. Not knowing that the nasty-looking nails on her fingers, inclusive of one nail that was broken a long way back into the nail bed, were the result of tearing her own nail wraps off when Conyer had admired them, Connor assumed they were the sad “tell-tales” of the horrendousness of her car crash. He immediately screwed up his face into one of disdain, but released it quickly when Giselle caught his backward glance. She was hoping he was already gone, but he wasn’t. She looked back at her hands, the obvious focus of his facial reaction, realizing that when she’d let her uncontrolled nail-wrap-removal temper take over, she had… as the saying goes… “cut off her nose to spite her face.” No one was any worse off, but her.
Chapter 12
After all the weeks of physical pain and struggle, mental anguish over her present situation, and spiritual hardness through her own neglect of reading the Bible and lack of any kind of prayer life, Giselle was going to be leaving the hospital the next day, but she experienced no gratefulness at the prospect. She was glad she’d be leaving the sterile environment of the hospital and that she could go then to Doris’ apartment to stay with her there until she could get some decisions made about her future, like work, a transportation mode since her car had been totaled in the accident, and when to let her folks know what was going on in her life recently.
Although Giselle was glad she had somewhere to stay when she left the hospital, it never once occurred to her to give credit to God’s abundant Mercy and Grace in supplying her shelter, provided by Doris’ generosity, and Awsty’s willingness to let go of some saved-for clothing purchases for herself to instead purchase some things she thought Giselle could use.
Awsty had bought some pretty new underclothing, casual pants and tops to put in the drawers of Giselle’s new room at Doris’ apartment. She’d also purchased a few new dresses for Giselle to wear for Sunday services at Open Door of Faith which already hung in the closet, and two pairs of shoes that could be worn with any of the new clothes.
Fixing His Broken Ballerina: Volume 1 Page 9