CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
It occurred to her that this was the first time she'd ever been so thoroughly hugged by the man, but in the absence of John's arms around her, Tim's felt pretty good at that moment.
And then she was crying. Sobbing.
"I'm so sorry, Renata. I'm sorry I wasn't here." He kept himself straight, solid, letting her lean into his strength, but she could tell he was feeling a little out of his element.
Poor guy, she thought, as she started to pull away. Reaching into her pocket, she retrieved the packet of tissues she'd kept on hand but had only pulled out to offer her sisters up until now.
"I—I wasn't here either, Tim." She drew the edges of her cardigan together, tucking the tissue into her sleeve, and turned back toward the bed where John lay in a heavily-drugged state. "I'm sorry I just unloaded on you."
"I'm not." His confident response surprised her a little. "I should have been here for you earlier."
"So where have you been, then?" Even though her words were straight-forward, her tone was gentle. If she knew her husband's best friend at all, she knew he would have been here if there had been any way possible. He would have a very good reason his delay.
"I took the week off to go visit my folks up north. It was their anniversary yesterday. I came as soon as your sister called." That meant the man had gotten in his truck and driven more than six hours to be there.
He cautiously approached the bed and peered down at John. Renata heard his intake of breath but didn't turn to look at him. She knew all too well what must be going through his mind.
She'd been staring at John's face all afternoon, still in a bit of shock over the damage that had been done. He looked nothing like her husband. His eyes were no longer quite so swollen, but the pooling blood beneath his skin was seeping over the rest of his face. He looked like he had puffy jowls and his nose was just a purple blob sitting slightly to the left of center, crusted blood filling his nostrils. His breaths came short and shallow through his parted lips. It must be a terrible thing for Tim to see him like this. Renata had been shocked, but there was something about being a mother that prepared a woman for suffering, she was certain. Men seemed to find it very difficult to handle their loved ones' pain.
They stood side by side in silence for a long time. She wondered if he had questions, if he even wanted answers. She wondered if she should offer information; if his reticence was because he didn't know what to ask. She crossed her arms and hugged herself, suddenly feeling like an ill-equipped liaison. What does one say to a man's best friend?
"Can he hear me?" Tim's voice was so low, Renata had to look up at him to make sure he'd spoken.
"Yes." She reached out and put a hand on John's chest just over his heart. "John, honey? Tim is here. He came all the way from his parents' house to see you."
John worked his mouth a little in awareness, as though trying to speak. His eyes were still horribly swollen, but she thought she saw his left eye crack open just a hairline.
"John? Brother, it's me, Tim. You look like road kill, man."
Renata rolled her eyes and covered her mouth, not sure whether she should laugh or cry. But Tim had somehow come to grips with what he was dealing with, and he started talking about how his parents were doing, how beautiful the snow was right now, how he'd gone out to the cabin to check on it for his folks and had discovered a family of raccoons living under the porch.
Renata watched as Tim began to relax a little, how the shock of John's condition was beginning to recede, how even John's slightest response seemed to encourage the normally strong-and-silent-type Tim to keep talking. She brought a chair around for him to sit in and saw his hand reaching for the worn Bible tucked into his back pocket.
"Excuse me, Tim," she interrupted, her voice gentle. "I haven't been out of the room for more than a few minutes to use the restroom. Would you be willing to stay here with John while I take a little breather?" She didn't really need one, but she somehow felt like Tim might be more comfortable if he was given some time with John to sort through things. He was the one man she felt completely at ease leaving alone with her husband. If he awoke, Tim's face would comfort him.
If Tim had come from his folks' house in Sutter Creek, then he must have started driving as soon as he got word. She knew the men were close and she was overwhelmed by Tim's efforts to come to John's bedside today. It gave her pause to realize that she didn't have any friends in her life like Tim. Other than Granny G, the only women's names on their emergency list on the fridge at home were her sisters.
Her sisters. And they would drop whatever they were doing and come, just like Tim had done for John. Just like they'd done for her only yesterday. Was it only yesterday?
The three of them had put their own lives on hold to come to her rescue, even though she didn't want to be rescued. They'd dropped everything, taken on her family, driven more than two hours just to let her know they cared enough to be worried about her.
Not Phoebe, though. She was practically dragged, kicking and screaming.
No, Phoebe may not have been thrilled about the idea, but she had come, nonetheless. And Phoebe had cried real tears over Renata's miscarriages, her lost babies.
Maybe, just maybe, Renata wasn't being fair to Phoebe. Maybe it was time to bury the hatchet and love Phoebe for who she was.
She made her way down the hall and out of the unit after first assuring the nurse she would only be gone a few minutes. Maybe she'd try to find Phoebe and Gia; Grandpa had probably already left for home by now. As she waited for the elevator that would take her down to the main floor, her mind drifted to Phoebe again.
Renata would never forget the first time she brought John home for dinner. The seventeen-year-old Phoebe had sized him up with her kohl-lined cow eyes, her features soft with youthful sensuality. Renata had warned her conservative boyfriend about the girl. He'd clearly been uncomfortable by Phoebe's open admiration, and he'd kept her at arm's length the whole night.
As though sensing blood, Phoebe had relentlessly teased and flirted with him, right up until Renata and he were married, getting some kind of thrill from watching Renata fume and bluster. John took it all in stride, reminding her that it was her reaction that kept Phoebe going, not any unrequited interest in him. Renata wasn't so sure.
The day of their wedding, Phoebe had hugged them both ferociously. "Don't worry, Rennie. He's all yours." Turning to John, she winked and said, "And I do like you, John Dixon, but you can stop looking at me like you're afraid I'm going to gobble you up. I don't mess with married men." Then she'd flitted off to harass some other poor guy. If John had ever shown so much as a hint of a response to the girl, Renata might not have handled things so well, but he'd gone over and above the call of duty to make it clear with whom his affections lay. Even so, because of Phoebe's treachery with Brad, it had taken Renata a long time to stop being so wary of Phoebe when she was around John.
As Renata stepped off the elevator, she saw them, and her eyes narrowed at the way her sister was hanging on the police officer. Juliette's police officer, Victor Jarrett. He grinned down at Phoebe, patted the hand she'd tucked into the corner of his arm, and said something to her that made her giggle. Where was Juliette? Was she really so naive that she would leave her hunky man alone with Phoebe?
Just then, Phoebe glanced up and saw her, and her face instantly fell. She pulled away from Victor and hurried over to Renata. "Is everything okay? What are you doing? Why are you down here?"
Her shrill questions echoed in the cavernous hallway where the elevators released their riders and Renata put one hand up over her ear at the sound. She eyed Victor over Phoebe's head; his own expression became grim as he approached her a little more slowly.
"I'm so sorry about John, Renata," he said when he was close. He put out a hand but she didn't take it, fending off Phoebe's hug as well. "We were just coming up to see you."
Renata looked at the two of them with raised eyebr
ows. "You and Phoebe? How sweet."
Victor seemed confused by her response, but she didn't miss the guilty look that was quickly replaced by a mocking smirk on Phoebe's face. "Jules is in the little girls' room, Ren."
"Well, she should be more careful about where she leaves her valuable lying around. And with whom." She eyed Victor pointedly, then added, "Tim Larsen is upstairs with John right now, so I'm going for a walk. I need to breathe some nontoxic air." She turned and headed down the hall away from them.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Something was weighing down his eyelids. When John tried to raise his hand to push it away, he found it wedged against his ribs, and a sharp pain seized his whole right side. He caught his breath at the agony of it. In through the nose, out through the mouth. In through the nose, out through the mouth. He'd done Lamaze classes with Renata enough times to know how to work his way through pain…but as soon as he closed his mouth to breathe in, his throat filled with the metallic taste of blood and no air. He coughed in reaction, but his jaw was stiff and swollen, and he felt the wetness dribble from the corners of his mouth. Something was holding him down, pinning him to the bed.
Panic began to build in his chest, and with his left hand, he clawed at the bands around his neck and shoulders, but there was no strength in his fingers. He couldn't get a grip, he couldn't see. What were they doing to him? Where was he?
Coughing again, his mouth filled with the contents of his throat, and he tried to spit it out, his stomach bucking in response to the blood he'd already swallowed. What if he needed to throw up? He'd suffocate on his own vomit. Someone wiped at his face with a cool wet cloth.
He could hear a keening sound, like a teakettle that was just beginning to whistle, and it took him a minute to realize that it was the sound of his own voice seeping out between his clenched teeth. There was a buzzing in his right ear; static, like a bad connection.
John tried to move his legs but they were weighed down, draped in lead, like at the dentist's office.
Oh God, help me. Help me. Please help me.
"John. Calm down. Brother, you gotta calm down."
He recognized that voice…Tim? Tim was holding him prisoner? Why? He flung his left arm out, his fist coming in contact with something.
"Hey," Tim grunted. "John, stop. You're going to hurt yourself." He felt Tim's rough fingers wrap around his wrist and guide it down to his side again.
"What's going on in here?" Another voice, familiar too, but this one he couldn't quite place. "Mr. Dixon, I need you to calm down, please. We can't have any temper tantrums now, you hear?" Her voice was full, and he envisioned his heavily-jowled, third-grade teacher in her orthopedic shoes, Mrs. Hartley. What was she doing here?
What was over his eyes? A cloth? A bandage? It occurred to him that his head hurt terribly, too. He pulled his hand free of Tim's grip and reached up to feel the bandage, but his fingers only touched something mushy, like a water balloon.
"Wuz thiz?" His voice bubbled out of him, making the static in his ear crackle sharply.
"Stop poking, John. Put your hand down, please." Mrs. Hartley was talking very firmly to him; he'd recognize that tone anywhere. What was she doing here?
"Wher'm I?" Where was Renata? Renata! Oh, God, where is Renata? I have to tell her I'm okay. "Ren. Tell…tell…."
"John. John, it's Tim. You're in the hospital, man. You fell. Renata will be right back. She just stepped out for a minute." Tim's assurance made him breathe easier. Renata would be right back, he'd said.
John tried to relax but he was in too much pain. Everything hurt. His head, his eyes, his nose…he couldn't feel his nose. Was there really a water balloon on his face? His jaws ached; his right shoulder was on fire. What had happened?
Pinpricks of light began pinging behind his eyelids and he watched them, trying to focus on anything but his pain. Soon the lights dimmed, Tim's steady voice faded, and Mrs. Hartley's chesty hum drifted away into nothing.
Soft, deep nothing.
~ ~ ~
Renata stood in the little courtyard off the cafeteria watching the lights flicker off the damp sidewalk. It had rained sometime this afternoon and she'd been completely unaware. It was freezing outside, but it felt good on her flushed skin.
Just when she'd considered making peace with Phoebe, she'd seen her for who she really was. Nothing had changed in the last fifteen years, Phoebe still had to sink her claws into every man she met, especially those already belonging to someone else. The flirting, grasping girl had become a wanton, grasping woman, always reaching for things that didn't belong to her. Had she ever stopped reaching for John? Just because Renata trusted John didn't mean that Phoebe could be trusted.
Renata's feelings were in such an uproar. A part of her knew she was trying to lash out at someone, something, and Phoebe was just so…so available! But seriously, couldn't she restrain herself, at least while she was here at the hospital? John was lying in critical condition upstairs, and Phoebe was down here, putting the moves on her sister's boyfriend. She was trouble, that was all there was to it.
"You've always been a black and white kind of girl. There's nothing between the extremes with you." Grandpa's words popped into her head and she frowned.
"I know!" she whispered to the lamppost beside her. "But some people only live in the middle somewhere and that can't be right, either." Did Phoebe feel strongly about anything? About anyone? As far as Renata knew, her younger sister hadn't had a serious boyfriend since, well, since high school. In fact, she couldn't remember her dating anyone long-term back then, either. Was there a lost love in her life? Was there someone she was pining away for, someone she couldn't move beyond?
Was it John?
John. Momentarily lightheaded, Renata reached for the post to steady herself, the chilled steel beneath her hands startlingly cold. I can't live without him, God. Please don't take him from me.
She pressed her chilled palms to her cheeks. "Stop it, Renata. Don't think like that," she berated herself out loud. But she was suddenly afraid, afraid he might slip away from her in the moments she was not at his side. Her heart began to race and she turned to go back inside, her footsteps quickening as she hurried down the hall toward the elevator.
John. John. John. His name flashed in her mind as the number flashed on the panel over the elevator. Stay with me. Stay with me. Stay with me.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The room was so peaceful when she made it back, in complete contrast to the panic that had spurred her on through the unfamiliar corridors and stations. She paused in the open doorway, her heart racing at the sight of the dimmed lights, at first concerned it meant the worst. But her eyes adjusted quickly, noting the whirring and beeping of machines, the monitor on its tray flashing zigzag signs of life. Now that John's spine was stable, the head of his bed had to stay slightly elevated, and Tim sat close, facing John, leaning forward in his seat a little like they were deep in conversation. His brown curls were lit up by the low-watt light above him, and he read aloud from a Bible open on the bed beside John's rising and falling chest.
Renata stayed where she was, watching the man her husband loved like a brother. He reached up to adjust the blanket across John's shoulder, then murmured something too quiet for her to hear. She knew she should make a noise, do something to let him know she was there, but the atmosphere in the room felt holy, and she was loathe to break the spell.
Finally, Tim leaned back in his chair and caught sight of her standing there. He rose immediately, always the gentleman, and stepped aside to offer it to her.
"He woke up for a few minutes and asked about you," he said as she lowered herself into the seat, still warm from Tim's body heat. He drew up another chair and sat next to her. "Told him you'd be right back."
Tim was one of those guys who didn't say much. He wasn't exactly shy, Renata had decided long ago. Just reserved, treading carefully around women in particular. She didn't really get it. He was
really quite handsome in that rugged hunter, flannel and jeans way, respectful and old-fashioned, and he was an incredibly skilled carpenter, specializing in custom cabinetry. He and John had met years ago on a job, had discovered they had more in common than just work, and had become fast friends. John always said that if it ever came down to it, he'd want Tim at his back.
For whatever reason, Tim had always seemed at ease around her, most likely because she was John's wife and had no expectations of him, except to respect their marriage, which he did to a fault. He was great with the boys, always up for a game of Tackle the Tim, or football, or Frisbee. He was as proud of the boys as any favorite uncle when they came home with a stringer full of fish, a good grade on a report card, a black eye from a fly-ball. And it was Tim's family's cabin the JFFs went to on their hunting trips. Tim Larsen, Renata was happy to say, was the ultimate Jesus Freak in Flannel.
So sitting here tonight, John lying battered and bruised before them, it only seemed natural for her to reach out to Tim. He took her hand between his big, callused palms and held it tightly, saying only, "Cold fingers."
It could have been minutes, it could have been hours, when quiet voices from down the hall heralded the arrival of her sisters and Victor. Renata took a deep breath and closed her eyes, not wanting to see Phoebe right now, or Victor, either, for that matter. When she opened them again, Tim was studying her, his brows lowered in concern.
"You all right?"
She paused, wondering what this gentle giant would do if she asked him to deal with Phoebe for her, and the thought made her smile. "I'm fine, Tim. Thank you. It's just my sisters."
He squeezed her hand then released it, taking up his Bible from the bed. Like a security blanket, she thought, not unkindly. She could think of worse things to find security in.
"Rennie?" Juliette's soft voice beckoned from the doorway, Victor looming behind her, Phoebe still at his side. Renata waved them in but didn't get up. Tim did, of course, and introduced himself to Victor. To Renata's surprise, he greeted Juliette warmly, too, shaking her hand and telling her it was nice to see her again.
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