Then he turned to Phoebe. Renata held her breath and waited for her sister's inappropriate response to the man.
But if she'd been surprised at Tim's reaction to Juliette, she was shocked when Phoebe, in a hushed voice, greeted him politely, barely even sparing the man a second look. Instead, she turned her gaze to John, her large eyes drifting up his supine form to his battered face, spotlighted under the reading light still on over his bed.
"How is he, Rennie?" Her voice, still hushed, wobbled a little, and she stepped closer to the other side of the bed across from where Renata sat. As she came into the circle of light, Renata saw evidence that she'd been crying, the tip of her nose red, her cheeks bright.
She sighed, guilt washing over her at her ugly thoughts toward Phoebe. "No changes. The drugs are helping him sleep. Tim said he woke up briefly while I was downstairs, but other than that…." She shrugged and reached out to place a hand on John's chest, her fingertips brushing along the ridge of his left collarbone.
They'd removed the neck brace after they'd transferred John, the doctor having cleared his spine, but his right collarbone was broken, a few ribs were cracked, and his shoulder had been partially dislocated, so they'd immobilized that whole side by strapping his arm to his abdomen using elastic bandages around his torso and neck. His left arm hosted a forked IV, a cuff that automatically took his blood pressure every hour, and an oxygen monitor on his finger. Wires ran from the machine by the bed to electrodes on his chest and an oxygen mask sat low over his mouth, his nose completely non-functioning.
Phoebe still didn't meet Renata's eyes, her own glued to John's face. Her arms were crossed over her stomach and she was shaking her head ever so slightly as she studied him. Victor approached the bed behind her, calm and collected, his face showing no sign of shock or discomfort over the sight before him. He put a hand on Phoebe's shoulder and she reached up to pat it with her own.
Renata watched the interaction with raised eyebrows. Had they just come to gawk at her husband and comfort each other? She didn't need this. And where did Juliette fit into this cozy little picture? Renata glanced over at her oldest sister who was speaking in low tones to Tim close to the door.
"How are you holding up, Renata?" Victor asked, removing his hand from Phoebe's shoulder and turning to face her.
She shrugged. How did he think she was?
"Thanks for letting me help out with the boys. I'm working the early shift the rest of the week so it actually works out perfectly for me to pick them up from school." A note of steel seeped into his voice. "Is there anything else I can do? Do you need me to…well, to look into things? At John's work?"
Renata's head snapped up. "What do you mean?" But she knew exactly what he was getting at. It had been no secret that John was struggling at this job. It had been no secret, either, that he'd been concerned about things being done not quite above board, corners being cut.
The room grew silent and Juliette came to stand beside Victor, slipping her arms around his waist. Victor's arm settled around her shoulders and drew her close to him.
Renata didn't hear him approach, but suddenly Tim was standing behind her, his hand on the back of her chair, making her long to lean into him the way Juliette was leaning into Victor.
"No." Renata shook her head. "No. I can't even think that way right now. I—no." She remembered McCain's face when he'd left, and if ever there was a guilty man, that was one. But like Grandpa had so clearly pointed out, the man had stayed and faced her, had gone above and beyond the call of duty, had made phone calls and stayed past his welcome.
Renata wondered what he was doing right now, who he had at home to comfort him. What if he was alone? What if he had to carry the burden of today, fault or none, alone in the dark night? She silently whispered a prayer that McCain had a sweet wife who would speak softly to him.
"No. It was an accident. I know it was." It had to be. She couldn't accept anything else.
"Renata," John muttered, the sound muffled behind the oxygen mask. His left hand slowly came up to cover hers where it still rested on his chest.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
John tried to open his eyes but he was so tired, and his eyelids so heavy. He could hear people talking around him in quiet words, but it was Renata's voice he listened for, the others coming into focus one at a time. Victor, Phoebe. Who else?
A shadow loomed over him, blocking the light, making it easier to crack open his left eye open. "Tim," he grunted.
"Hey, brother. I'm here." Tim was smiling; John could see his teeth.
"Stay with Ren for me, Tim. Renata needs you." His words came out slowly and slurred, taking every ounce of effort he had in him. "Ren?" He turned his head in the direction he'd heard her voice.
"I'm here, honey. Right here. I'm not going anywhere." And there were her eyes, her straight narrow nose, her sweet lips—
"Hair?" He reached up, his hand moving through water, and touched the chopped ends behind her ear. "Your hair?"
She grabbed his fingers and held then to her cheek. "Oh, honey. It'll grow back, I promise." And then she was crying. He could feel her beginning to shake but his arm was so heavy, so weak, he couldn't hold it up any longer. If she hadn't been holding onto it so tightly, it would have fallen to the mattress at his side.
John closed his eyes, trying to comprehend the picture of his wife he'd just seen. Her long, beautiful hair was gone. Was that why she was crying? Her hair? "Renata," he muttered. "You are so beautiful to me." The song he often whisper-sang to her when they danced together in the darkened house after the boys were in bed. "So beautiful… to me."
"I love you, John-boy," she whispered, her mouth close to his ear. "I love you."
He sighed deeply, sinking back into the cloud on which he was resting, his wife's tender voice carrying him gently away from the pain piercing his skull behind his eyes, the band around his ribcage that made it difficult to breathe. He almost thought he could smell her, like she'd just walked through a rose garden, but then there was nothing.
~ ~ ~
Renata kept her face pressed to John's cheek long after she knew he'd drifted off again. She couldn't bear the thought that her missing hair had unsettled him so much. Oh, Renata, why did you chop your hair off?
Finally, she straightened, wiped at her tears, and sat back in her chair, not letting go of her husband's hand, and not looking away from his face. She spoke softly, trying to keep her voice from breaking. "I need some time, guys."
Without a word, Juliette circled the bed, grabbed Phoebe's hand and drew her along with her. She pulled Renata up out of the chair and put her arms around both girls. They held to each other tightly, the three of them huddled together, before Juliette pulled back.
"Would you like us to stay? Phoebe and I can spend the night. Vic has to work early, so he has to go back soon, but you know we're here for you."
Renata shook her head. "No, I'm okay, really. I don't expect anything to change tonight. Go home and get some rest. I may think of something I need tomorrow, but for now, I'm fine."
"I'm staying." Tim spoke from behind her, his voice low and gruff but firm. "I'll make sure she's okay."
The room fell silent again, but only for a few brief moments. Then Victor nodded and said, "Sounds good."
Renata wanted to argue, to demand they all leave her alone, Tim, too, but the terrible thought flashed across her mind of John waking up to no one while she was in the bathroom, or asleep in the lounge chair in the corner. If Tim stayed, they could take turns keeping watch. At least the quiet man wouldn't expect her to converse with him.
She hugged her sisters again, reassuring them repeatedly that she'd be all right, then even hugged Victor. And fifteen minutes later, the room was still once more, she and Tim sitting side-by-side in the chairs next to the bed, but this time, not touching. Tim's Bible lay open in his lap and he silently read to himself.
"Thanks for staying," she whispered, knowing sh
e was interrupting, but needing to let him know she appreciated it.
"Yep."
"Will you—will you read out loud again?" She smiled weakly at him when he glanced up, his brows arched in surprise. "You have a nice voice, Tim. Very soothing. And I could use a little soothing right now. As I'm sure John could, too."
A moment of silence passed, then Tim flipped a few pages to a new passage and began to read.
He who dwells in the shelter of the Most High
Will abide in the shadow of the Almighty.
I will say to the Lord, "My refuge and my fortress,
My God, in whom I trust!"
Renata lay her head down on the bed beside John's hand and closed her eyes, Tim's voice and the powerful words of comfort from Psalm 91 washing over her, quieting her spirit.
He will cover you with His feathers,
And under His wings you may seek refuge;
His faithfulness is a shield and bulwark.
You will not be afraid of the terror by night…
She awoke to the harsh sound of her alarm clock, the angry beeps jarring her from turbulent dreams she couldn't recall. Suddenly, the room filled with stampeding feet and voices, strident and demanding.
Not her alarm clock, she realized in sudden clarity.
Tim Larsen hauled her to her feet, dragging her back away from John's bed. As he did, he kicked her chair clear so the emergency staff could get to John, whose body was rigid and jerking, his heels hammering the mattress, his head twisting too far to the right side and pressing back into his pillows. He was gargling and trails of blood and saliva dribbled from the corners of his mouth. His clawed left hand hammered against his stomach and Renata couldn't swallow the sob that tore from her.
Tim held her tightly to him, one hand pressing her head to his chest as the two of them stood trembling together in the corner of the room, watching the terrible scene unfold. She only caught glimpses of John between the nurses and doctors who had converged on her husband, but the seizure seemed to go on and on and on. More staff hurried in, and finally, someone noticed them, a woman in giraffe scrubs, a nurse Renata didn't recognize.
"Why don't we go out to the waiting area, shall we?" She spoke patiently, gently, a hand on Renata's back. "This might take a while."
"No, please." Renata's voice trembled, fear and shock threatening to overwhelm her, but as long as Tim would hold her up, she wasn't going anywhere. "I won't get in the way, I promise. I can't—I can't leave him."
The woman studied them both for a moment, glanced back over her shoulder at the patient and staff, then up at Tim. Renata couldn't see his expression; she wouldn't take her eyes off John's feet. The movements were slowing now, but she could tell it was still uncontrolled motion.
"I'll take her out if it's too much," Tim said, his voice loud against her ear still pressed to his chest.
The nurse nodded, then joined a group near the monitors, murmuring something to them before heading back out to the nurse's station.
Although John's movements ceased, the activity around his bed did not diminish. Voices rose, calling out short, sharp commands, monitors beeped and whined, more staff hurried in and out, and Renata watched the controlled frenzy in horror, knowing in her heart that nothing would ever be the same again.
~ ~ ~
John looked up at the faces coming in and out of focus above him, calling his name, shining bright lights in his eyes. He blinked slowly, then realized both his eyes opened and closed just fine. There was no pain, no pressure on his chest, no vice clamped around his head. He took a slow deep breath, in through his nose…and there was that delicious aroma of rose petals and citrus, filling his senses, surrounding him with peace and comfort.
Easing out of the center of the chaos, he paused to watch the activity around his bed, his battered and broken body seized up in one last rebellion against the abuse it had taken, and then he turned to look for his wife.
He smiled when his eyes found her, held in the protective arms of the man who was Jonathan to his David, closer than a brother.
Stay with Ren for me, man. Renata will need you more than ever.
Then he turned away.
All would be well.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The sun streamed in the window, ignoring Renata's angry demands for it to go away. She rolled away from the brightness pressing against her eyelids, but she refused to open her eyes, knowing what she'd find if she did. John's empty side of the bed.
She found it anyway, her hands, of their own accord, reaching for him blindly, fingers clutching at his pillow and drawing it to her face and breathing in the scent of him.
Sounds of the kids up and about, getting ready for school, came muffled through her closed bedroom door, and she wondered which of her sisters was in the kitchen, or if it was Granny G, making sure the boys were dressed and fed and delivered to the right schools.
"My babies," she whimpered, knowing she needed to go to them, knowing they needed her to be strong, to assure them that they would get through these dark days, but she was immobilized by her own grief and had no will to feed them empty promises. She couldn't even face today; how on earth was she supposed to think about tomorrow. And the next day. And the next. Just imagining the future without John made her stomach heave.
There was a light tap on the door. She didn't answer, but she didn't have to. She knew whomever it was would come in, regardless of whether she bid them enter or not. They'd bring a fresh tray of food that would grow cold on her dresser, a hot cup of tea or coffee that would remain untouched on the nightstand, an offer to help out in any way they could, an offer she'd ignore. Renata didn't even bother pretending to be asleep anymore; she wasn't fooling anyone, anyway.
"Mom?" It was Reuben. "Mommy?" Her heart hitched at the misery in his voice, a sob catching in her throat, but she swallowed it down and kept her face buried in John's pillow. Reuben was quiet for so long, she thought maybe he'd left the room, but a moment later, she felt the mattress dip behind her.
"I miss you, Mom." He rested his hand on the back of her head, his fingers absentmindedly toying with her chopped hair. "We're going to school now. I just wanted to say 'goodbye' and let you know we're going with Tim to the dog park this afternoon. He's going to pick us up from school and we'll come back here for Harry and Sally." He paused, withdrew his hand, his voice dropping to almost a whisper. "You could come, if you wanted."
Renata ached to reach out to him, to hug his sturdy young frame to her, but was afraid to touch him, afraid she might break and her eleven-year-old would have to hold her together. She had to say something, but what?
She felt the mattress shift again and a wave of panic welled up inside her, forcing her into action. She turned to find him sitting with his back to her, his elbows on his knees, a posture she often found John in when he had something on his mind. Reuben's young, wiry frame was already beginning to have the look of John's and it made her chest hurt to see. She placed her hand gently on his back.
"Not today, honey. But tell Tim 'thank you' for me, okay? I'm glad you're going with him."
Reuben didn't look at her, but his shoulders sagged and he nodded, then stood. Renata rolled away from him, unable to bear seeing the disappointment on his face. The door closed softly. She was alone.
Alone.
A few minutes later, Gia poked her head in to let her know they were leaving, and Judah shimmied past. He surprised both sisters by coming around the bed and putting his not-quite-clean hands on either side of Renata's face and planting a bubblegum toothpaste scented kiss on her nose.
"That's from Daddy in heaven," he explained, his eyes wide and serious. "He told me to kiss your nose." Then he bounded out of the room, leaving the two women speechless. Gia followed him shortly, pulling the door closed without another word.
Renata curled in on herself, pressing her face into John’s pillow as her grief threatened to overwhelm her.
~ ~
~
Sleep did not rescue her from the day, no matter how long she lay there. Renata pulled herself up to sitting, sliding her legs over the edge of the bed. Her head felt like it weighed a hundred pounds and she braced her hands on her knees lest she topple face first to the floor.
"Renata, you need a shower," she grumbled, catching a whiff of herself. She stood up slowly, a little lightheaded, her empty stomach balking. "Food first."
It was chilly, so she slipped into John's robe that hung on the back of their bedroom door, tying it loosely around her waist, taking comfort in the sensation of being enveloped by him. She picked up the tray Gia had left her—a piece of toast with peanut butter, a cup of cold coffee, and half a ruby grapefruit in a bowl—and carried it to the kitchen where she dumped the food in the trash, poured the coffee down the drain, then washed her dishes. Harry and Sally wandered in behind her, greeted her with subdued expressions and slow tail wags, then returned to their pillows, both staring balefully at the front door, as though expecting John to come through it any moment.
Renata found a can of ready to serve chicken noodle soup in the cupboard and heated it up in a bowl in the microwave, then stood at the sink and ate it.
"At least I'm not eating it out of the can today," she muttered aloud. She stared out at the wet March morning, wondering when the weather was going to change. It had rained on and off for weeks, and even though it was spring, usually by the middle of March in Southern California, the sunshine days started outnumbering the glum-weather days. Maybe the whole earth was in mourning with her.
Just as she finished washing the bowl and spoon, she heard the garage door go up. Renata wasn't expecting anyone, not until the boys came home from school. She stood still, waiting for whomever it was to come inside, but no one did. She glanced over at the dogs, and although both of them were flopping their tails a little and their ears had perked up, they didn't seem at all concerned.
Renata and the Fall from Grace Page 17