A Faithful Gathering

by Leslie Gould

  I guessed that meant he spent the day crying.

  “I should get going.” I hadn’t told either of them that I’d planned to take my boards the next day. I’d expected that Marie would be doing better, that it would be her last day in the hospital—that it would be clear sailing. Now I wondered if I should have rescheduled the test.

  No. Marie wouldn’t want me to do that.

  I cleared my throat. Both Marie and Gordon turned toward me. “Jessica is going to be in charge of Caden tonight. I’m taking my state boards tomorrow. I scheduled them back in April, before I graduated. Before I knew . . .”

  “Where are you taking the test?”

  “In Pittsburgh.”

  Marie’s eyes grew wide. “You’re driving there? Tonight?”

  I nodded.

  “That’s crazy,” she said.

  “I’m sorry I won’t be here.”

  Gordon glanced at Marie. “I wish you would have told us. I could have come sooner so you could get on the road.”

  “I’ll be fine.” I grabbed my backpack.

  Marie reached for my hand. “I’ll be praying.”

  “Denki,” I said. “I’ll be back by tomorrow evening. I’ll call and see where you are. If you’re still in the hospital, I can come here. If you still want to go to the farm, I’ll meet you there.”

  She shook her head. “That’s too much for you. Spend another night at your apartment. Then come back.”

  “We’ll see.” Not wanting to stay away from her any longer than I absolutely had to, I didn’t say any more. I didn’t want to add to Marie’s stress. I hugged her and then told both of them good-bye.

  Stopping by the cafeteria, I purchased a sandwich I could eat in the car and the largest coffee they sold. Then I texted Nick that I was on my way.

  As I drove, rain splattered my windshield. I tried to think through the test material, but over and over my mind went blank. I breathed deeply. When panic started to creep up, I logically thought through the chain of events happening in my brain—neurotransmitters sent signals to different brain structures, including the amygdala and hypothalamus. Those signals activated the sympathetic nervous system, which set off my “fight-or-flight” response. In turn, adrenaline was released in the bloodstream, causing the feeling of panic, along with an increased heart rate, shortness of breath, and sweating. Some people even had dizziness. As I thought through the process, I determined for that not to happen.

  My trick worked. The threat of panic fled and my heart rate slowed.

  Everything I’d learned would come back to me when it was time to take the test. I was sure of it.

  I turned up the radio. Both Paisley and Autumn had texted me in the last week, asking how Marie was and wondering when I’d return to Pittsburgh. Both told me to let them know ahead of time so we could make plans to get together, but I hadn’t. I felt bad about it, but I didn’t feel up to any social interaction. Both were better friends to me than I was to them. Hopefully I could make it up to them someday.

  When I passed the exit to Somerset, as the sign for the diner sped by, my heart rate increased again. Had the man lived? If so, how was he doing? If not, how was his family? A few minutes later, my phone rang. I didn’t recognize the number and didn’t answer it. But then I started to fret about that. Maybe it was Gordon on a hospital line.

  I pulled over at the next exit, stopping in the parking lot of a mini-mart, and listened to the voicemail. It was Mr. Weber’s daughter, saying she’d like to speak with me. “Please call when you can,” she’d said.

  I pressed Call. There was no reason to put it off.

  “Thank you for calling me right back,” she said when she answered. “Rita told me you were working the night my father died. Could you tell me what happened?”

  I told her about his fall, what he said about hearing her mother at the door, holding her as a baby, and about tucking him back into bed. I didn’t tell her he’d told me I was the best nurse he’d ever had.

  “I checked on him a half hour later and he was sleeping soundly, but by the change of shift, he’d passed,” I explained. “He probably died soon after the last time I checked on him.”

  “Goodness,” she said. “I wish you would have called me when he fell. I would have come in—and been with him when he died.” I could hear the tears in her voice.

  I wasn’t sure how to respond. Choosing my words carefully, I said, “If we’d known he only had a few hours left, someone would have called you. But we didn’t have any idea.”

  “I asked to be notified whenever anything happened,” she said.

  “That’s the nurse’s responsibility.” I inhaled. “She would have called you in the morning. I’m an aide, and we’re instructed not to call family in the middle of the night.” In truth, it wasn’t our job to call family at all.

  “Well,” she said. “I had concerns about you earlier, but I still would have expected more. . . .”

  I took a deep breath, shocked at the drastic change in her attitude. I’d always gotten along so well with her. I reminded myself that she was grieving and stressed. I’d seen it before in other family members who grew irrational when a relative grew worse—or died.

  “I’m really sorry for your loss,” I said. “Your father was a wonderful person.”

  When she didn’t answer, I thought maybe the call had been disconnected. “Hello?”

  “I’m here,” she said. “You should have given me the chance to be there, with my father.”

  “I understand your pain,” I said.

  She laughed bitterly. “How could you?”

  I hesitated. I didn’t want to talk with this woman about my own father and my grief, not now. Instead, I said, “I’m traveling and pulled over to call you. I need to get back on the road.”

  “I see,” she said. “Someone will be in touch once I decide what to do.”

  “Pardon?”

  “I’ll talk with my lawyer tomorrow. I don’t want this to happen to another family.”

  I was stunned. I’d followed protocol and done nothing wrong. I didn’t owe her any more of an explanation. In retrospect, I probably shouldn’t have spoken with her at all. “Have a good evening.” I quickly added, “Good-bye,” and ended the call.

  My hand shook a little as I shifted into Drive. Then I gripped the steering wheel tightly and pulled back onto the freeway. Her lawyer would set her straight. She had no case against me. Still, panic threatened and, again, I logically forced it away. Then I turned up the radio and drove on into the inky darkness.

  It was ten thirty by the time I reached my apartment. I half hoped Nick had ignored my request and was waiting for me. He wasn’t. But a paper sack sat on my doorstep. I picked it up and peered inside. A small bag of coffee. An apple and an orange. A bag of almonds. Three granola bars. And a card.

  I unlocked my door, put everything on the kitchen counter, and opened the card.

  Leisel,

  You’re the strongest person I know. You’ve got this. Don’t think about the test tonight. Get a good night’s sleep. Then do your best.

  Love and prayers,

  Nick

  My heart missed a beat. I put on my pajamas, knelt to say my stilted prayers, and then crawled into bed. Against Nick’s advice, I started thinking about the test. Panic threatened me for the third time. Once again, I willed it away. I had one last push to get my proverbial boulder to the top of the hill. Then I could go home, care for Marie, and apply for jobs. And figure out my future.

  I tossed and turned all night. I’d been a good caregiver to an elderly man, but his daughter was sure I’d done something wrong. But I hadn’t helped Marie. I hadn’t followed through on my advice to her, and she’d put off going to the doctor. My thoughts turned to the man in the diner. Had I done all I could for him?

  I flopped from one side to the other. At midnight, I climbed out of bed and began packing my kitchen. I’d take a couple of boxes home with me and then come back and finish cleaning the apa
rtment some other time. I was glad I’d only browsed for new apartments and hadn’t put a deposit down on anything. At least that was one less thing to worry about.

  I finally slept between two and four—at least I didn’t check the time on my phone between those hours. At five o’clock, I climbed out of bed, started a pot of coffee, and ate one of the granola bars. Even after I showered and dressed, I still had three hours until the test started, so I decided I might as well review my notes. First I stared at the care environment section. And then the psychosocial integrity section.

  My eyes began to swim. It was as if I hadn’t looked at the material at all, which shouldn’t have been surprising—it had been since before I graduated that I last studied. Putting the notes away, I decided to drive to the test-taking site and then take a walk.

  The gray light of morning crept over the hills and then the rivers as I drove toward downtown. The wavelengths of light and the size of the particles weren’t as optimal for the sunrise as they’d been for the sunset back home. The sun crept over the eastern hills and the sky turned a lighter hue of gray that matched the color of the rivers, foretelling a gloomy day.

  There wasn’t much traffic yet, and I made good time. I hated to pay extra for parking, but there was nothing else I could do. I parked in a garage, and then headed out for a long walk. It was cold for mid-May, and the rain sputtered on and off.

  As I walked, I told myself that there was no need to be negative. I’d had a rough twenty-four hours—actually a rough two weeks—but I felt confident in my knowledge. It was bound to come back as I answered the questions.

  I knew the minimum number of questions was seventy-five while the maximum was 265. Some people passed in seventy-five questions. Some passed in 265. And lots failed somewhere in between. If you were doing really well, you could pass in seventy-five. On the other hand, you could also fail in seventy-five. Or you could teeter along all the way to 265 and then pass—or fail. I knew students who’d done extremely well in nursing school who didn’t pass on their first try. I knew others who barely passed their classes who aced their licensing exam. Critical thinking was key.

  I entered the building and took the elevator to the third floor. When I reached the test-taking office, there was already a line of people ready to check in.

  Soon, we were all seated in front of computer screens. Ninety minutes into the test, one of the test takers stood with a smile on her face and checked out with the facilitator. Not long after, another one did.

  I was on question eighty now, which meant I hadn’t passed in seventy-five questions. I continued on, tackling question after question, trying to stay positive. If I was answering the questions right, they should be getting harder. But I was so anxious I couldn’t track if they were getting harder or easier. Plus I had a six-hour limit. If I went over that, the test would time out.

  I ended up finishing with an hour to spare, but I’d gone through all 265 questions. Only one other person was left in the room.

  When I reached the hall, I knew I should text Nick but felt too exhausted. I hoped I’d passed, but perhaps I’d been overconfident. Perhaps I should have made time to study, no matter what else was going on.

  When I reached my car, my phone pinged with a text from Nick. Ready for lunch?

  I considered blowing him off. Not answering his text. Going back to my apartment to sleep. Or going back to grab my things and flee to Lancaster County.

  But that wouldn’t be fair to him. Not after everything he’d done for me.

  I texted him back. Sure. How about the café by my apartment? In twenty minutes?

  See you then, he texted back.

  He had a table and a smile on his face when I arrived. He hugged me and pulled out my chair. As soon as I sat, he asked, “So how did it go?”

  He must have known by the look on my face that I wasn’t happy with how I’d done. He wrapped his arms around me once again.

  The boulder I thought I’d pushed to the top of the hill had just come crashing down, landing on top of me.

  8

  We sat in the back of the café at our favorite table. It wasn’t my style to be self-deprecating. I was never one to say that I’d thought I’d flunked a test when I knew I hadn’t. I always kept quiet. But I’d never thought I’d failed a test in my life. Until now.

  “If anyone would pass, it’s you,” Nick reassured me.

  I hadn’t told him about the two sleepless nights. About my compulsive thoughts about Marie. About the threat from Mr. Weber’s daughter. About my flashbacks to the man in the diner.

  “You’re tired, is all,” Nick said. “You’re under too much stress. And you lost the board lottery with your two hundred sixty-five questions. Try to chill for the next two days. Everything will be better soon.”

  I ordered a cup of coffee and a cup of soup, while Nick ordered a salad, sandwich, and chips.

  “That’s not much lunch,” Nick said to me after the waitress left.

  I shrugged. I wasn’t hungry, which made me remember the food he’d left last night. “Oh hey, thank you for the granola bars and fruit. That was really sweet.”

  “You’re welcome.” He leaned forward. “I’d do anything for you.”

  Anything but not join the Air Force. I didn’t say it out loud, but I thought it. Why couldn’t he have grown up Anabaptist? I chastised myself at the thought. If he had, neither of us would have pursued nursing, most likely. Then I thought of Dr. Turner. He’d grown up Anabaptist and gone to medical school.

  Nick asked about Marie. I told him about her blood pressure crashing and how worried I was about her. He listened attentively.

  Once our food arrived, I took a few bites of soup and then forced a few more down while Nick inhaled his food. When we finished eating—or when I pushed my cup forward, still half full—I said I needed to get on the road.

  “Are you sure?” he said. “Wouldn’t it be better to spend another night? We could go out for breakfast in the morning when I get off work.”

  “That would be nice,” I said. “But hopefully Marie will get out of the hospital tomorrow morning. I’d like to be there to talk with the surgeon again.”

  He nodded. “You’re a good sister. And aunt.” He didn’t ask how long I thought I’d stay in Lancaster, and I appreciated that. Nick wasn’t clingy and needy, not like some of my classmates’ boyfriends.

  I ordered coffee to go, and then Nick walked me to my car. “We still haven’t talked . . . about us.”

  “I know.” My voice fell. “Soon?”

  He wrinkled his nose.

  “I just can’t handle anything else right now,” I said. I’d been prematurely relieved he hadn’t brought up the topic. It appeared he hadn’t changed his mind.

  After he helped me carry my kitchen boxes to my trunk, he simply gave me a hug as we said good-bye.

  As I drove out of the city, I thought of the first time I’d met Nick. It was the first day of our CNA class. I’d hired a driver to take me to the nursing home on the edge of Lancaster where the class was held. Nick had graduated from high school the year before and was taking courses at the community college. He was interested in studying nursing and figured working as a CNA would give him a good idea whether he wanted to take that route or not.

  He wasn’t the only man in the class, but he was the youngest. I wasn’t the only woman in the class, of course, but I was the only Plain one.

  Immediately I noticed his root-beer-colored eyes, and then he smiled at me as I slipped into the room.

  I didn’t smile back.

  There was a seat beside him, but I continued to the next row and sat there. We didn’t talk the first day or the next. All of my attention was on the nurse teaching the class. She was in her early thirties and had graduated from a nursing school in Philadelphia. “Nursing school was hard—anatomy, physiology, clinicals—but absolutely worth it. There are so many possibilities as far as jobs. I’m thankful every single day that I chose this career.”

 
She’d worked in home health care for a few years after college, and now she worked for the company that owned the nursing home. She said she got her CNA while she was in nursing school and the skills she learned helped her during her clinicals. She added that being a CNA, in itself, was a great career too.

  I didn’t think I’d particularly enjoy working with elderly patients, but I wouldn’t mind it either. In fact, I just hoped I’d be able to work as a CNA at all—a problem I was pretty sure no one else in the room had.

  As much as I purposefully avoided Nick, I did notice him. His brown eyes were hard to miss, and he was by far the tallest person in the class. He also knew the answer to almost every question the instructor asked. He wasn’t prideful about it, and it wasn’t that he raised his hand each time, but it was obvious he knew the material.

  It wasn’t until we started our clinicals that we talked. We were both in the dining hall feeding patients when he said, “I’ve been impressed with your answers in class.”

  I simply thanked him and concentrated on the eighty-seven-year-old man in front of me who was trying to blow bubbles with his applesauce.

  “What are your plans after you complete this course?” he asked.

  I shrugged. Dat had given me permission to take the class, which only lasted a month, but I still didn’t know if I’d get permission to get a CNA job. I hadn’t joined the church, so it wasn’t as if Bishop Jacobs could say I couldn’t do it. Dat thought it was fine, but I figured Mamm wouldn’t want me to be around so many Englisch people day in and day out. She had a fear another child of hers would leave the church, and at the time she was sure it wouldn’t be Marie. Which left me.

  Nick asked me again, but I deflected and asked what his plans were. He answered that he was looking into the nursing program at the University of Pittsburgh. That was all he said, but that, combined with what our teacher had said about her nursing school, got me dreaming.

  “Have you thought about going to med school?” I asked the next time we talked.