Mr. Miracle

by Debbie Macomber

  “Just do what I ask.” Erich sounded none too happy.

  “No way. I’m not stumbling around in the dark.” She found the switch by the door and flipped it on. The small entry was quickly ablaze in light.

  “You had to do it, didn’t you?” he grumbled.

  Addie searched the living room, where Erich had been sitting when she left. The footrest on the recliner was down and the blanket he’d had over his legs was puddled on the floor.

  “Where are you?” she called out, coming farther into the house.

  “The hallway. Leave the hall light off,” he demanded, and then, in a voice so soft she barely heard, he added, “Please.”

  He must have hit his head to request anything so nonsensical, but in an effort to keep the peace she did as he asked. “Any particular reason I won’t need to see where I’m headed?”

  “Several,” he muttered. “Mainly because this is humiliating enough without you seeing me sprawled across the floor in my underwear.”

  “O-k-a-y.” Now she understood. He appeared to be sitting on the hardwood surface at the far end of the hallway by the entrance to the bathroom. The dim light from the entry illuminated his outline.

  “What happened?” she asked, stepping closer. She wondered if the pain medication had made him a bit unsteady.

  “You don’t want to know.” His robe was open and spread out around him on the floor like a skirt around a Christmas tree.

  “Of course I want to know,” she said, moving to the side and leaning against the wall, being careful not to trip on him or the robe.

  “Well, I don’t want to tell you. Can you kindly leave it at that?”

  She walked all the way around him in an effort to evaluate the situation. While unsure exactly how he’d gotten into this position, she could understand his predicament. Without the use of his hands, it would be nearly impossible for him to get to his feet unaided.

  “If you could just help me raise myself enough to use my legs, I should be fine,” he said, frustration evident in his voice.

  Addie suspected he’d called her as a last resort once he’d exhausted his own strength and resources. “How long have you been like this?”

  “Awhile.” He was back to growling responses. “Can you please get me to my feet before I answer your questions?”

  As Addie assessed things, she decided the best way to manipulate him to a standing position was from behind. She moved around to his back side and slipped her arms under his. “You ready?”

  “I was ready an hour ago,” he muttered.

  Using every bit of strength she possessed, Addie strained to lift him enough to give him leverage to get to his feet. Despite her best efforts, he didn’t budge.

  “Good heavens, just how much do you weigh?” she asked, breathing hard.

  He grumbled a reply. From what she could make of it, he wasn’t discussing his weight.

  “Temper, temper,” she chided.

  “It isn’t you who’s as helpless as an infant,” he reminded her.

  He was right. This situation must be mortifying for Erich. There’d been a time when she would have gotten a great deal of pleasure seeing him down and helpless. She didn’t feel that way any longer. It was far too easy to see herself in a similar situation.

  “Let’s try again,” she suggested. “This time I’ll put a little more oomph into it.”

  Erich snorted sarcastically. “You mean to say the first attempt was just for practice?”

  “Quit complaining. I’m doing the best I can.” If the initial try was any indication, she could see getting Erich to his feet wasn’t going to be easy.

  She tried again, straining her muscles for all she was worth. Clenching her teeth, she tilted her head back, grunted hard, and gave it her all.

  Nothing.

  She couldn’t lift him so much as an inch off the floor. He was a huge guy—easily six-three. He’d clearly continued to work out after high school and was as broad and muscular as ever. Given that she was slight, lifting him was sure to be a challenge.

  Exhausted now, she slumped down on the hardwood surface, her legs stretched out in a wide V.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder.

  “No, but this isn’t working.”

  “No kidding, Sherlock.”

  After Addie caught her breath she crawled on her hands and knees around Erich so that they could talk face-to-face. Her eyes had adjusted to the dark and she noticed he’d modestly tucked his robe around his front.

  “You have any other ideas?” she asked. Maybe, with his engineering background, he might offer a couple of other suggestions.

  He leaned his head back and expelled a grating breath. “Unfortunately, not a one.”

  Although she couldn’t see his face that clearly, from the way he spoke, she could tell he was exhausted.

  This was a last resort, but Addie felt she had to suggest it. It went without saying, Erich would object. “If worse comes to worst, I could always call for help.”

  “Who?”

  That was a legitimate question. Knocking on the neighbors’ doors would most likely mean rousing them from bed. Then Addie had an idea.

  “Nine-one-one would be my first option. Firefighters are trained for situations just like this.” The more she thought about it, the more sense it made.

  “No way.” Erich’s response was sharp and automatic. He wasn’t even willing to listen.

  “Come on, Erich, you’re in an impossible situation here.”

  “I am not going to have a bunch of firefighters see me in my underwear.” Just the way he said it left no room for argument.

  “Okay, okay.” Addie held up both her hands as if surrendering. “A man and his pride.”

  He sat pouting for several seconds before he muttered, “Pride’s all I’ve got left, and I’d rather keep it, if you don’t mind.”

  Despite their differences through the years, Addie felt bad for him. “Then we’ll think of some other way.” She tried to sound confident although it was more bluff than any real sense they could successfully pull this off.

  They waited a few minutes in order for them both to catch their breath. Thirty minutes passed along with several attempts, all of which ended without success. They’d been nearly successful with a chair, but it was plain that putting too much pressure on his arms was not an option. When she saw the considerable pain on his face, Addie put a stop to it.

  “You’re hurting yourself.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “I do,” she argued, and pushed the kitchen chair aside, refusing to let him do any further damage to his broken wrists.

  Addie slumped down on the floor, knees bent. She was too tired to stand up. “Any other bright ideas?” she asked.

  “One.” He chewed on his lower lip as though giving this some additional thought.

  “Don’t keep me in suspense,” Addie chastised. “Tell me.”

  “If I can get to my knees.”

  “We tried that with the chair,” she said, cutting him off.

  He waved her objection aside. “The chair didn’t work, but if you gave me your arm, I might be able to lift myself up enough to kneel.”

  “Not with your hands!” She was aghast he’d even make such a suggestion.

  “Not with my hands,” he agreed. “Just hold out your arm.”

  Addie wasn’t sure what he meant until he showed her. He wanted her to hold her forearm out like a trapeze bar. She did, using all her strength to hold it stiff as a support for his own forearms to wrap around her one, and with that he was able to shift his weight enough to get to one knee. Then, gradually, the other. Soon he was upright.

  After a long series of failed attempts, Addie wasn’t sure why they hadn’t thought of this earlier. It’d worked. It hadn’t been easy, nor was it pretty, but it did the trick.

  For the longest moment, they stood facing each other, too stunned to speak. Both their shoulders heaved with exertion.

  �
��We did it,” Addie whispered. “We actually did it.”

  “We did,” Erich agreed, and then he started to sway.

  In half a heartbeat, Addie was at his side with her arm wrapped around his waist. He felt warm and muscular, and she kept him close to her side, offering him her strength, which admittedly was pretty shaky. “Let me help you back into the recliner.”

  “Give me a minute,” he said, and sounded pitifully weak.

  “Sure.”

  He dragged in several deep breaths. “I never thought I’d have the opportunity to say this, but thanks, Addie. I’d never have managed getting off that floor without you.”

  “No problem.”

  He chuckled softly. “I beg to differ; it was a major problem.”

  Because he was exhausted, she kept her arm tucked around his waist, and walked with him back into the living room. Once there, he eased himself into the recliner. Without asking, she left him long enough to go into the kitchen and bring him a glass of water. She found a straw and brought it out with her.

  “Here,” she said. “This should help.”

  He had the blanket over his legs. “Thanks.”

  She set the water down on the tray where he could lean forward and sip without the necessity of using his hands. She waited long enough to make sure the water was close enough. Even then she was reluctant to leave, but she didn’t have a good excuse to linger.

  “Would you like anything else?” she asked, easing her way toward the front door.

  “Nothing, thanks.”

  She rubbed her palms together. “Then I should probably get back.”

  He nodded. “Would you mind turning off the light on your way out?”

  “Sure.” She headed into the foyer and flipped the switch she’d turned on when she’d first entered the house. The area went dark. Addie’s hand was on the doorknob when Erich spoke.

  “I met Ashley in college.”

  She froze, uncertain if she should comment, ask questions, or simply pretend that she hadn’t heard him. Curiosity won out, and she decided to learn what she could. “Ashley seems to have been important to you at one time though.”

  “At one time,” he agreed.

  “You broke it off?”

  “No, she did. I had never been in love … well, not like this, and I took it hard. It didn’t take me long to realize she’d been using me. Later she made an effort to patch up the relationship, but by then I knew being with her wasn’t worth the heartache. Frankly, I don’t care if I ever see her again.”

  “When was the last time you saw her?”

  “About six weeks ago. She has a hard time taking no for an answer.”

  In other words, this was an on-again/off-again relationship that had dragged on for several years. Apparently, they were in the off-again cycle.

  “Do you love her?” she asked, then realized that was far too personal a question. “I’m sorry,” she added quickly. “You don’t need to answer that.”

  “I did love her,” he said, his voice dipping slightly, “at one time.” It seemed talking in the dark evoked confidences. “But not anymore,” he added.

  “You don’t sound that sure of yourself.”

  His responding laugh was wry. “Let me put it like this: I had to learn my lesson about Ashley more than once. I got the message loud and clear the last time.”

  Addie moved all the way back into the living room. “I guess we all go through that kind of rejection at some point or another.”

  “You, too?” he asked, keeping his voice soft and low.

  “Big-time.” Funny, a few months earlier she would never have admitted this, least of all to him. “I moved to Montana and met the love of my life. Some love. Some life. The relationship didn’t last six months. If I’d been smart I would have packed my bags and headed home right then, but oh no, I wasn’t about to put on my big-girl pants and admit I’d been wrong. I refused to give my dad the satisfaction, and so I stuck it out, freezing in the winter in a leaky trailer.”

  How foolish she’d been. How stubborn.

  “We all make mistakes,” Erich said sympathetically. “The key is learning from those mistakes and not repeating them.”

  Addie hadn’t expected him to show this much self-awareness. “What mistake did you make with Ashley?”

  He took his time answering. “It wasn’t just one; it was several. I fell for a pretty face, but unfortunately she didn’t have the heart to go with it. She was the sun of her own universe. It took far longer than it should have for me to recognize how shallow and vain she is.”

  Actually, now that she thought about it, Addie was fairly sure she had seen the beautiful Ashley one Thanksgiving when she’d flown home to be with family. As she recalled, Erich had paraded her into the house as if she were on a fashion runway. She’d been dressed all in bright, flashy colors that made her stand out wherever she might be.

  In an effort to be generous, Addie suggested, “She might have changed.”

  “Doubtful.” He dismissed that out of hand.

  Addie had a small confession to make. “I didn’t read the text she sent, but I did see the word sorry.”

  He sighed. “Ashley can’t stand the thought of not having the last word. I was the one who got away, and she will say or do anything to get me back just so she can dump me again. I’ve seen her do it with other men and I refuse to play that game. Apparently, there was a report of my accident in the newspaper and she read it.”

  “Oh.”

  “You asked about her. A few hours ago you would have had to torture the information out of me.”

  “And now?”

  “Now … I guess you earned the right to know. I appreciate your help tonight. I mean it. Thanking you hardly seems adequate. Telling you about Ash is my way of … I’m not sure … letting you know I trust you, I suppose.”

  Addie sat in the recliner next to Erich. She didn’t know what to say. Twenty-four hours ago she would have said this transformation in her relationship with Erich would have been impossible. After years of ill will, it came as a shock to realize she might not actually dislike him. She might even be able to look past the fact that he’d broken her tender heart all those years ago.

  “Are you going to say anything?” he asked, after an awkward silence.

  “Wow.”

  “Wow?” he repeated.

  She waved her hands. “In case you hadn’t noticed, something has happened between us.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “We’re talking.”

  “Yeah, and your point is?”

  “We’re talking, like two normal people. We aren’t arguing or sniping at each other. I … might even discover that it’s possible to get along with you.”

  He laughed as if that was one of the funniest things he’d ever heard. “Don’t let this go to your head. You make it sound as if the next thing you know we’ll be kissing.”

  “That ain’t gonna happen,” she assured him.

  His amusement faded. “Frankly, I don’t know that I’m willing to rule it out.”

  Chapter Eight

  Thursday evening was the dreaded Christmas concert. Harry had been uneasy about it from the moment Michelle Heath, the French teacher, had mentioned she would save him a seat next to her. But now he had other, bigger worries.

  In fact, the concert and his fellow instructor were the least of his troubles. Dr. Conceito, the college president, had asked to meet with Harry. They needed to have a little chat, or so he’d been told.

  By comparison, the concert was sure to be like a stroll in a winter wonderland. Harry enjoyed music, although Earth couldn’t compare to the thunderous choir of angels who sang praises in heaven. Now, that was some kind of performance. The music was simply “out of this world” and completely unlike anything heard on Earth.

  For the last twenty-four hours Harry had managed to avoid talking to Michelle. They’d passed each other in the hallway now and again, but either he or she had been caught up in a gaggle of stud
ents each time.

  As Harry passed, she raised her hand and called out, “See you later.”

  A sense of dread settled over Harry. If his attendance wasn’t mandatory, he would have skipped the performance and made excuses later. However, Dr. Conceito had made it abundantly clear that Harry’s presence was more than expected; it was demanded.

  Dr. Conceito.

  Although he’d been on the job only a few days, Harry had come to appreciate Celeste’s warning regarding the college president. The man was more than a stickler for the rules, he was a tyrant. Even while on his best behavior, Harry had already had two run-ins with the school’s dictator.

  It seemed Dr. Conceito walked the halls looking for infractions with the same enthusiasm with which an anteater seeks out insects. He had a nose for it and a cohort in the security guard who took delight in reporting any behavior that appeared the least bit suspicious.

  No doubt Dr. Conceito had heard from Brady Whitall, the security guard, about the cafeteria worker Harry had championed. Really, what harm did it do if the dear woman stood in the hallway and listened in on a literature class?

  Angels weren’t accustomed to being nervous. Heaven was serene and calm. No worries, be happy. He’d made the assumption that it would be similar on Earth. Not the same, of course, but he’d expected that being in the very center of God’s will equated smooth sailing. He’d been wrong. And then there was the whole issue of dealing with human emotions … like attraction. Harry had yet to figure out how he was going to avoid sitting next to the French teacher at the concert.

  With his heart pumping hard against his ribs, Harry entered the administration building and headed toward the president’s office, hoping to get this meeting over as quickly as possible. Dr. Conceito’s assistant looked up when he entered the room.

  “Harry Mills,” he said, as a means of introducing himself. “I believe Dr. Conceito is expecting me.”

  The assistant, a middle-aged woman whose thick, dark hair was streaked with gray, continued to stare at her computer screen. The name plate at her desk identified her as Patricia Ziglar. “Ah yes, here you are. If you’d kindly take a seat, Mr. Mills. Dr. Conceito shouldn’t be long.”