No, of course not! Screaming seemed an appropriate response, and since she didn’t want to do that, Nora kept her mouth locked.
“The next question we have to decide is, are you willing to let Charlie’s organs help save other people? His driver’s license is marked as a donor, but since he is not of age, you will have to make the final decision. The longer he remains on the machines, the fewer organs we can use.”
“Use,” “harvest.” Disgusting words when applied to her Charlie.
“Mrs. Peterson, Mr. Peterson, your son can give the gift of life to someone else with his heart, lungs, liver, kidneys. His corneas will help someone see and his skin will heal burns. Medical science has learned of ways to use so much healthy tissue, but you have to allow us to do that.”
“By turning off the machines,” Gordon said.
“But Christi said she knows he is still here,” Nora argued. “She can sense him.”
“I’ve heard of that with twins, but medically, that is not what I see.”
The door opened partway. “Dr. Lennings?”
“I asked to not be disturbed.”
“I know, this is an emergency.”
“I’ll be back as soon as I can. You can use this room to talk in as long as you need.”
Nora watched the woman stride from the room.
“I think we should do what Charlie wanted.” Gordon reached for her hand.
Nora drew back. “I can’t decide now.” She looked to Luke. “What do you say?”
“This isn’t my decision, and if I were in your shoes, I’d be in the same struggle. But I do know of people who are living today because someone else was compassionate enough to do this.”
“So, you’re saying I’m being selfish?”
“No. But—”
“Have we given up that God is going to heal my son?” She stared from one man to the other, her gaze drilling into their souls. She saw Gordon flinch. What had she said? She replayed the words. Ah, “my son.” Not “our son,” but “my son.” That’s right. My son. She felt like a lone lioness protecting her cub. Come near and I’ll claw you to death. She stood and, without a word, headed for the door.
Back in the room with the beepers, the lines of tubing and the dim light at the head of the bed lay Charlie, exactly the same. She studied his face and his arms and hands. Wouldn’t she know if he was really dead? Would Christi know? She swung her attention to her daughter, who was now staring at her brother. Staring like she did when trying to memorize, to see inside and understand something she was going to paint.
“What is it?”
Christi shook her head, a minuscule movement, as if she couldn’t afford anything that might break her concentration. Her shallow breathing matched the rhythm of the monitor. Leaning closer, she turned her head slightly, then rolled her lips together and her shoulders dropped. With tear-filled eyes, she turned to her mother. “I can’t find him anymore.”
Chapter Eight
Jenna
How fast can you get to Omaha?”
Jenna stared at the phone, then put the receiver back to her ear. “Dr. Avery?”
“Yes. Compatible donor. Heart can be at the Nebraska Medical Center in Omaha in two hours.” His sentences were short, staccato. “Friend of mine will be at the airport warming up his plane by the time you can get there. You’re all packed, right?”
Jenna nodded, unable to speak.
“Jenna?”
“I-I’m here. Yes, always.” She glanced at the round clock on the wall above the table. Nine fifteen, mountain time. “We’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”
“We’re all praying for you. Oh, and make sure you have your cell phone on. Merry Christmas.”
Merry Christmas! Merry Christmas. God had answered her prayer. She turned off the teakettle and headed for the bedroom. At least she was already dressed. “Heather, oh, my God, dear God, thank you, God. Heather, wake up. We have a heart!”
Heather sat up in bed, blinking and rubbing her eyes. “You mean it?”
“Get your clothes on and I’ll start the car.”
“What about Elmer?”
“Matilda will take care of him. It’s all set. I’ve got the bags with me. Dress warm.” Jenna grabbed the two bags out of the closet and jerked her coat off the hanger. After stuffing her arms in the sleeves, she hauled the bags out to the garage. She threw them in the rear of the SUV and ran back for her purse. “How you doing?”
“Fine, um… good.”
Jenna jerked the plug on the Christmas-tree lights and headed for Heather’s room. Elmer slipped out the door as she went in. She grabbed Heather’s shoes from the floor. “You can put these on in the car. I’ll get your coat.” On the way past, she snagged the afghan from the sofa. All the while, please, God, get us there ran over and over in her mind. Hearing Heather padding down the hall, Jenna hooked her purse over her arm and held out the ski jacket so Heather could shove her arms in. “Go, go, go!” She glanced around the kitchen one more time and pulled the door closed behind them, her hands shaking.
In the car, she checked for car keys. Where were her car keys? She dug in her purse, muttering to herself. She always put them in the same place—why weren’t they there? Panic swelled.
“Try the front.” Heather had one shoe on and leaned back against the seat to catch her breath.
“Bingo.” Jenna held up the car keys. “Thanks.” She inserted the key in the slot and the car turned over immediately. She kept it tuned and in perfect shape for such a time as this. She checked one more thing. Yes, the oxygen tank was in the rear also. Her cell phone—where was her cell phone? Back to digging in the bottomless pit. “I can’t find my cell phone.”
She threw open the car door and charged back in the house. Where had she left it? Lord, I need my cell phone. In the charger, on the kitchen counter. Time. What time? Five minutes left. They’d not make it in fifteen. She grabbed both phone and charger and flew out the door again, ignoring Elmer’s pleas for attention. His cry turned into a yowl, part of his Siamese heritage. It even pierced the door to the garage, so he had followed her into the laundry room. She leaped into the car and hit the garage door opener.
“I heard Elmer.” Heather clutched the Christmas afghan around her shoulders.
“I know.” Jenna checked the mirror to make sure the garage door was high enough and shifted into reverse. As they backed out, she hit the button again, but didn’t bother to wait and make sure the door closed. What was the fastest way to the airport and the least likely sighting of cops?
She stopped at the stop sign and looked to her right. A cop car with flashing lights. Not today, Lord. What is going on? He pulled in front of her and rolled down his window.
“Are you Jenna Montgomery?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m your escort. Follow me.” He hit the siren and peeled out.
Jenna swung in behind him, hardly believing her eyes. She glanced at Heather, who wore a face-splitting grin. “You okay, baby?”
“Mom, watch the road.”
They sailed through a stoplight and picked up speed. Good thing the road was straight. Traffic pulled off and they zoomed by. At the airport, a man swung open a gate to the field and the car in front of her drove on through, Jenna following. They screeched to a halt in front of a four-seater Learjet, the engine already roaring.
The police officer whipped open her door. “Hand me your keys. I’ll take care of your car. You grab the bags. I’ve got your daughter.”
Another man ran up and hoisted the oxygen tank on one shoulder. “Come on, he’s ready to roll.”
Jenna fumbled with the bags and a different man took them from her. “Anything else you need?”
Jenna checked her shoulder, purse in place. “I guess not.” She ran after the man who got to the stairs as the policeman ducked in the plane with Heather in his arms. The other three climbed in and the officer finished snapping Heather’s seat belt.
“We’ll be praying, sweetheart. You hang on for the ri
de.” He motioned Jenna into the seat next to her. “The oxygen tank is right behind you. Your bags are stowed and you’ve got the best pilot around. The cabin is pressurized, so you should be okay.” He touched his forehead as he backed away. “Go with God.”
“Thank you, thank you.” Jenna fought around the tears. The door slammed and she saw the steps rolling away at the same time as the plane started to move. They were airborne in what seemed seconds.
“Did all this really happen?” Heather stared at her mother.
“It did. I have no idea how, but it did.” Jenna leaned her head against the seat.
Heather clung to her mother’s hand. “He carried me right up the steps.”
“Who? Oh, the police officer? Probably a good thing you’re such a lightweight.”
“Do you know his name?”
“I’ve seen him at the ER. Jason, James, something like that.” She closed her eyes to think better. “Jamison. No, Jamiston. Wendell Jamiston. They call him ‘Dell.’ ”
“He was one good-looking guy.”
“Heather, he’s old enough to be your father.”
“I know.”
A click and the intercom came on. “Welcome to our own friendly skies, ladies. This is your captain speaking, John Wayne, and my sidekick, Kirk Douglas. We’ll be cruising at thirty-four thousand feet and should arrive in Omaha in forty-seven minutes, where an ambulance will be waiting to transport you to the hospital.”
Jenna looked at Heather and they both broke out in giggles.
How am I ever going to afford all this? The thought managed to sneak in around Jenna’s mix of euphoria and apprehension. Whoever all these good angels were, they’d have to take payments. Probably for the rest of her life, but who was counting? She stared out the window as another thought snuck through. Dear God, Heather’s miracle had been someone else’s grief. Oh, Lord, help the family. Comfort them, bring them peace. Thank them for their sacrifice.
Chapter Nine
Nora
Did we do the right thing?
Nora stared out the car window. Snowflakes danced, but instead of beautiful and bringing joy, all she could think was sliding vehicles and the scream and crash of metal on metal. With both arms wrapped around herself, she huddled into the door.
Couldn’t he turn the heater up?
You can’t blame Gordon. She knew the thought made sense, but right now she wanted to blame everyone, scream at everyone and do over the last twenty-four hours. How could Charlie be gone like that and the world keep on turning? How could her lungs pull in air and her hands feel cold when her heart was leaking from the gigantic hole where Charlie had been ripped out?
She heard Gordon say something to Christi and heard her daughter answer, but the words didn’t compute. Leaning forward, she increased the heat to MAX.
Where was God when you needed Him? That was the question of all questions. If this was what walking with the Lord was like, she wanted no part of it. Tears stung her eyes again. Where did they all come from? Surely, the well would dry up soon. They turned into the driveway, the grass blanketed in white. The sun hurt her eyes, so she closed them, sensing when the garage enveloped the car. Gordon turned off the ignition. They sat there, all three of them, as if turned to clay.
But clay didn’t sniff. Christi did again and again.
The noise screeched on Nora’s nerves. Charlie was dead and the whole world should be silent.
Finally Gordon got out and came around to open her door. He’d not done that for a long time. Somehow the common niceties had disappeared, and who knew when or why? She turned and set her feet on the garage floor, ignoring the hand he extended to help her. Had her leg muscles atrophied in the last few hours so that she could hardly stand? When she swayed, he took her arm and this time she let him. She could hear Betsy barking a greeting. Had someone come and let her out?
“Come on, sweetheart.” He opened the door for Christi too.
“I will.”
Together Nora and Gordon mounted the steps to the house and she walked through the door ahead of him. Betsy greeted her with high yips and frantic tail wagging. She ran ahead of them, sliding on the floor and ran back to sit in front and quiver, tongue lolling, eyes pleading.
Nora leaned down to ruffle her dog’s ears and received a quick swipe across her chin. “Good girl. Yes, we’re home.” But not all of us, Charlie will never come through this door again and say, “Hi, Mom. What’s for supper?” The tears took over and she left the dog to greet the others. Shedding her jacket, she dropped it on a chair, along with her purse and gloves. Snatching a tissue from the box, she made her way to the bedroom. Here she could hide and block out the light, the sounds, everything that spoke of life. She jerked the drapes closed, went to the bathroom without turning on the light, flushed and grabbed a cloth on her way out. Without taking off her clothes, she crawled into bed and pulled the down comforter over her head. Somehow she had to get warm.
Perhaps if she slept, she would wake and this would all be a bad dream. Shivers attacked her again.
She sensed Gordon before he spoke.
“Can I bring you a cup of coffee?”
“No.”
“Another blanket?”
“Yes.” If only the chills would leave. Maybe she was coming down with something. What if she did? Something fatal; then she could join Charlie and she wouldn’t have to endure all this pain. No one ever said grief was a physical pain, that her whole body would ache like she’d been beaten with a huge stick. That her mind screamed in pain and her soul had vaporized.
Childbirth, even with twins, was nothing like this. That pain had been for life, for a time that seemed long then, but looking back, it was only a blip on the screen. Birthing pangs came in waves that ebbed and flowed. Death pain filled her universe.
The added weight made it impossible to breathe. She threw back the covers and rushed to the bathroom, hand clamped over her mouth. But no matter how hard and often she heaved, nothing came up but bile that burned all the way. Sinking down on the floor, she laid her cheek on the edge of the bathtub. Perhaps if she took a hot bath, she could get warmed up. The wrenching shivers attacked again from the cold tile floor.
After turning on the hot water, she watched the steam rising, still too tired, too weak to stand up. She heard the click of toenails on the tile and the rasp of a warm tongue on her cheek. Betsy whimpered and snuggled up under Nora’s chin, clearing away the tears as fast as they fell. Nora buried her face in the dog’s warm fur and sobbed.
At some point, she reached over and turned off the faucet. The steam in the room ran rivulets down the tile surround. She lifted her head and stared through bleary eyes. Undressing seemed like scaling Mount Everest, but she finally left off hugging the dog, stood and shucked her clothes. She stared at the water; she should have put in bath salts. Dipping in her fingers, she realized the hot water had run out earlier, so the water in the tub was hot, but not enough to burn. As she sank down into the warmth, she opened the stopper on lavender bath salts and shook some into the tub. Not that she could smell anything, as plugged up as her nose was.
Nora leaned back against the foam neck form she kept for long soaks. Usually she lit candles and played soft music; the tub was a place to relax and soak away the cares of the day. How long since she’d taken a bath rather than a shower?
Who cared?
With her eyes closed, the scene in the hospital room came back. The silence when the ventilator stopped clicking, the monitors ceased beeping, Charlie quit breathing. His heart ceased beating within minutes. The doctors had been right. He was dead, his spirit had left—and she’d not known when.
Her face scrunched up again and the tears resumed. The quiet, the terrible, life-sucking quiet. She clenched her teeth to hold back a scream. The doctors had said to take their time in saying good-bye, but she kissed his cheek, whispered “I love you” and hurried from the room. Gordon joined her in a few minutes, and Christi finally left the room and let her father ta
ke her arm to lead both his wife and daughter away from the stillness. Back to where nurses cared for patients who were trying to get well, other families visited their loved ones, machines hummed and clicked and an old man moaned.
Luke had been waiting, embraced each of them, said something Nora couldn’t remember, and then said he’d call tomorrow to talk about “arrangements.” She recalled that with sharp clarity. Arrangements.
She swirled the now-tepid water with wrinkled hands. The shivers were starting again. With the water draining, she stood and pulled a bath sheet from the towel bar, drying her arms and wrapping the rose-colored towel around her.
Betsy looked up as Nora stepped out on the rug. Tail swishing the floor, the dog sat up, never taking her eyes from Nora, who sat down on the closed toilet with a thump. Her legs just wouldn’t hold her up. Would she have to crawl to the bed, because there was nowhere else she could bear to go? She heaved a deep breath and tried again, keeping one hand on the counter, then the wall as she opened the door. The cold from the bedroom clashed with the heat from the bathroom, making her shiver again.
Retrieving sweatpants and a sweatshirt from her drawer, she sat down on the bed, pulled them on and rolled herself back up in the comforter. Her feet. Furry slippers from under the bed took care of that. This time she dropped into a deep black hole and slept.
Sometime during the night, she woke to find her pillow wet with tears. Gordon slept on, his gentle snores proof of that. She stole from the bed to use the facilities and found the bathroom all put back in order. Betsy padded in from her bed at the foot of Nora’s bed and sat in front of Nora, waiting for her usual pats. She put a paw up on Nora’s knee and whimpered, deep in her throat. Nora could feel the dark eyes pleading for attention, for understanding to know what was wrong.
“She spent the evening in Charlie’s room,” Gordon said, watching her from the doorway. “After searching the house for him. Then she came back and jumped up on the bed and lay beside you.”
“Do you think she knows?”
One Perfect Day Page 7