Chapter Thirteen
Nora
What are you doing?”
Gordon straightened up from bending near the Christmas tree. “Turning on the Christmas-tree lights. It’s Christmas Eve, Nora.”
“I…” She blinked, trying to remember. The last two days had run together like a black and tarry stream that absorbed everything in its path. She stared at the calendar above the built-in desk, where she usually sat to pay bills and update her calendar. Sure enough, December 24. Christmas Eve day. This was to have been the beginning of her one perfect day. She closed her eyes against the blazing pain—pain that made her want to scream and claw at her chest, pain that was burning her heart to a cinder.
“How can we have Christmas when Charlie just died?”
Her words bit; she could see it on Gordon’s face. “I just thought, I mean… Nora, we’re still a family and we need to take care of Christi too.”
Nora paused and turned to stare at him. “Is something wrong with Christi?”
“Nothing but the grief that is with all of us. But you haven’t said a word to her since we came home from the hospital.”
Christi was her daughter. The other half of Charlie. Gordon’s accusation stung. Of course she’d spoken to her daughter. She stifled a groan and headed for the hall closet, where she ripped her ski jacket off the hanger, her headband and gloves from the basket hanging on the door, and boots from the floor. Sitting on a chair, she exchanged slippers for ski boots and, without answering a tentative question that Gordon asked, headed for the garage and her cross-country skis. Since her outburst in the living room, everyone had been tiptoeing around her.
Charlie had teased her that if Christmas Day was the first day with snow deep enough to ski, no matter what she’d planned, they’d all be out skiing. She had to get out; the house was suffocating her, sucking out the remaining trickle of what passed for life. Tiny thoughts of “what if we said good-bye too quickly,” which had begun yesterday, were circling faster and faster in her brain.
With her gear on, she took the first glide, first right, then left; she caught the top of the slope and let her skis carry her. The soft swooshing and shushing of skis through powder, the bite of the cold on her face, enough cloud cover that she didn’t need her dark glasses. It was only she and the land covered in white. She did a stem turn at the level area before the narrow beach to the ice-rimmed but not frozen-over lake. Using both poles and leg muscles, she set off on the path around the lake. All the landowners on their little lake agreed to leave the pathway clear and maintain it across their land, meaning keep it mowed in the summer. They, like many of the others, had graveled their section of path so it wouldn’t get muddy.
Today gravel and mowing didn’t matter. The snow covered all the same. Halfway around the lake, she remembered she’d forgotten the cardinal rule. Always tell someone where she was going. How could she tell someone when she had no idea? Would she stay on the lake path or head up the south hill and off into the woods?
Had they been too quick to turn off the machines? The quiet bounced off her screaming mind and the rhythm of arms and legs working in tandem deepened her heartbeat as the cold air pumped into her lungs. That was part of the problem, she’d been feeling like she was hyperventilating ever since the police came to the front door. Charlie was such a fast healer: falling out of trees, getting over strep throat, the various stitches he had for his escapades.
A woof sounded from behind her and she knew Gordon had given in to Betsy’s plea to go along. Betsy loved accompanying Nora, no matter what the sport, but she especially loved the snow—and skiing. Nora glanced over her shoulder to see the yellow dog charging along the path, throwing snow behind her with the power of haunches and broad feet. As she caught up with her mistress, she grinned up at her, black eyes sparkling, pink tongue lolling out one side of her mouth.
“Good girl.” Holding the handles of both poles with one hand, she leaned over and thumped the dog on her ribs. “Let’s go.” She pushed off again and lost herself in the rhythm. Stride, reach, stride, reach. Her shoulder muscles first whined, then complained, grumbled, shouted and finally screamed. Her legs were in better shape, due to speed-walking, but still, skiing used muscles that hid out until winter. She ignored the hill and continued around the lake. What if they had waited… hours? A day or two? It was all too fast. If they had been too fast… her mind made the leap. Then they had… Step, glide, step, glide. Don’t think, just move. Hers were the first tracks other than deer and other wild creatures. A few Canada geese remained on the lake, resting before the final push south. With the grass they grazed covered in snow, they needed to be on their way.
At one point, Nora stopped and stared out over the lake, the newest thought undulating like some bilious screen saver on Charlie’s laptop. Charlie loved the lake, no matter what the season. A brisk breeze kicked up mini whitecaps, breaking up the collar of ice that daily pushed out farther into the lake. He’d have been out skiing early this morning, yesterday even. Betsy sat down beside her, also looking over the lake. The cold froze the moisture draining down her cheeks. She brushed her face dry with the back of her wool gloves. “Come on, girl, let’s go home.” Her mouth was beginning to dry with panic.
Gordon met her at the door, scrutinized her face. “Are you all right?”
She only nodded. Would she ever be all right again? Right now, it certainly didn’t feel so. Everything reminded her of Charlie. No wonder some people moved out of the house they’d lived in, the memories were just too hurtful.
“The mortuary called. The hospital released the body to them.”
She spun around to stare at him. “Charlie. They released Charlie.”
Nora sank down in a chair at the bay window. A bird feeder hanging on a cast-iron crook needed to be filled. Her face stung from the cold air and now the inside warmth.
“We need to decide on burial. Shall I get Christi?”
“I thought we decided on cremation.”
“I-I’m just not sure she was listening.” She glanced up to see his face start to sag, his eyes tightened and blinked before he turned away to pull a handkerchief from his pocket and blow his nose.
“I’ll see if she can come down.”
Tail wagging slowly, Betsy clicked her way across the tile floor and laid her muzzle on Nora’s knee.
Nora stroked the dog’s head and stared out the window. At least she’d been able to breathe out there, even though the air was cold enough to burn her face. Here, inside the house that she’d slaved to decorate just so, where she’d planned for them all to have all their favorite things this year, do all their favorites, build memories to last a lifetime, here the air was so heavy that breathing was torture. Ponderous and mixed with the insidious voice silently asking, “Are you sure you didn’t say good-bye too soon?”
Gordon returned to the room. “She’s sleeping, I didn’t want to wake her. I think she was up most of the night.”
“Were you?”
“Up and down.”
“Maybe we all need sleeping pills.”
“Are we going to church tonight?”
“I don’t know if I can stand it.” She stared outside at the two lines her skis had made down the slope and on around the lake. Another skier just crossed their property line. Betsy went to the window and, ears pricked, stared at the intruder until he moved off their land. While she’d learned not to bark, she kept track of all those skiing or hiking around the lake.
“More people brought food.”
She nodded. “Did you put some of it out in the garage refrigerator?”
“Yes. We need to give some of it away.” He pulled out a chair and sat down, propping his elbows on the table to hold his head up. “Luke called and suggested the twenty-seventh for the memorial service. He wondered if that gave us time to prepare?”
“Prepare how?”
“Notify family and friends, I guess. Choose what we want in the service. He asked about a memorial.”
“And we need to get an obituary written for the paper.”
“Would you like something to drink? Coffee, hot chocolate, apple cider?” She paused in her rising. “Tea, eggnog?” She had stocked in everything, everything they needed to have a wonderful time.
He shook his head. “I don’t know. Whatever you’re having.”
As she held the teakettle under the faucet, her arm and hand began to shake from an attack of fatigue so intense it was all she could do to stand up. She set the kettle on the burner and leaned back against the counter, rubbing her forehead. The ache behind her eyes intensified, picking up a beat like the native drums that Charlie sometimes played. What if we… Removing two packets of cider mix from the clear-glass canisters on the counter, she ripped them open and poured the contents into snowmen mugs. But the thought of drinking anything made her stomach roil.
“Here. This is about ready. I need to go lie down.” She left the kitchen at a run and barely made it up the stairs to her bathroom before the heaves started. But there was nothing to come up. Sorrow and pain tasted strangely like bile. She rinsed her mouth out with water sipped from her cupped hand and wiped hands and face on the red towel with a carefully stitched band of Hardanger decorating it for Christmas. She threw the towel in the hamper and crawled under the covers.
She could feel her heart pounding in her ears, her throat, her chest. The covers held the sound in and magnified it. In spite of her will, the tears trickled into the pillowcase. Lord, all I want is Charlie back. Why did You take him like this, without even giving him a chance to finish growing up? Why?
She felt the bed move as Betsy jumped up and lay tight against her back. The dog’s sigh matched her own.
Sometime after dark, she staggered to the bathroom and changed into her nightgown. Without glancing at the clock, she crawled back into bed. At least in sleep, she didn’t have to think or feel.
Until the dream crept up and attacked.
Chapter Fourteen
Jenna
Christmas morning. Even though she was alone, she didn’t feel lonely.
Dr. Walker gave her a good report. Heather was doing as well as could be expected. Her temp was a bit elevated, but not sufficiently to worry. Besides, she was already on massive doses of antibiotics, along with antirejection drugs and cortisone. The list was as long as her arm. She planned on asking the pharmacist if he could give her the info on all of them now, so she’d be better prepared when they headed home. Many of them she’d never heard of before. They weren’t commonly used in the ER.
His final statement, however, chilled her, though she already knew the information: they were approaching thirty-six hours postsurgery. Statistically dangerous for rejection of the new heart.
With Heather cuddled in a deep healing sleep, Jenna wandered down to the cafeteria, where a minimum of staff held down the tables, desultory conversation skimming the clatter of kettles from the kitchen. She filled a Styrofoam cup with hot coffee and added two creamers, plus a sugar; today she needed a massive energy fix, she couldn’t afford to let down now. Which would be worse? Losing Heather now or losing her by not getting a donor? Chiding herself for harboring vain imaginations, she took her coffee to a table by a window, which looked out on a bathroom-sized fenced garden. She sat down and propped her elbows on the table. Outside, a flock of chickadees flitted from a feeder to the snow-dusted paving stones underneath it, to the small pine tree and back to the feeder again. A nuthatch hung sideways on a block of suet, hanging by the cedar feeder. The fluttering and flitting of busy birds made her smile. Heather loved to watch the black capped chickadees from the sofa in the living room. On days when she’d been too tired to move, the feeder and its guests were more entertaining than the television that droned in the corner.
Now what? They’d never planned for life after a transplant. While they’d prayed for this day, she’d never allowed her dreams to go on, because the thought of life without Heather was more than she could bear. Had she really thought a new heart would never come? And now, they were given this incredible gift. She stubbornly refused to think of the thirty-six-hour window. Saying “thank you” to God seemed far too weak, but she couldn’t think of anything else.
Other than the other mother.
Those at the closest table were talking about the suppers waiting for them once their shift was over. One older woman invited a young male nurse to join her family for Christmas dinner, since he was alone.
Please go, Jenna thought. Everybody needs to be with someone at Christmas. She hoped the mother mourning her son had a strong family and a church to comfort her. Jenna felt blessed beyond measure. The person she most wanted to be with was sleeping upstairs in the CCU. Sleeping without fear of her heart stopping.
She finished her coffee and tossed the cup in the trash as she exited the cafeteria.
A shame she didn’t knit or crochet or something to help pass the time. She hadn’t had this much time to spend for years. It gave her too much time to think. She glanced at her watch. While she waited for Heather to wake up, what was the other mother doing? Having made it through another hour, she could go back up and watch Heather sleep.
“There’s a gentleman to see you,” the nurse who was in charge of Heather on the day shift said when Jenna walked back into the CCU. “I told him you were down in the cafeteria.”
“Really, did he give you a name?”
“Nope, said he wanted to surprise you.”
“What did he look like?”
The nurse grinned at her. “Tall, good-looking, blond, wearing a burgundy cashmere sweater to die for.”
“Randy?”
“I don’t know his name and I’m not giving any more hints away. I’m sure he’ll be back up here. Must have missed you in the elevators.”
Jenna felt her heart rate pick up. Surely, it had to be Arlen’s baby brother—who else would show up on Christmas Day, after she told him not to come? She peeked in on Heather to see that nothing had changed, and all the numbers were stable, then headed for the waiting room.
He was walking back into the room from the exit side and the grin that split his face made her catch her breath. Her brother-in-law had that way about him. He crushed her in a bear hug, both of them laughing and crying at the same time.
“They let me see her. Ah, Jenna, she looks so good.”
“I know.” She rested her cheek on his chest. The nurse was right, his sweater was soft as milkweed down. “I told you not to come.”
“Since when have I done what you said?” He squeezed her again. “You should never have to be alone on Christmas. And by the way, Heather’s going to blow right by this thirty-six-hour window. Just in case you’re battling being a mom and a nurse right about now.”
Jenna rolled her eyes, but felt a tinge of warmth rise in her face. Okay, she was guilty. “You are a saint, I know you are.” She locked arms with him and they made their way to side-by-side chairs. “Have you found a hotel yet?”
“Nope. Rented a car and drove right here. I figured some place in Omaha would have a single room.”
“I’m right across the street. They give special discounts to family members.”
“I’ll check in later. Have you had dinner?”
She shook her head. “Not too many places open, and besides, I’ve not been hungry much.”
He gave her an assessing look. “You lose much more weight and the wind will blow right through you.”
“Thanks a heap. But the worst is over and we’ll get back to some kind of normal.”
“I pray that is so.”
The concern in his eyes made her throat tighten up.
“Yeah, me too.”
A few moments of silence passed. Jenna’s thoughts drifted back to Heather’s new heart. Beat strong, little heart. Make my daughter well. Hopefully, the heart couldn’t tell time and didn’t know one hour from another and would just keep beating.
“Earth to Jenna.”
&nb
sp; She started. “Sorry. What’s in the box?” She motioned to the shopping bag he’d set on the floor.
“Something for Heather.”
“She’ll love it.”
“How do you know? You don’t know what it is.”
“Because she always loves what you bring her. You are a gifted bringer of presents.”
“She is easy to please.”
“You want to see if they’ll let us both go in?”
“Why not? They let me peek. Surely, the rules can be bent on Christmas Day?”
The nurse who buzzed them in just rolled her eyes, but she started to grin when Randy gave her a box of Godiva chocolates. “You didn’t need to bribe me, but since you insist….” She tucked the box behind her back when he motioned like he was going to take it back. “Nah, nah. Don’t kid yourself. Just keep the noise down in there so I don’t get in trouble.” She glanced at the clock. “She should be surfacing from the sedation. We’ll try to lighten it and see how she does.”
Jenna and Randy nodded and made their way to stand on either side of Heather’s bed.
“Hey, sweetie, Mom’s here.”
Heather’s cheeks creased just a bit, in an attempt at a smile. Her eyes fluttered open. Her smile widened. “Hi.” The word escaped on a croak.
“There’s someone here to see you.” Jenna nodded across the bed at the man with suspiciously bright eyes.
Heather blinked, then turned her head slowly. Her smile widened more. “Uncle Randy.”
“Good, I was afraid you wouldn’t recognize me.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek. “You look wonderful.”
“Is it Christmas yet?” She cleared her throat. “Can I have water?”
“All you want. The more, the better.” Jenna held the glass with a bendable straw for her daughter to sip. “And yes, it is Christmas, and this is our present.” She nodded again to Randy.
One Perfect Day Page 10