One Perfect Day

by Lauraine Snelling

  Heather looked at her mother, who shook her head. “How do you know?”

  “Because he called last night to say he is being sent to Florida for a meeting.”

  “Now, that’s really a shame, having to go to Florida in the middle of the winter for a meeting. Warm weather, balmy breezes, blue water, I feel so sorry for the man, to have to make sacrifices like that.” All the while she was talking, she switched the IV bag to a pole with wheels, clipped off the catheter and lowered the bed. “Okay, here we go.”

  Heather swung her feet off the side of the bed and rolled into a sitting position with only a flinch. She took in a deep breath and let it out before using her arms as leverage, then stood up with the nurse watchfully in front of her.

  “Very good.” Jenna tucked the hospital gown around her daughter’s back. “We need a belt here.”

  “Hmm, how about a strip of gauze?” The nurse bustled out of the room and returned in an instant with a roll of two-inch gauze. She cut off a strip, tied it around Heather’s waist and set a walker in front of her.

  “Do I have to use that?”

  “Yep. If you fall, you might sue us, and then where would we be?”

  Heather shook her head and stared at her mother, as if asking her to intervene.

  Jenna shrugged. “I’m not the nurse here.”

  “Come on, let’s get this show on the road. I got a good-lookin’ guy down the hall that wants to see you.”

  “You do?” Heather’s hand crept up to see how her hair was. “Oh sure, he’s probably forty years old.”

  “No, more like twenty-two. He got a new kidney.”

  “From my donor?”

  “Nope, from his brother.” She walked backward, motioning Heather forward. “I figure he needs some cheering up.”

  “Why?”

  “Oh, he’s feeling guilty, you know, what if his brother needs a new kidney sometime.”

  At least no one had to die for him to get a new chance at life. Jenna stood right behind Heather, ready to catch her if she did fall.

  “Okay, one foot at a time. Put them forward, sister. Keep your back straight, let that walker roll forward, nice and slow.”

  Heather made it to the doorway before she had to stop. “Whew.” She braced her arms on the walker and leaned forward. The nurse braced the walker in front of her.

  “You’re doing great. Maybe we better postpone that visit for now.”

  “How far down?”

  “Two doors.”

  “How good-looking did you say he was?”

  “Very.”

  “Then let’s go.”

  Jenna stared at her daughter. Where had that come from? Heather enjoyed other people’s jokes, but it had been years since she made a funny of her own. Jenna glanced around, looking for a wheelchair in case they needed it. Her daughter’s new heart seemed to give her more courage than ever. More and more, she wished for knowledge of the family that had lost their child—what did she or he like, what was she or he like. This morning she’d brought messages back to Heather from her chat room buddies. Heather had laughed when she read them, then sucked in a deep breath. Laughing hurt.

  The three of them did the three-step walk to the bench.

  “Okay, while you’re resting, I’m going to answer a light. Don’t move until I get back.”

  “You all right?” Jenna asked softly.

  “Not sure how I’ll get back.” Heather leaned against her mother. “But I’m up and walking, and while I feel weak as anything, I can breathe.” She sucked in a breath and let it out. “And not get dizzy.” She stared down at the hospital socks on her feet. “We shoulda brought my slippers. Does my hair look all right?”

  “You’re beautiful.” I could go buy her some, but she has perfectly good ones at home. Even with the discounts at the hotel, the bill was mounting. She’d be paying her 10 percent of the hospital bills for the rest of her life. Thank God she had good insurance, but if she let herself think about it, she’d dread the bills coming in. As if a pair of slippers would make a blip on the screen of indebtedness.

  “Mom?”

  “What?”

  “Will I really be able to go skiing?”

  Jenna knew Heather had dreamed all her life of swooshing down the slopes of a mountain, of riding the lift to the ridges and skiing down. The television never went off when the winter games and winter Olympics were being shown. “I truly believe you will.” I also truly believe I will have a heart attack due to extreme fear for your health and well-being, but that is neither here nor there.

  The nurse stopped in front of them. “You ready to go again?”

  Heather stood. “Yes, ma’am.” She might have saluted if she dared raise her arm away from the walker. They entered the next room.

  “Jared, this is Heather. Heather, Jared.”

  Jenna recognized the moon face of cortisone meds, but even with that, this was one handsome hunk. “Hi,” she said.

  “Hi,” he replied, but he was looking at Heather. “You made it down the hall. Congratulations.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Can you sit and talk?”

  The nurse pushed a chair in behind her. “Sit.”

  Heather did. “I do ‘down’ and ‘stay’ too.”

  Jared stared at her a moment before a deep laugh burst forth and he clutched his middle.

  We’re in for a wild ride, Jenna informed herself. Who would the healthy Heather be? The nurse backed out the door, chortling as she went.

  “ ‘Down’ and ‘stay,’ I gotta remember that.”

  “Oh, you shouldn’t make me laugh.” Jared’s eyes crinkled at the edges in a most appealing way. “Ouch.”

  Jenna retreated and waited outside the door, leaning against the wall, still delighting in her daughter’s joke. This one she would write up and send to Randy. He would love it. What if this new heart had changed Heather’s personality? Was that a possibility? Although she was not trying to eavesdrop, she heard the two young people lower their voices. Jared’s deeper voice confessed to “feeling like he’s in a hole and can’t get out. I should be happy,” he muttered loud enough for Jenna to hear. “But all I can think of is ‘what if I screw up in life and my brother’s kidney is for nothing?’ ”

  A while later the nurse came back and beckoned her into the room with her. “Okay, missy, time to head back. Too much at one time might wear you down and we sure don’t want that to happen.”

  Heather stood and moved her hand in a low wave. “See ya, Jared.”

  “Thanks for coming, Heather.”

  “When will they be walking you?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “I’ll come again tomorrow then.” She turned and rolled the walker to the door, paused and then made it to the bench, where she nearly collapsed.

  “I’ll get the wheelchair.” When the nurse returned with it, she helped Heather in and said, “Hang on to that pole and away we go.”

  Back in bed, Heather lay against the pillows, while everything was hooked back up, including the oxygen levels monitor on her left index finger. “Could I go see him this afternoon if Mom pushed me in the wheelchair?”

  “I guess you could. Why?”

  “Because he’s bummed out and afraid.”

  “True.”

  “And I can make him laugh.”

  “You certainly can.” She patted Heather’s shoulder. “You go, girl.”

  After Heather was sleeping off her exercise, Jenna toyed with the idea that had emerged when she overheard the kids talking. Maybe Jared wouldn’t be interested. Well, a clearer voice interjected, maybe you should give him the chance? That did it. She headed down the hall to the nurses’ station. “I have a question.”

  “Yes?”

  “Has Pastor Larson been up on this floor?”

  “Not recently. Why?”

  “Well, he helped me so much when I was waiting for the surgeon during and after the surgery, that I think he might help here. Should I call him and as
k?”

  “Can’t hurt.” The nurse glanced at the door to Jared’s room. “Might be a real good thing.”

  Surprised at her own boldness, Jenna dug the business card out of her purse. Wandering down to the visiting room, she dialed his number and left a message on his voice mail. Was Jared one of those people he’d said might need praying for and possibly with? A little old lady would be far easier. Just what was the line between ministering and butting in?

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Nora

  What are you doing?”

  “Taking the tree down. What does it look like?” Nora swung around as if ready to do battle. Trying to live after Charlie, if you must know, she answered internally.

  “It’s not even New Year’s yet. We never take it down this early. Plus, we haven’t opened our presents. I was hoping we could do that tonight.” Christi slumped down on the stairs and leaned against a spindle.

  “They’re over there.” Nora indicated the stack of gaily wrapped packages in the corner. She had removed those with “To Charlie” tags and put them in the closet. One day she’d ask Gordon and Christi what they wanted to do with the ones from them. Right now, she just wanted Christmas over.

  “How can you do this?”

  Nora paused in placing one of the family heirloom balls in its own box. “I thought it might make it easier for all of us.”

  “Thanks for not asking anyone else.”

  Nora felt a simmer about her midsection. Christi was speedily becoming accomplished in her sarcasm. “Who usually takes down the tree?” Icicles dripped from her words. “I take it down all by myself because no one else is ever around to help me with this part of the job.” And this might be the last time I have to do this because I don’t care if Christmas ever comes again. I give up. There is no perfect Christmas anywhere, and there never will be one for this family again. Controlling the urge to drop the glittering ball to the floor and stomp on it, she tucked it in the box and closed the lid.

  “You could have asked.”

  “Yes, I could have. But you’ve been hiding in your room and your father went back to work, and so…” She frowned when Christi abruptly got to her feet and stalked back up the stairs. What was happening to them? They never fought like this. Two more days until New Year’s and then school would start again. That might help Christi get back to normal, whatever that was. She stared at the half-empty tree. She’d not turned the lights on since the accident, and Gordon hadn’t again either, after she’d jumped all over him.

  Betsy looked up the stairs, glanced a reproof over her shoulder at Nora and padded up to whine at the door to Christi’s room. The door opened and she went in; then it slammed behind her. Nora was alone with the tree. With a sigh, she turned back to work. The needles were starting to drop anyway, most likely because no one had bothered to pour water into the stand. Down to the lights and all the unwinding from each branch. They’d had such fun decorating it the other night, in that other lifetime.

  Do not think. Do not remember. She wasn’t sure how many times she’d ordered that of herself in the last two days, but constantly wouldn’t be far off. Dusk was bluing the snow when she hauled the tree out to the backyard, where she would put suet and seed blocks on it for the birds.

  Charlie usually did that and…

  “No!” She let the tree fall on its side and hurried back into the house. Maybe Gordon would put it up. No sense mistreating the birds because she couldn’t control her body, let alone her mind.

  Gordon had awakened her sometime in the early hours, saying she was sobbing in her sleep. Sure enough, her pillow had been wet. Again. At least she could control herself during the day. But at what cost?

  She needed to do two things: talk to Christi and make supper. The latter was simple, just pull another casserole someone had brought them out of the freezer and put it in the oven. Susan had brought over homemade rolls and Nora had cabbage to make coleslaw. She turned on the oven and went out to the freezer to stare at the still-daunting array of food that people had brought. Someone had labeled every dish with name, date and description of the contents. She pulled out one labeled “spaghetti” and carried it into the house.

  Christi stood staring into the open refrigerator.

  “Spaghetti sound good for supper?”

  Christi shrugged. “Is there any chip dip?”

  “I think so. It was on the third shelf.” She stared at her daughter’s back. “If you eat now, you’ll spoil your supper.” Nora wished she could take the words back as soon as she said them.

  Christi glared at her over her shoulder, took the bag of chips and the container of dip and headed back up the stairs.

  Gordon came home to find Nora staring into the fire in the family room. He inhaled the dinner fragrances and crossed to stop behind her chair and drop a kiss on the top of her head. “Smells good in here.”

  “Supper is ready, we can eat anytime.”

  “Let me get changed first.” He glanced around the room. “You put all the Christmas things away already?”

  “Christi wants to open the presents tonight, but I already had the tree half undone.”

  “I take it she’s hiding out in her room.”

  Nora nodded and continued to stare into the fire.

  “Where’s Betsy?”

  “Comforting Christi. She’s disgusted with me too.”

  “The dog?”

  Another nod. She could feel him staring at her, then heard him turn and head for the stairs. Perhaps he would talk with his daughter, she should have suggested it. Someone had to help Christi and he seemed far more together than she felt. Could she bear opening her gift from Charlie? She had stared at the package, fighting the tears when she saw his signature. “To Mom, with love from Charlie.” Her eyes burned, but if she stared hard enough into the fire, she could keep them at bay. As long as she was alone and not watching someone else dissolve in tears.

  Fighting with Christi helped. Perhaps Christi had discovered that secret too and it explained her obnoxiousness. Attack. The adrenaline kicked in and the tears dried up. Perhaps there was a chemical reaction going on. Nora heaved herself out of the chair, turned on the light above the table, which she’d already set, and prepared to serve the meal. The casserole, hot from the oven, set on a trivet, the cold salad from the fridge with a serving spoon, the rolls she popped into the still-warm oven to be just right when the two of them came down. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, she removed the fourth chair from the round table and set it against the wall by the fireplace.

  When no one appeared, she went to the foot of the stairs. “Supper’s on the table.”

  “Just a minute.” Gordon’s voice came from Christi’s room.

  Nora returned to her chair in front of the fire, curling her legs underneath her, leaning an elbow on the rolled arm of the chair and propping her head up. While the spaghetti smelled good, she could care less if she ate or not.

  When they finally came down the stairs, she knew the rolls would be hard, but she never said a word. She laid her hands on the sides of the casserole dish and figured it was warm enough. With the rolls in a basket covered with a napkin, she sat down at the table and waited for them to take their chairs.

  Christi looked around the table and flipped her a puzzled look. “Why did you take his chair away?”

  Nora raised her shoulders and dropped them again. “I just thought it might be easier for everyone.”

  “For you, maybe.”

  “Christi,” Gordon said.

  Nora ignored her daughter’s comment and started to pass the casserole dish around, since it was no longer too hot to handle. Making small talk took far more energy than she possessed at the moment. How could she be so tired all the time?

  Sure, she’d read the books on grief when she attended the class on helping those who mourn. The books said that grieving took a lot of energy, Luke had reminded them of that, but that certainly didn’t give her a good excuse to sleep all the time. She look
ed across the table at Gordon. His face seemed to be melting into his neck. The sweatshirt he’d put on looked to be ready for the ragbag, but the one time she tried to dispose of it, he’d dragged it out of the bag and folded it back in his drawer.

  Like the sweats she wore. Surely, there was comfort in old clothes, perhaps that was it.

  “Would you like dessert?” she asked. When they both shook their heads, she picked up the plates and carried them to the sink. “Coffee or cider?”

  “I’ll take a cup of cider.” Gordon looked at Christi. “How about you?”

  “I guess.”

  Gordon picked up the serving dishes as he stood. “You get the silver.”

  Nora filled the teakettle and set it to heat; then she opened three cider packets and poured the contents into the mugs she’d set on the counter. She should have made real mulled cider, she had the bags of spices all prepared, but this was far easier.

  “You want me to bring the presents in here, where the fire is?”

  “I guess so. Ask Christi what she’d like to do.” After all, she’s the one who insisted they do this tonight. Her heart rate zipped up. No, Nora would decide. She didn’t want to go in the living room. “It’s warmer in here, though.”

  She set the mugs on a tray and included a plate of the Christmas goodies she had made, sandbakles, brownies, fattigman, walnut-studded thumbprints. She couldn’t bring out the Rice Krispies cookies without Charlie here to tease her about taking forever to make his favorite treat. She swallowed fast and hard. No! I will not cry!

  The pile of presents grew as Gordon made several trips. His eyes glistened and he sniffed once or twice. As they each took a chair, Nora passed the tray and set the plate on the square table between the two cordovan leather chairs, hers and Gordon’s. Christi had brought over the wingback chair from the bay window. Betsy lay on the rug closest to the fire, watching Gordon stack the boxes.

  Nora huddled into her chair. “You go first, Christi, you’re the youngest.”

  Charlie loved—had loved—to play Santa, reading off the name tags and handing around the presents. Each one opened his or her gift before the next box was given out. They’d always done it that way.