Holding On

by Lisa Mills

  “Trust Him. Ask for his help. He’ll show you He cares if you give Him a chance to work.” Brandon’s encouragement echoed through her soul, breaking down the walls of resistance, beating back doubt with the force of conviction. Sobs stole her breath, threatening to break her ribs with their intensity.

  “Please, God,” she whispered. “Help my baby.” Urgency flooded through her. It wasn’t enough to ask only for Trevor’s sake. She was broken and hurting too. She needed him to take her fear and pain. To bear the too-heavy burdens life had dumped on her thin shoulders. To comfort her weary soul. Legs too weak to hold her weight, she slid down the wall to the floor and rested her forehead on her knees.

  “Help him please,” she prayed. “Help us both.”

  Instantly, a soothing presence washed over her, salving the painful scars on her heart and giving place to a warmth unlike anything she’d ever felt. Peace, comfort, and love blossomed inside her, filling her, consuming her fear. She sat on the floor, basking in the wondrous sensations, letting tears wash her clean.

  The shouted orders of the staff slowly faded to quiet murmurs. The clatter of equipment being moved around was replaced by the steady bleeps of monitors and the hum of machines. Danielle felt a touch on her shoulder and opened her eyes. A nurse stood beside her, holding out a wad of tissues. “Are you all right?”

  Danielle sat up straighter. “Trevor?”

  The nurse’s smile sent a wash of relief through her body, sweet as a cool drink on a hot summer’s day. “He’ll be okay. The respirator is breathing for him, but we think he’ll recover.”

  The doctor stepped up beside the nurse. “I’d like to talk with you.”

  Danielle nodded, grabbing the wad of tissue and cleaning up her face. As she swiped at her tears, she caught sight of the picture on the wall. Something deep inside her stirred. He’d heard her prayers and answered. Maybe Janna and Brandon were right. Maybe He loved her. Maybe He cared.

  “Thank you,” she breathed, pushing to her feet.

  The doctor waited for her in the hall.

  “He had an allergic reaction to the medication we gave him for nausea. We’ve noted the allergy on his chart and he won’t be given anything from that family of medicines again.”

  She nodded. “What about the respirator? How long will he need that?”

  The doctor pulled off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “A few days, maybe a little longer. There’s a lot of swelling, and we need to be sure he can breathe on his own before we remove it. I’ll know more in the morning.”

  She thanked him and hurried into her room. Going to the window, she pressed her hand to the glass. Trevor lay perfectly still, tubes snaking in and out of him, but a flush of pink had returned to his skin. Tears fell freely down her face. Her baby would live to warm her with his smile again. God had granted them another chance.

  Maybe she would give Him another chance too.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Danielle tilted back her head and let the hot water sluice over her hair. She drank in a deep breath of the steam-filled air in the bathroom. A hot shower had never been such a luxury as it was at that moment. She felt so refreshed and clean.

  But maybe it wasn’t just the shower. Today there was a lightness inside her. Like someone had driven out the monster that had lived within her and swept away the darkness that had crowded her soul for so long. It was just … gone. But she didn’t feel empty inside. Something quiet and gentle waited there in the recesses of her heart, a comforting presence that brought her peace. Smiling softly, she shut off the water and reached for a towel.

  The buzz of the lawnmower hummed in the back yard as Danielle dried off and pulled on her favorite sweats. It was Saturday, and Brandon had been tending to yard work when she’d arrived. He’d waved and hollered that Sarah had run to the store. Danielle headed straight for the shower, taking advantage of having the house to herself for the moment.

  A cool gust of air rushed over her bare feet when she opened the bathroom door, sending goose pimples running up her legs. She tugged the sleeves of her sweatshirt down to her wrists and went to gather her dirty laundry.

  Sarah was in the kitchen putting away groceries when Danielle passed through on her way to the mudroom, a jumble of clothes spilling out of the hamper she carried. “Hi, Sarah. Mind if I use the washing machine?”

  Sarah handed a can into the cupboard then turned with a smile. “Not at all. How’s Trevor doing?”

  She paused, shifting the heavy basket so some of the weight rested on her hip. “Better today. The doctor thinks he’ll make a full recovery, but he has to stay on the respirator for a few days. They’re keeping him heavily sedated.”

  Sarah nodded, her eyes soft. “I imagine it’ll be easier on him that way.”

  “I figured since he won’t miss me, now was a good time to come home to do some laundry and pack a fresh bag.”

  “It’s all yours. We did ours yesterday.”

  “Thanks.” Danielle ducked into the mudroom and set the basket on the dryer. Pulling out all the jeans, she threw them into the washer and started the wash cycle. She sorted the remaining clothes into a couple of piles and pushed them into a corner where they would be out of the way.

  “You staying for supper?” Sarah asked when Danielle joined her in the kitchen.

  “I should be around at least that long.”

  “Great. We’re having Parmesan Chicken and fresh asparagus.”

  “Sounds good. Can I help with the cooking?”

  “No way.” Sarah grabbed a box of cereal in each hand and stashed them in the pantry. “You’re our guest. Let us pamper you.”

  Danielle yawned. “Maybe I could use a nap. The bed at the hospital is lumpy. I never sleep well there.”

  “Go sleep then. Brandon will be done mowing in a few minutes. I’ll make him find something quiet to do for a while.”

  Danielle retreated to the guest room and shut the door behind her. Her bag, the one she carried back and forth from the hospital, lay open on the bed with a few personal items scattered around it. She plucked her cell phone from the pile and flipped it open. She hadn’t missed any calls, and there were no text messages waiting for her. She’d tried to reach Kevin last night after the emergency to explain what had happened and ask him to come. His machine had picked up. Not wanting to leave dire news in a message, she’d simply asked him to call her when he could. Now a full day later, the silence was beginning to worry her.

  Flipping through her contacts list, she found his cell phone number and dialed. It rang once, then transferred her to voicemail. She tapped her foot impatiently while a recording in his smooth baritone asked her to leave a message. Where was he? She’d only called him a few times before, but he always answered her calls, usually on the first ring.

  “Kevin, call me, please. It’s important.”

  Hanging up, she frowned at her phone. Was he avoiding her? The heaviness of guilt sat like a rock in her stomach. Who would blame him if he was? She’d been horrible to him, letting her fears control her mouth. Saying things she didn’t mean. What if he didn’t come back? The thought hollowed out her stomach. She couldn’t face Trevor with news like that. She needed to find Kevin and fix things between them, at least enough that they could both be parents to Trevor.

  Setting her cell phone aside, she zipped her travel bag and lugged it to the corner of the room. A shaft of thin light fell across the boxes leaning against the wall with her name scrawled across them. Her youth, packaged neatly into cardboard containers. Curiosity needled her and demanded to be satisfied. She laid the bag aside and retrieved the closest box. Settling on the bed, she tugged open the flaps. Dust tickled her nose as she reached inside and lifted out the shoebox she’d once kept beneath her bed.

  Her breath caught in her throat as she examined it. The wrapping paper she’d used to cover the box had been rubbed thin at the edges from frequent handling. Heart-shaped stickers spattered the surface with color, and a red silk
ribbon circled the box and curled into a lopsided bow on top.

  She tugged at one frayed end of the ribbon, heart pounding as it unfurled and slid to the bedspread. Her fingers trembled as she lifted the lid and glimpsed the contents inside. Cards, pictures, notes, and trinkets—first love condensed to a boxful of memories.

  She reached in and pulled at the corner of one of the photographs. Memories surged through her as she gazed at the image.

  They sat in the high school lunchroom, trays of half eaten food on the table before them. She leaned forward, chin resting in her hands and smiling at the owner of the camera. Her blond hair was longer then, and pulled back in a ponytail, but her blue eyes were the same. Only happier.

  Kevin’s hair fell to his shoulders, a style he’d favored because it irritated his military father. A faded t-shirt stretched across his thickening chest. He seemed oblivious to the camera, his eyes locked on her face. A slight smile graced his lips, but it was the look in his eyes that captured her attention.

  Her heart pounded hard in her chest. Over the years she’d tried to tell herself that it wasn’t real, what they felt back then. That they were just a couple of kids with too many hormones and not enough sense. But the look on Kevin’s face told an unmistakable story.

  Adoration shone from his eyes, almost worshipful in its devotion. The way his seat was shoved close to hers, his arm draped over the back of her chair and folded around her shoulders in a protective way. She remembered that feeling, the warmth of his skin pressing through her shirt, his touch gentle and protective. She’d felt so safe with him. They’d been inseparable that year. When his father returned from overseas duty and uprooted him without warning, they were both devastated. Kevin swore he’d come back right after graduation. Just a few months apart. They both felt she could hide the pregnancy until then.

  Blinking back tears, she set the picture aside and pulled out a letter, the last one she’d ever received from him. She knew the words by heart, but she read them anyway, heart aching more with each line.

  Dani,

  Sorry I haven’t called. Dad still refuses to get a phone in the house. He says it’s too expensive, but I think he likes keeping me isolated. This Army base is just like all the rest. There’s nothing to do and I can’t wait to get out of here.

  Graduation is two weeks away. I got the bus schedules and prices for the tickets. I’m leaving here the minute I have a diploma in my hands. I know you hate being apart. Me too, but it won’t be much longer. Look for me the first week of June.

  I miss hearing your voice.

  Love,

  Kevin

  She lowered the letter and stared at the wall, the questions that had haunted her for eight years still screaming for answers. Why didn’t he come back?

  She’d waited through the long, hot summer, watching out the window, sitting by the phone, her stomach swelling more each day. She wrote him almost daily, asking when he’d arrive, begging a reason for the delay. With each day that passed without an answering letter, fear dug its claws deeper into her heart. When August rolled in with its sweltering hot days, she could no longer hide behind oversized clothes or loose-fitting sweatshirts. Sick with the knowledge that he was never coming back for her, she went to her parents to confess her mistakes and beg for help.

  Bile rose to her throat as she remembered the scene that followed—the insults screamed into her face, the blows that fell on her back, the frantic ten minutes she’d been given to pack a bag before she was tossed into the street. In a few short months she’d gone from the heights of love to the depths of despair.

  Why, Kevin?

  She lay the letter on the bedspread beside the photo, then stretched out on the mattress beside them. Maybe Brandon was right. She couldn’t move on with her future until she’d faced her past. Maybe it was time she had a talk with Kevin and got answers to the questions that held her captive in her mind. Fear and hurt had been dictating her actions and decisions for too long.

  Chapter Thirty

  The heavy tread of boots on linoleum jarred Danielle from the foggy sleep-state that muddled her head. Her eyelids flickered open and worked to bring the hospital room into focus.

  “Dani, what happened?”

  Kevin stood by the viewing window, staring at Trevor with a forlorn look on his face. Kevin. Here. In the hospital.

  Her mind jolted awake. She pushed to her feet and took a step toward him, chest fluttering at finding him there. “Kevin, I’ve been trying to reach you for days.”

  He turned to her, warming her with his velvet-brown eyes. “I got your message and tried to call your cell. You didn’t answer.”

  She pulled her phone out of her pocket and glanced at the screen. “Battery’s dead. Sorry.”

  He shrugged. “I’m here now. Want to tell me what happened?”

  In a few short sentences, she summed up the events of the last few days. “But they think he’ll be okay. They’re taking him off the respirator tomorrow. Until then, he’ll be heavily sedated.”

  “Close call, huh?”

  She nodded. “Too close.”

  The clock on the wall ticked off a few seconds of awkward silence.

  Kevin cleared his throat and held out two plastic bags, forming around square-shaped objects inside. “I brought dinner.”

  “What is it?”

  “Nang’s Cashew Chicken for you. And Sweet and Sour Pork for me.”

  “Chinese food?”

  He flashed a disarming grin, dimples coming out to play. “You said you were hungry for Nang’s.”

  He’d remembered that offhand comment?

  “Have you eaten?”

  “No.”

  “Good.” He set the bags on the coffee table and began pulling out little square boxes of rice and larger boxes containing entrees. Wax bags contained egg rolls fried to golden brown perfection. The smell hit Danielle and made her stomach rumble in anticipation.

  “You want soy? I have orange sauce too.” He held out a collection of condiment packs.

  She took a packet of orange sauce and ran her fingers across its soft plastic edge, disarmed by his thoughtful overture. After their previous conversation, she’d expected something less cordial.

  The weak springs in the sofa squeaked as he lowered his weight to the cushion. His fingers paused over the slender flaps of the take-out boxes. He looked up at her, eyebrows raised. “You going to sit down?”

  Her “yes” came out a little breathless as she settled beside him.

  He pushed a box toward her end of the coffee table. “I think this one’s yours.” Lifting the second bag, he pulled out plastic forks, napkins, and a couple cans of soda, which he divided between them.

  She pulled the can of soda toward her and popped the tab. “I can’t believe you did all this.”

  “Hey, don’t act too impressed. I was hungry.” He picked up his box and a fork, and relaxed into the back of the sofa. “And—if you don’t mind my saying so—because you’ve been looking a little scrawny. You need to eat more.”

  She huffed, feigning offense. “Oh yeah? Well you look—” She turned toward him and scanned his lanky frame, taking note of what he was wearing. A white t-shirt with camouflage pants tucked into black boots that cinched tight at his ankles. “Have you been out hunting? Is that why you didn’t answer my calls?”

  The smile on his face faded. He leaned forward and set his take-out box on the table, the fork handle jutting out the top at a severe angle. “No, Dani, I haven’t been hunting. I had drill this weekend. I’m in the Guard.”

  Confusion swirled around her as she tried to process the information. “Guard? Like the National Guard?”

  He nodded.

  She picked up her box of food and moved chunks of chicken around with her fork. “How long have you been doing that?”

  “Since I graduated from high school.”

  Icy talons bit into her lungs, making it painful to draw a breath. “Since graduation? You joined the National Guard whe
n you were supposed to come back here to marry me?”

  He nodded.

  She turned away from him and stared at the wall, a trembling building inside her.

  The take-out box made a dull thud when she dropped it on the coffee table. A few bits of meat and cashews tumbled from the container. She pushed to her feet. “Of all the pathetic excuses—”

  His hand shot out, and his fingers locked gently around her wrist before she could move away. “Dani, there’s more to the story. Please stay and listen.”

  The warmth of his skin against hers arrested her. Part of her was already fleeing from the pain he was stirring but the other half was drawn back to him like iron shavings to a magnet. She swayed a few inches away and felt his fingers tighten on her wrist.

  “Just hear me out. Ten minutes is all I ask.”

  Janna’s urgings to listen to his story, Brandon’s encouragement to confront her conflicts head on, and her own resolutions as she’d sorted through her box of memories came rushing in to remind her that she needed to get answers if she ever hoped to heal. “Okay, I’ll listen,” she said, her voice tight.

  “Thank you.” His thumb began making slow circles on the inside of her wrist, stirring up heady sensations. She pulled away from his touch and crossed her arms.

  “Will you sit?”

  She glanced at the door longingly, then pressed her eyes shut. She had to do this, even if it hurt. With jerky movements, she lowered herself to the cushion and perched on the edge. She felt him staring at her, but she couldn’t look him in the eye. Fighting the urge to flee, forcing herself to stay and listen, was taking all the willpower she had.

  He rubbed his palms down the legs of his pants, then cleared his throat. “I, uh … I don’t really know where to start.” He stared at his hands, threading and unthreading his fingers. “Well, I guess the last you heard from me was … what?”

  “A letter.” Biting the inside of her lip, she managed to keep the tears from welling. “You said you were coming for me as soon as you had your diploma.”