Sticks and Stones (The Barn Church Series)

by Aaron D. Gansky

  Rick heard murmurs, but he couldn’t pick out exact words.

  Another clinician entered. “Dr. Bradley had to go back to the ER. I’m Caleb, a speech therapist.”

  “Are you going to remove the tube now?” Rick asked.

  “No. We’ll use it for the next test. Then I’ll remove it.”

  He opened a drawer in the cart, lifted out a tray, and sat it on a nearby table. “Mr. Matthews, you can hand her the cups.”

  A muscle in Julie’s cheek started twitching. A tear dripped slowly down her face.

  “Now, Mrs. Matthews. No reason to cry. You’ll drink while I take pictures.”

  Julie’s body tensed, as if ready to spring from the chair. Rick didn’t know how she did it, but she made herself stop crying. In the quiet room, he heard her almost gag again and again, her body reacting to the tube in her throat.

  Caleb pressed several buttons on the keyboard. “Okay, Mr. Matthews. Let’s start with that first sample.” He removed a stainless steel cover and motioned to Rick with his chin.

  Eight tiny paper cups filled with different colored liquids lined a tray. “She has to swallow all these?”

  “Afraid so.”

  Rick sniffed the orange one. Bananas mixed with ... rotten eggs. “Do they have a taste?”

  “Sorry. They’re not exactly Jell-O pudding. I’ve been told a couple are a little bitter.”

  Rick handed Julie the first cup. Her lips trembled as she fought to swallow the dyed substances with the tube still in place. The continuous convulsing of her throat made his stomach spasm. He sweated through his shirt, willing her vocal cords to move, to work together and form sounds between swallowing. But despite her valiant effort, Julie remained silent.

  As instructed, Rick handed her the second cup. She parted her lips, just the smallest of spaces, as she looked at him with one eye. Yet, she didn’t drink. Instead she raised a shaky hand to his chest and flattened her palm against his heart. The tiniest shake of her head said Give me a second, and on her face Rick saw something he’d seen far too often since Ben’s birth. Defeat.

  He wanted to scoop her up, whisk her away, like a hero prince from a fairy tale. But he didn’t dare wrap his arms around her. Not here. Not like this.

  Her gaze flickered down then back up to his. Her fingers bunched the front of his denim shirt. For a moment, he thought the look said need you. Not like need-you-to-do-something, but need you.

  He froze, then slowly lifted his free hand to cover hers.

  Caleb cleared his throat. “Mrs. Matthews, we need to continue.”

  Her open eye went from bright green to dull and flat. She sucked a quick breath through clamped teeth and closed her good eye. She didn’t open it again until after the test was complete.

  “I’ll add a report to your chart. Dr. Bradley will do that as well,” Caleb said. “The specialist should come see you tomorrow with all the results.”

  “Results tomorrow.” Rick watched him remove the tube, then leave.

  Later, as Mimi pushed Julie back to her room, his wife stared straight ahead, her face expressionless. She climbed into bed and burrowed beneath her covers. Of course, she’d simply want to sleep after such an ordeal.

  “I’ll keep a close watch if you want to go home,” Mimi told Rick. “If she wakes and wants you, I’ll call. And so you know, her blood pressure’s been up and down, up and down, and they’re not sure why. It could be stress, but the doctor wants to keep her a couple more days. He might run more tests tomorrow.”

  Stress. He and Julie knew all about stress.

  “Thanks for telling me. Call me if she has a tough time tonight, okay? Any time.”

  Rick stepped out of the hospital into the afternoon sun and headed home to work in the barn.

  ***

  Night had fallen when Rick walked with Rachel from the barn to the house. She’d just spent five hours working with him, filling water buckets, moving heavy hay bales, and brushing horses on a Sunday afternoon. He opened the back door for her, and they shed their boots in the laundry room.

  “You didn’t answer when Grandma called,” Rachel said.

  “Nope.” He’d forwarded Julie’s phone to his for convenience, but he hadn’t wanted to answer when his mother-in-law had called. “Didn’t listen to her message either.”

  “Are you going to, then you’ll call her back?”

  “Yep.”

  “Do you think she’ll come now?”

  “Maybe. She was supposed to come anyway in a couple weeks for Sean’s graduation. Now ... I don’t know.”

  “Too bad Nana and Papa can’t come. Guess they’re still helping Aunt Sharon?”

  “Yeah, they are.” His sister was torn about moving back to the States so quickly after her husband’s death since her children had lived their entire lives in Germany. “I’ll probably call them in a couple days.”

  Rachel hugged him, her chin touching just under his shoulder. Another inch or two, and she’d be as tall as Julie.

  “I love working with you, Daddy. When I grow up, I want to run my own stables.”

  “You’d be good at it.” He returned the embrace, massaging her neck under the thick brown hair, which mirrored her mother’s. “I love working with you, too, sweetheart.”

  A few more years, and she would leave just like Sean was about to do. Rick held her away to look in her face. Julie’s face.

  “Wasn’t there a movie you’d rather have gone to see with your friends? Or shopping. Don’t teenage girls want to shop all the time?”

  “Daaa-dy. You know I prefer horses to people.” A baby blush rose with her half-smile. “Except you, of course.”

  “Except me. Right.” He kissed the top of her head. “Take a shower, bring your laundry. We need to start some wash.”

  She left him there, with the scent of worn shoes and fabric softener filling his nostrils. He didn’t want to face another night alone in his bed, with Julie’s side empty and cold. Didn’t want to lie there trying to sleep, eyes closed, while the accident replayed through his mind—seeing the cottonmouth strike at Tempo once and again. Hearing the horse scream. Watching helplessly as the mare bolted away with his wife.

  How he wanted to bring Julie home and take care of her. But would she let him? They never had much time together, but when they did, she hardly ever let him touch her.

  And there was the issue of Trudey, his mother-in-law.

  He had to call her. She’d want to know about Julie’s accident. And yes, she’d probably come now to, um ... help.

  Rick, an injured and very unhappy Julie, and her mother in the same house for at least two weeks. Things could get worse. A tornado could come through his property.

  He took out his cell and listened as he made his way to the kitchen.

  “Julie, honey, it’s Mama.” Trudey’s sing-song voice blasted his ear. “I have the best news. I already called a bakery near you, ordered a cake. And I found a fabulous caterer. My new trainer at the gym, Jim—isn’t that funny?—he has me doing these lunge things that have really toned my gluteus maximus, you know? I’d be glad to show you. I think they’d help you, too. Call me.”

  Rick hit erase and checked for any texts from Julie. The screen was blank. Walking to his bedroom, he took a deep, fortifying breath and dialed Trudey.

  “I wondered when you’d call!”

  Rick inched the phone back from his ear.

  “I’ve been shopping. Got a dozen great new push-up bras, you won’t believe the cleavage. I went to the Army-Navy store—met the cutest ex-marine, he wasn’t single, so I don’t think he’ll call me—and picked up a camouflage half shirt and some matching BDU capris for myself,” she said in her wish-I-was-a-teenager-again voice. “Anyway, I’ll be wearing them to Sean’s party. Really fit with the military theme, you know?”

  “Trudey. It’s Rick.”

  “Well, Rick, how nice. I should’ve known this wasn’t my daughter. She never would’ve let me finish my story about the clothes. Has s
he roped you into helping with the party, too? Like you don’t have enough to do with all those horses. She dreams up stuff but never finishes anything. What does the girl do with her time?”

  Rick lowered himself to sit on the bed, ran a hand through his hair. “Yeah. About Julie—”

  “I still can’t get over that piano you bought her right after ya’ll married. Didn’t you make payments for years? Years? Could’ve bought a car for what you paid. You could buy two now if you sold it. Then Ben’s born and poof!—she loses all interest ...”

  That’s probably how it looked to Trudey. His mother-in-law wasn’t exactly one to gather all the facts before passing judgment. And if he didn’t get a word in soon, she’d get her second wind, and he’d be stuck on the phone with her for the next hour plus.

  “... it’s not like I didn’t offer to pay a professional to come and care for little Ben with all his problems. Poor thing. Having to nurse because he couldn’t suck a bottle. Choking and turning blue all the time. And the way he’d quit breathing when he was asleep. What’s that called? Apineum?”

  “Apnea. Sleep apnea. Listen, Trudey—”

  “I knew he should have been put in that children’s hospital here in Birmingham until after his surgeries were over, so he could get the care he needed. But would Julie let me help? Let me pay for anything? Why, no. She said—”

  “Trudey.” Rick coughed loudly. Julie wasn’t the only one who had refused to have strangers care for Ben as an infant and toddler. “I’ve got something really important to tell you. Can you listen for a minute?”

  “Well, sure, sugar. I’m at the Starbucks drive-thru—gotta have a double-latte after the day I put in at the mall—in my new BMW Z4 roadster convertible. Handles like a dream. Very sexy. Winter blue to match my eyes.”

  “Right. Good.” Rick steeled himself for the reaction he knew was coming. “Julie had a horseback riding accident Thursday night. She’s in the hospital with a broken jaw and a broken arm.”

  “What?”

  He turned the phone away as she screamed. The piercing, high-pitched noise always left him wanting to close his right eye.

  “Why didn’t you call me? I’d have been there in a heartbeat. I could’ve been at her side all this time.”

  Rick wet his lips. In his mind the sky was darkening. Clouds were gathering. Tornados forming.

  “Yeah. She’s been sleeping a lot. Doctors say she’ll be okay, just a long recovery.” He knew better than to mention the missed audition.

  “How long?”

  “About six weeks or so.”

  “But she’ll be fine, you say. When’s she coming home?”

  “A few days, probably.” He sure hoped his wife would be coming home in a few days.

  “... you know we could do it before she leaves the hospital. She’d never notice.”

  “Do what?”

  “Sell the piano. I’ve told you enough times I can get you a great price for it up here.”

  “Sell the piano?” He winced. The wind was picking up speed. “I don’t think I can worry about the piano right now.”

  “She could use the money for self-improvement. A little lipo, a personal trainer, a new hairstyle, and she’d be a beauty. It’d really perk her up.”

  Lipo? Had his mother-in-law really suggested Julie have lipo?

  “... and there’ll be no arguments. I’ll leave first thing in the morning, be there before noon tomorrow.”

  “Right. Okay.” Rick sighed and ended the call.

  The tornado was about to touch down. Right in his lap.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Truly, there was no sterile darkness, no alone-ness, which compared to being in a sealed hospital room in the middle of a black night. Buzzers and bells rang in muted tones outside Julie’s door, phones shrilled in the off-beats. They invaded her personal space then ceased, leaving behind an eerie quiet and near-deafening silence.

  Julie turned and laid on her side, staring with one eye at the faint red glow of the nurse call button in the bedrail. She took a slow deep breath through her nose and bound jaws, and tried a timid hum.

  Nothing happened. No vibration in her throat, no rumble of any kind.

  She tried again, ears straining to hear the slightest sound.

  Silence.

  She waited, listening as the round, hospital-standard wall clock ticked away the seconds. One minute. Two. She repeated the attempt.

  Nothing worked. She couldn’t hum, couldn’t laugh. Couldn’t scream or growl in frustration. She knew better than to try to whisper, that was the absolute worst thing a vocalist with vocal cord damage could do. And despite learning the language years earlier for Ben’s sake, she’d have difficulty signing effectively with one arm in a cast.

  She placed her right hand flat over her chest, moved it in a slow clockwise motion. Please she signed to God.

  God was supposed to be listening, wasn’t He? Always listening? And watching?

  Surely He would hear her heart. Or see her hand.

  She couldn’t live like this. Without her voice.

  A whimper dissolved in her throat. Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

  Please she signed again and again, until her aching shoulder cramped as tight as her heart.

  She chose an old hymn. Blessed Assurance, Jesus is mine ...

  She focused on the words, trying to get the same close-to-God feeling thinking about the words as she did when singing. Remembering old hymns usually brought comfort. But not now. Not when her future was completely uncertain.

  Rock of ages, cleft for me, let me hide myself in thee ... She concentrated on the lyrics. She wanted to hide, all right.

  She pulled the extra blanket from the foot of her bed up to her chin, turned her back on the useless red button. No nurse could repair her voice.

  Beneath the covers she put both hands together and signed as best she could with her cast. When peace, like a river, attendeth my way, when sorrows like sea billows roll ...

  Julie knew the story behind the song. The husband and father who lost his children at sea reacted by writing the timeless hymn. How could anyone mean that after such a loss? And didn’t he later completely turn his back on God?

  She reviewed the lyrics again, trying to make the words her own. But they were simply a rug on the floor of her heart, hiding an awful, embarrassing stain.

  If her voice was gone, she was ... nothing. The little girl inside her begged, Dear God, I need You to heal me.

  Julie waited. Listened. No answer came from heaven.

  ***

  Monday morning’s dawn came, as bright and normal-looking as ever. Still Julie had no voice. Not now that she was awake, not even during last night’s dreams. Rick arrived and sat by her bed as calm as he could be. Like nothing was terribly wrong.

  She sat up, reaching for her minty mouth rinse and the small basin on the table by her bed.

  Rick lurched forward. “I’ll help you.”

  She didn’t want to depend on his help. She hated the whole process of opening one side of her mouth, then the other, just to spray the rinse and swish it around. She knew she had buffalo breath. And she wouldn’t be able to brush for weeks.

  She avoided eye contact as Rick helped her use the rinse, holding the basin for her to spit. She was absolutely mortified over her swollen bruises and toxic breath.

  “Better?”

  She dried her mouth with a tissue.

  How long did she have to wait for her test results? Didn’t doctors make their hospital rounds early? Before they went to the office for the day?

  Rick shifted in his chair. “You want a milkshake?”

  She shook her head. Right now, she wanted the ENT to walk through the door and say that very, very soon she’d get her voice back. All Julie needed to do was endure the healing process for her arm, her jaw, her face, then she could again pursue her long-postponed dreams.

  She just needed a plan. If she knew the plan, she would do everything necessary to speed up her recovery,
and the nightmare would end. This injury was a blip, right? A little bitty bump in the long journey to her singing career.

  Her voice would be fine. It had to be.

  Shaking, she settled back against her pillow.

  “Do you want that milkshake? How about more apple juice? I can go to the nurse’s station and ask, so you won’t have to wait.”

  She raised her eyebrows at him. No she signed. And again, no. She didn’t want a milkshake. Or juice. Using the straw is hard. The insides of her cheeks were already sore from sucking through a straw for every little bit of sustenance.

  Rick tapped his fingers against his thigh. He tapped. And tapped.

  Stop! She wanted to scream.

  Dear God, I don’t think I can take this anymore. How can almost everything Rick does be so irritating to me? And when will the doctor be here?

  “Mr. Matthews, hello again.” A young blonde glided into the room and gave Rick a lingering smile. She winked at Julie and wiggled her ring-less fingers. “Mrs. Matthews, I met your husband earlier in the cafeteria. The staff tells me you’re the envy of every patient in this hospital. The only one with her own, private hunk seeing to her every need. Even I’m a little jealous.”

  Right. As if Miss Stethoscope, probably a size four like Julie’s mother, in her perfectly-tailored, siren-red suit, couldn’t get a date or find a husband. Who was she exactly?

  The physician approached Julie’s bed. “I’m Dr. Lilly, your new ENT. I’ve seen the results from the swallow test and looked back through your chart and surgical records. What you’re experiencing is temporary vocal cord paralysis. Apparently you tried to extubate yourself—remove your breathing tube—right after your surgery. Since the balloon was still inflated, this caused trauma to both the cords, and the nodules which were already present.”

  Nodules? What nodules? Julie didn’t have nodules. She’d never had nodules.

  “You’re a singer, right, Mrs. Matthews? I’m sure you know all about nodules or blisters. Cord paralysis, which can last for several weeks, will be like forced voice rest.”