ISBN 1-59310-261-5
DOWN FROM THE CROSS
Copyright © 2005 by Joyce Livingston. All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the permission of Truly Yours, an imprint of Barbour Publishing, Inc., PO Box 719, Uhrichsville, Ohio 44683.
Our mission is to publish and distribute inspirational products offering exceptional value and biblical encouragement to the masses.
All scripture quotations are taken from the King James Version of the Bible.
All of the characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events is purely coincidental.
PRINTED IN THE U.S.A.
one
Keene Moray loved Providence, Rhode Island. If he could choose one place in the lower forty-eight to live on a permanent basis, it would be Providence, right in the heart of the New England area. Unfortunately, his profession required him to live elsewhere—in New York City—but not by choice. It wasn’t that he didn’t love the Big Apple. He did. But it had become too crowded, too demanding, and far too busy for his liking.
“This is the city for me,” he said aloud, flipping on his turn signal as he drove his new BMW convertible down Francis Street toward the convention center. “With its relaxed, laidback atmosphere. Someday I’m going to have myself a house in this city. Maybe a lovely old brick mansion.”
He sped up and then reached to insert a new CD into the player in the dash. It slipped from his fingers and fell onto the thickly carpeted floor. With a quick glance to check the traffic ahead of him, he bent to retrieve the elusive CD.
Suddenly his body lunged forward, only to be yanked back by the seat belt, the noise of crashing metal deafening his ears. The car’s air bag pinned him against the seat back, and his head slammed into the headrest. The BMW filled with a misty gray haze from the air bag’s powdery substance. Although the bag deflated instantly, Keene found it difficult to breathe. He instinctively yanked the buckle open on his seat belt, found the car door handle, and pushed open the door, staggering out in search of fresh air to fill his lungs.
That’s when he fully realized what had happened.
“Uggh!” Jane Delaney leaned her forehead against the steering wheel, her heart pounding erratically. What happened? Why is that horn honking? With trembling fingers, she reached for the knot forming on her forehead. “My car!” She pushed away and struggled to open the door, but the handle wouldn’t budge. “Oh, dear Lord, I’ve been in an accident. Please, God, don’t let my car be ruined!”
Though it hurt to move, she forced herself over the console and passenger seat, wincing at the stabbing pain in her left leg. She pushed her way out the door, nearly falling when she tried to stand to her feet. With the bright morning sun blinding her, she hobbled around the front of her car, placing her palms on the hood for support. She felt faint, light-headed, and woozy, and it scared her. She’d never felt this way before. However, her fright didn’t compare with the feelings of helplessness and exasperation she experienced when she caught sight of the driver’s side of her car. She stood staring, gaping at the damage, everything going in and out of focus.
A hand gripped her arm. “Are you all right? I am so sorry! I must’ve run a red light!” The man let his hold on her relax long enough to pull his cell phone from his belt. “I’ve got to call 911! You need an ambulance!”
Keene grabbed for the woman, nearly dropping his phone, but despite his efforts she fell into a heap at his feet. “What have I done?” he shouted, quickly kneeing beside her and punching 911 into his phone. The dispatcher answered immediately.
“Help, someone, help! I’ve just run into a woman’s car, and I think she’s unconscious!”
“Give me your location, sir, and we’ll have someone right there,” the dispatcher answered calmly with an authority that did nothing to calm Keene’s frazzled nerves.
He looked around quickly, hoping to find a street sign or some other indication of his location. “I’m… I’m on Francis Street.”
“Where on Francis Street, sir? Can you give me the name of a nearby cross street, maybe a familiar landmark?”
His mind raced. “I–I don’t know… I was on Francis Street heading toward the convention center…” He paused, trying to remember what happened.
Several people were gathering now, one man bending over the young woman with great concern. Keene leaned toward him, his own breath coming in short gasps. “Where am I?”
Apparently familiar with the area, the man looked up and said, “Francis Street and Sabin.”
“Francis Street and Sabin,” Keene barked into the phone, relieved to be able to relay accurate information.
“Thank you, sir. They’ll find you.”
“Tell them to hurry, please. I don’t know how badly she is hurt, but her head is bleeding. How could I have done this?”
“Ugghh.”
Keene turned quickly at the sound. At least the woman was alive. He pulled a freshly ironed handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it to her forehead. If only he could stop the bleeding. “Hang on, lady. Help is coming. Someone should be here any minute.” Blinking hard, he covered his face with his free hand. How could this have happened? One minute I was driving along, putting a CD—the CD! It dropped onto the floor, and I reached for it! I didn’t even see the woman’s car!
He scanned Francis Street in both directions for any sign of the emergency vehicle, his frantic gaze locking on the stoplight. A stoplight! I ran a stoplight! I could have killed that woman!
The wail of a siren brought him to his feet. Keene moved quickly out of the way yet stayed close enough to see and hear the things going on as an ambulance pulled up beside him, followed by a police car, then a fire engine.
“Can you tell me what happened, sir?” Clipboard in hand, the police officer hurriedly exited his car and began making notations.
“It was my fault!” Keene gestured toward the stoplight. “I–I didn’t see the stoplight.”
Poising his ballpoint pen over the clipboard, the officer took on a dubious expression. “I’ll need your full name and address.”
“My… my name is Keene Moray. M-O-R-A-Y. I’m staying at… at…” His mind went blank. “I’m staying at… at— oh, what is the name of that place?”
He described the complex where the condominium he had rented for the next few months was located, and fortunately, the officer recognized it by its description and came up with the name, Kennewick Place.
Keene nodded. “Do you think she’s going to be all right?” He craned his neck over the crowd that had assembled, trying to get a glimpse of the woman when the EMTs lifted her onto the gurney.
The officer turned, looked briefly in her direction, and then continued writing. “Don’t know. Sometimes these intersection collisions can do more serious damage to the drivers than to the cars.” The officer stopped writing, his slight frown converting to one of understanding. “Hang on a minute, and I’ll see what I can find out.”
Keene watched as the man strode over to one of the EMTs, conversed with him for a second, jotted down a few notes, then walked back. The two stood watching the men loading the gurney into the waiting ambulance. Then the doors closed, and it headed back down the street, lights flashing.
“He said it didn’t look like her injuries were life-threatening,” the officer told him. “She probably fainted from the trauma of the accident and the loss of blood. That happens sometimes, especially if it’s the person’s first accident. However, they were concerned about her left ankle. They’re taking her to the hospi
tal to make sure she’s all right and there are no internal injuries. Standard procedure for this type of thing.” He let loose a slight chuckle. “Guess she gave them quite a battle. She didn’t want to go to the hospital, kept saying she didn’t have insurance and couldn’t afford it.”
Keene stared at the twisted wreckage of the woman’s little economy car, then at his solid BMW. While her car looked to be a total loss, his had sustained only minor damage to the hood, bumper, and lights, and he felt terrible. “I’ll pay for her hospital bill, and of course, I’ll have her car repaired or replaced. It was my fault.”
The officer peered over his sunglasses with a hint of a cautioning smile. “Don’t think your lawyer would be happy hearing you say that. I’m going to have to give you a citation for running that red light, you know.”
“Did you get her name?” The least of Keene’s worries right now was the cost of the ticket he would have to pay. Without a doubt, he was the one who had caused the accident, and he would be more than willing to answer for his carelessness and irresponsibility. That poor woman! He could have killed her.
“Oh, yeah,” the officer said, looking up from his book. “I got it. It’s Jane Delaney.”
Jane winced and sighed in frustration. She had been in a hospital a number of times, but she had never been a patient. “Well, how are we feeling?” A big-boned woman in a heavily starched nurse’s uniform came bustling into the cubicle. “You were pretty upset when they brought you in. You’re looking a little better now.”
How are we feeling? Jane wanted to smile at the woman’s question, but her sore face would not allow it. Even the slightest movement hurt. Besides, she had more important things on her mind. Like how would she ever pay for all of this? She had not been able to make a car or insurance payment in over three months. A letter from the insurance company was sitting on her dresser right now, saying they had already canceled her. And what could she use for transportation now that one whole side of her car had caved in?
The nurse bent over her, tugging the cover up beneath her chin. “Are you hungry? It’s nearly noon. I think I can get you a lunch tray. Yummy, yummy! Chicken noodle soup, celery sticks, cherry Jell-O, and chocolate pudding!”
“No, thank you. My… my stomach doesn’t feel like food right now.” Jane struggled to get comfortable on the narrow bed but winced when a sharp pain in her injured leg prevented it. “Ouch!”
“Oh, are we hurting?” The woman bustled around the bed, filling the water glass and straightening the side table.
I don’t know about you, but I am! “A little, I guess. I’ve got to get out of here.”
The woman gave her a pleasant smile. “You’re not going anywhere until the doctor says you can. How’s the head doing?” She bent to look more closely at the wound. “Umm, they did a good job putting those sutures in. Shouldn’t leave too much of a scar. You’re lucky that cut is in your hairline.”
Jane’s free hand went to her head. “I’m… I’m kind of lightheaded. Dizzy. You know what I mean?”
The woman nodded. “I’m not surprised with a knot like that. I’m amazed you don’t have an unbearable headache.” She quit her fussing and gave Jane a sudden frown. “You don’t, do you?”
“Not really. It’s not too bad. It’s my leg that hurts.” She scooted to the edge of the bed and slowly hung her legs over the side. “I–I have to go to the restroom.”
“I brought you a walker. Do you think you can hobble to the bathroom by holding on to it?” The nurse took a firm grasp on her arm and tugged her forward. “By the way, my name’s Mildred.”
Warily, Jane slid one foot to the floor, placing a hand on the mattress to brace herself.
“Whoa, take your time, and let me keep a hold on you. I don’t want you falling.” The nurse grabbed on to the walker’s handle grips. “Steady there. Get your bearings before you try to take any steps.”
“Are you sure she should be out of bed?” an anxious-sounding male voice asked from the doorway.
Jane spun around, realizing too late she had moved more quickly than she should. She all but fell back into Mildred’s arms.
The man rushed toward them, but Mildred shooed him off. “I’ve got her. She’s fine.” She helped Jane lower herself back onto the bed.
Jane clutched at the front of her hospital gown and scooted her hips back onto the mattress.
The man turned his head away, apparently realizing for the first time that he had invaded her privacy. “I’m… I’m so sorry,” he stammered, looking every direction but at the two women. “It’s just that I’ve been so worried about you. It seemed no one would tell me anything about your condition.”
Jane eyed him inquisitively as she lay back down. He was a handsome man, maybe ten years older than she, with dark, closely cropped hair, big brown eyes, and dark lashes. “Are… are you sure you’re in the right place?”
“Oh, I’d recognize you anywhere.”
His quick answer mystified her, yet after taking a second glance at him, she realized he did look vaguely familiar. Her mind raced to pull up his identity from the depths of her brain’s database.
He hurried to the side of the bed, hovering over her like an overattentive mother. “I’m… I’m the one who put you here.”
She instinctively pushed back into the pillow. “You work for the hospital? I’m sorry. I don’t have insurance and I—”
He shook his head vehemently. “Oh, no. You have it all wrong. I–I ran the stoplight. I didn’t mean to, really I didn’t. I didn’t see it. The sun… my car… the CD on the floor…”
What is he saying? Her muddled mind registered a big fat zero. His words made no sense at all.
“I didn’t see you,” he said, peeking around the nurse, “then suddenly I hit your car! I was so afraid, I mean… you were bleeding… I called 911… the officer wanted my address and I couldn’t remember it.”
Mildred took over. “Slow down, mister. I don’t even have a knot on my head, and I have no idea what you’re talking about. From the confused look on my patient’s face, I’m sure she doesn’t either.” She sent a quick glance toward Jane.
He reached forward and grabbed on to Jane’s arm. “Please, hear me out. I’m sorry for being so incoherent, but… but I’ve never injured anyone before.”
Jane felt herself staring at the man as jagged pieces of her memory processed his words. “You’re the one who hit me?”
He lowered his head and gnawed on his lower lip. “Yes, but I intend to make things right with you. After all, it was my fault! I’d… I’d like to talk to you, if you feel up to it.”
Mildred rolled her eyes and shook her head as she drew a chair up close to the bed and motioned him toward it. Then, wagging her finger in his face, she said, “I don’t want you upsetting her, you hear? I’ll be right here watching you.”
He seemed relieved and moved into the chair. “Let me start at the beginning.”
Jane looked from the stranger to Mildred and back to the stranger again. “I’m listening.”
“I don’t live in Providence,” he began. “I live in New York City, but I’m making my residence here for the next few months.” Seeming to weigh his words before saying them, he sucked in a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “I was driving on Francis Street near the convention center and was nearing the intersection when I decided to change CDs. But when I went to insert the new one in the CD player, it slipped from my fingers onto the floor. I checked the oncoming traffic then reached for it and…”
“That’s when you hit me?” Jane shuddered, remembering the dreadful sound of the collision and the instant pain it had caused.
He nodded. “Yes. With the sun shining in my eyes when I looked up, I guess I didn’t see the stoplight. All of a sudden, I felt myself being thrown forward and my air bag inflated. I never even saw your car before I hit you.”
“I had the right of way! The light was green!” she nearly screamed at him. “Do you have any idea what you did to my car?”
The man closed his eyes tightly shut and shuddered. “Yes, I did see what I did to your car, and I’m so sorry. I can’t begin to tell you how sorry.”
Normally Jane was easygoing, but she felt her temper rising. A temper she did not even realize she had until a vision of her battered little car surfaced in her mind. “You wrecked my car! It’s not even six months old. The first new car I’ve ever owned, and now I’ll have to make payments on a car that probably won’t even run!” Tears burst from her eyes.
“I’m sure your insurance would cover it, but don’t worry about that.” He leaned toward her, both hands gripping the edge of the mattress. “I plan to make amends. My insurance company will pay to have your car fixed, and if it can’t be fixed, they’ll replace it for you.”
“And what about this?” She held out her battered leg, cringing with pain as she extended it. “I don’t have a nickel’s worth of insurance to cover the hospital costs.”
“I’m sure my insurance will cover that, too, but if it doesn’t, I will,” he assured her once again. “Please don’t be concerned about it. Things will work out.”
She looked away from him and stared at the wall. “Don’t be concerned about it? That’s easy for you to say. You’re not the one going through this!”
“I–I know, and I’m so sorry you have to go through this unexpected ordeal. I wish I could undo what happened, but I can’t.”
Her fingers rubbing at her temples, she let out a deep sigh. “You don’t know the half of it, mister.”
“I’m sure you’re going to be greatly inconvenienced until your injuries heal, and I will be happy to do anything I can to help you. Anything.”
He seemed sincere, but there was no way he could help her. Her injuries and the loss of her car were only the beginning. “Nothing you can do. Not really.” She felt her chest heave up and down, the memory and magnitude of her problems nearly overwhelming her. “Only a miracle from God can help me now.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything like that if I were you,” he said matter-of-factly, shrugging with a hopeless gesture.
Down from the Cross Page 1