Capture the Wind for Me

by Brandilyn Collins

  “How is he?” Katherine searched her parents’ faces.

  “Still alive, thank God,” her daddy managed. “Looks like the surgery did all it was supposed to do.”

  “You have to tell me everything, you have to tell me what happened!” Katherine sank down on the edge of a couch, holding tightly to her mother’s hand. Old tears and new tracked through her smeared makeup.

  I lowered myself into a chair, ankles trembling. How could such a magical night turn into such tragedy? I could not believe that Derek would die; I would not believe it. Over and over during our harried trip to the hospital, I relived all the moments in which he’d been so kind to me. The moment when we’d sat in our backyard, his expression saying what words could not. Derek needed to keep writing me funny e-mails. He needed to escort me down the aisle in my daddy’s wedding. He needed to live.

  “I never should have sent him,” Katherine’s mama intoned, her face ragged, old. “I needed some things from Albertsville, and Derek offered to go.”

  The winding and narrow Route 622 between Bradleyville and Albertsville had proven dangerous to many over the years, especially to those unfamiliar with its curves. With vivid horror I could picture the truck, stacked high with wood, its new driver taking a turn too fast, losing control. Derek, coming around the curve from the opposite direction and swerving to miss the truck, plunging down an embankment. The car must have rolled over numerous times, Mr. King said. Rescue workers found it on its side, crunched against a tree. Derek lay crumpled and unconscious in his seat belt.

  I raked my hands through my hair, listening to the strange medical terms that had become so suddenly, intimately real to the King family. A subdural hematoma—intense pressure in the brain caused by internal bleeding. A ruptured spleen. Doctors had drilled burr holes in Derek’s head, alleviating the pressure from the hematoma. They’d operated to remove his injured spleen and put a cast on one leg. Ribs were also broken. He lay in intensive care in a coma.

  “Can we see him?” Katherine whispered.

  “They let us in for a few minutes every hour,” her daddy replied. “Only the immediate family.”

  At 6:00 Katherine and her parents went to see Derek. I slumped in the chair, head resting against the pale yellow wall, stomach churning. Praying to Jesus to save Derek. At 7:00 the family visited Derek again. He remained unconscious. In between those times we sat in vigil, mostly silent, Mr. King often pushing to his feet in desperation to pace the floor.

  At 7:30 Katherine called Daddy. I knew he would be here for her if he didn’t have to stay with Robert and Clarissa. She returned, saying he would soon be on his way. Grandma Delham would take the kids to church. “He says the whole town’s praying.” Katherine aimed an exhausted smile at her mama. “They’ve been praying through the night.”

  My thoughts swirled like dust before the wind. Would Daddy and Katherine postpone the wedding? If Derek lived, when Derek lived, would he ever be the same? I promised myself that I would do everything I could for Derek. I would visit him, sit by his bedside while he recuperated at home if I had to, bring him homework from school. He deserved as much selflessness from me as he had shown himself.

  Then I wondered when Greg would get up. I pictured security loading LuvRush onto the bus, heading for their next concert. I envisioned the arena from last night, the music, the excitement. Now it all seemed a planet away. Greg in his wondrous world, I in Bradleyville. Facing death—again.

  Daddy arrived, heading for Katherine, then her parents. I shoved to my feet to hug him, hurt that he would leave me for last, disappointed with myself for having such a selfish thought.

  We stayed at the hospital all morning, the Kings continuing to see Derek every hour. I memorized the worn, blue fabric of the couches, spots in the multicolored carpet, a gray streak on the far wall. The covers of the unread magazines on the wooden coffee table. Derek did not waken. Each hour, our fears ran higher.

  “All those machines!” Katherine wailed into Daddy’s shoulder after one visit. “Everything pumping and clicking. I can’t stand it, Bobby! All the years I was gone, missing his growing up. I come back and look what happens!”

  “Shhh.” Daddy held her, his dark hair crushing next to hers. Miss Connie’s chin trembled as she watched them. “He’s goin’ to make it,” Daddy soothed. “What counts is, you’re here now. You’re here when he really needs you.”

  Daddy proved a rock of strength all morning, never letting on how hard it must have been for him to be back in a hospital. When we found ourselves alone once the Kings had shuffled down the hall again, he quietly asked me about the concert and Greg. Yes, I told him, it was wonderful; you wouldn’t believe it, Daddy, how great the show was. But the words flattened with insignificance, spilling away like water over a cliff.

  By noon I felt like a walking scarecrow. We all did. Little food, no sleep. All the anxiety. My legs literally shook.

  “You need to go home, get some rest,” Daddy said to me. “You, too, Katherine.”

  She moved her head side to side almost like a puppet. “No. I can’t leave him. My parents have been up all night too.”

  A doctor appeared in the doorway, white-coated and solemn, one hand in his pocket. Our eyes riveted to his face, searching for answers, begging for good news. Mr. King stood.

  “He’s holding his own,” the doctor said. “You have a miracle boy in there. He appears stable, and so if you need rest, which I know you all do, you ought to go home for a while. You know we’ll call you if anything changes.”

  Miss Connie brought fingertips to the bridge of her nose and dragged in a sob. Her husband squeezed her shoulder. “Thank you, Dr. Namon. For everything you’re doin’,” he said.

  As soon as we arrived home, I fell into bed, descending into sleep with tears tracking down my temples for Derek, Greg’s picture the last thing I saw. I awoke after 6:00 P.M., immediately frightened that something had happened while I slept. Then I realized I hadn’t e-mailed Greg. He’d worry that Katherine and I hadn’t made it home safely. And now he would have no time to turn on his laptop until after the concert.

  I rubbed my eyes and stumbled out to the family room. Robert played on the computer. Daddy flipped halfheartedly through the Sunday paper. “How’s Derek?” I demanded.

  “The same.”

  I flopped down on the couch, chin practically to my chest.

  “You need to eat something,” Daddy said.

  “I know.” Sighing, I focused on Robert’s profile, his arm jerking as he fired lasers on the screen. “Robert, I need to write an e-mail real quick. Could you pause the game?”

  Daddy shifted his position. “To Greg, I suppose.”

  Did I imagine the judgment in his tone? My chest twinged at the thought that I could be so self-absorbed, wanting to write Greg while Derek lay near death in a hospital. “It’ll only take a minute. I want to tell him about Derek.”

  Daddy studied me for a moment, as if seeing right through me. “Robert, let her have the computer.”

  My brother grumbled but did as he was told.

  Minutes later my fingers hung over the keyboard as I tried to think what to say. Except for that brief conversation on our first date, I’d never mentioned my friendship with Derek to Greg, even though I knew they’d met briefly. I felt suddenly caught between them, which made no sense. Plus, I could practically feel Daddy’s eyes on my back. At that moment the realization hit me. “Derek is crazy about you,” Alison had said, and she barely had any contact with him. If she could see how Derek felt about me, surely Daddy and Katherine and her parents knew too. Had they felt sorry for him because of that? Had they wished for his sake I would turn from my “foolishness” over some singer to him?

  I stared at the computer screen, wondering at that. Wondering particularly about Katherine. She’d never breathed a word about Derek’s feelings to me, never done anything but encourage me with Greg. Did she think she’d betrayed her brother now? That she should have done more to push me towar
d him?

  Slowly, I typed, telling Greg what had happened. And how kind and generous Derek had always been to me. That I counted him as a good friend.

  If Idon’t write as much as Iusually would, I concluded, it’s because I’ll be back and forth to the hospital. Daddy and Ineed to support the Kings and Derek all we can right now.

  Don’t forget, Greg, how much I love you.

  —Jackie

  After a long rest, Katherine and her parents returned to the hospital that evening. They would keep vigil for the second night in a row. Daddy drove in also for a few hours, leaving me to stay with Clarissa and Robert. When he returned with the news that nothing had changed, our family sat around the kitchen table to hold hands and pray for Derek. Clarissa cried crocodile tears. For the first time ever, I heard Robert pray aloud, asking God to please heal his friend. Hearing his mournful plea, I cried too.

  At 1:00 A.M., I found myself wide awake and slipped to the computer to check my e-mails. Greg had written of his sadness at the news. He was praying, he said.

  The following morning, just after Daddy pulled out of the garage for work, Katherine called. Derek had come out of the coma and was talking. Clarissa, Robert, and I all leapt with joy. Thank you, God, thank you, thank you! I prayed, rushing to the computer to write Greg. All that day Derek continued to stabilize, his family seeing him every hour. That night the Kings returned home for a full night’s sleep, rejoicing that Derek was going to pull through. The town of Bradleyville rejoiced with them.

  Katherine called me from home Monday evening. “Derek’s asking to see you,” she said.

  I drew in a breath. “Can I do that? I thought only family could go in.”

  “You are family. Maybe not immediate, but I don’t care what the nurses say. If Derek wants to see you, I’m getting you in there.”

  I thought of the promise I’d made to myself about visiting Derek, to do anything I could to help him get better. I would stay at the hospital day and night if I could.

  “Come to the hospital tomorrow evening as soon your daddy’s home to watch the kids,” Katherine urged. “I’ll get you in then.”

  “Okay.” I hesitated. “You sure your parents won’t care?”

  “Jackie,” she said, and I heard the raw honesty in her voice, “my parents want anything that will make Derek happy right now. And that happens to be you.”

  chapter 44

  I’d judged Daddy. I’d judged Katherine. Easy to do when you’re sixteen and have yet to fall on your own face. Now would begin my own complicity. It would start in the smallest of ways—so small that I would not even recognize it. Isn’t that often how it is. A choice here, a choice there, each one rationalized as worthy under the circumstances. Then before you know it, you’re in over your head.

  To visit Derek, I chose to wear a short-sleeved blouse that could hide Greg’s ring around my neck. Nothing new in that, was there? I’d hidden the ring before, when the town was against Greg. Besides, I knew with whom my loyalties lay. But for Derek’s sake, I simply could not envision myself leaning over to talk to him with that ring swinging between us. I buttoned up the blouse and slipped the ring inside.

  Sometimes I still wonder—if I hadn’t made that first small choice, if Greg’s ring had been a visible reminder to Derek, and to me, of whom I’d pledged my heart to, would things have been different?

  “Jackie.” Mr. King rose to greet me when I entered the now-familiar waiting room that Tuesday evening. He pressed my hand between his roughened palms. “Thank you for comin’. Derek’s been askin’ about you all day long.”

  “Yes, Jackie, thank you,” his wife agreed. “I think he’ll get better just seein’ you.” Miss Connie looked like she’d aged ten years in the past few days. Her tired eyes held mine for a brief moment, unspoken words hanging between us. I knew then that she understood her son’s feelings for me. No doubt Mr. King did too. Half the town probably knew. Suddenly I felt caught in a spotlight, as if I were supposed to do something. Self-consciousness made me turn away from Derek’s mama.

  I perched on the couch next to Katherine. She reached over and patted my knee. That small action shot straight to my heart. She knew what I was feeling. She knew. Katherine understood as no one else could, not only because she’d seen me with Greg, but because she was Katherine.

  Without thinking, I laid my head on her shoulder, just as I might have done with Mama. Her fingers tightened on my knee.

  Ten minutes later we all slipped in to see Derek.

  “I’m not supposed to let you in there, you know,” a tall, no-nonsense nurse informed me.

  “She’s—”

  “She’s no sister, if that’s what you’re fixin’ to tell me,” the nurse cut Katherine off. “But I’m lettin’ you go in because Derek, weak as he is, threatened me within an inch of my life if I didn’t.” She pressed her lips into a knowing little smile. “So go.”

  I avoided Miss Connie’s eyes as we shuffled past the nurse.

  The intensive care unit was one huge sterile-smelling room, beds curtained off from each other. As sick as Mama had been, she had never spent time in intensive care. My chest tightened at the feeling in the room—everything solemn, weighted. Our shoes squeaked across the floor. I was not prepared for the sight of Derek. He lay in the second compartment, gray side rails up on his bed, surrounded by machines and blipping monitors displaying heart rate, oxygen saturation, and a dozen other functions I couldn’t begin to understand. Lines ran from his body to the machines; thick cords plugged into the wall. One whole side of his hair had been shaved, apparently for the holes they’d drilled in his head. Oh, Derek. I pressed my fingers into my palms, hanging back while his family said hello.

  “Look who’s finally here, Derek.” His mama’s voice lilted, over-bright. “Jackie.”

  He moved his head the tiniest fraction, seeking me. Katherine nudged me to his bedside. Derek’s face looked so bruised and battered, far worse than Greg’s had ever been. Stitches ran across the right side of his forehead. Tears bit my eyes. “Hi, Derek.”

  “Hey, Jackie.”

  Even in the weakness of his voice, I could hear his pleasure. I laid a hand on his upper arm, feeling the soft cotton of the hospital gown. “I can’t believe what you’ve gone and done to yourself.”

  His lips curved. “Guess what,” he rasped.

  “Hm.”

  “Can’t wear socks. But my feet are the same color.”

  I laughed softly, holding back the tears. “If they look anything like your face, they’re probably purple.”

  He swallowed carefully. “I like purple.”

  “Me, too, Derek.”

  It seemed no time at all before the nurse stuck her head in, telling us we had to go. “Come back next hour?” Derek asked me.

  I nodded. “Sure.”

  Twice more that evening I saw Derek, crowding into the small space with Katherine and their parents. I promised him I would return the following night, which I did. Derek continued to improve amazingly, given his injuries, and he was talking better. By Thursday any lingering doubts about his pulling through were put to rest. Mr. King returned to work at the sawmill, and Katherine went back to the boutique. Miss Connie phoned from the hospital after 12:00 that day, saying she was exhausted and had to go home for a nap. Could I possibly visit with Derek that afternoon so he wouldn’t be alone?

  Good thing she called when she did, I thought. I’d just been sitting down to the computer to e-mail Greg, which would have tied up our phone line. “I’ll see what I can do,” I told her.

  Grandma Delham was not home. Grandma Westerdahl sounded all too happy to come over so I could visit Derek. In fact, she sounded downright pleased.

  At the hospital, the day nurse gave me no trouble, apparently expecting me. I saw Derek five times that afternoon, about ten minutes each visit. Twice, when the nurse was preoccupied, we stretched it to more like fifteen. Derek had gained some strength in his voice. We gently teased one another, and talked
about school, which would start the following week. I became used to the intensive care room, with all its scary equipment. And I had to admit, it was a lot less crowded in there without the Kings around.

  “Jackie,” Derek said on our third visit, “when I get home, I’ll be all bored to death. Long recovery. Will you come see me?”

  “Of course, I’ll come see you. I’ll bring you your homework.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  He attempted a mischievous look. “Would you come even if I didn’t have homework?”

  “Yes, Derek, I’ll come.”

  On the fourth visit, I made another small choice, barely giving it conscious thought at the time. I reached over the side rail to lay my hand upon his.

  He smiled. “How come you never did that before I near killed myself?”

  I looked at our hands, almost startled. “I . . . don’t know.”

  “Mm. Will you stop if I get better?”

  What a question. Suddenly I realized the boundary I’d crossed. Alison’s voice echoed in my head—Watch what you do with Derek. But how to back out now? I didn’t want to bring him down at a time like this. “Just get better, okay?” I managed. “Then we’ll . . . talk about it.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.”

  I told myself I would not make the same mistake again, but I’d hardly reached Derek’s bedside on our fifth visit when he raised his hand from the covers, silently demanding mine. What to do but take it? I hesitated, then laced our fingers, trying to convince myself it really didn’t mean anything. “This is our last time today, you know,” I told him. “I’ve got to get home and make supper for Daddy.”

  “You’ve got people wanting you everywhere, don’t you,” he said. I couldn’t think of a response. Something told me he included Greg in that remark. For Derek’s sake, I was glad Greg’s ring once again lay beneath a blouse.