Capture the Wind for Me

by Brandilyn Collins

  The lie sat like acid upon my tongue. My fingers cramped from gripping the phone. I couldn’t believe what I had just done.

  We could only talk for a few more minutes. I continued trying to soothe Greg, saying again and again that I loved him, that I believed in him. That he would get through this. And how sorry I was that I’d forgotten his birthday.

  I can tell you this: his remorse was no greater than mine. There he was, worrying about his Christian witness. And there I stood, betraying him. Now I’d even lied to him. His mistake was minuscule next to all of mine.

  As I reluctantly hung up the phone to dress for church, his voice echoed in my head. I do nothing with the girls. Even with his defenses down from alcohol, Greg had upheld his pledge to me. My heart separates me from that, he’d said after the concert. My heart is with you. If he ever found out what I had done, where I had let my heart go, it would kill him.

  I promised myself that morning that he never would.

  chapter 48

  Sunday, Monday, Tuesday. Derek did not improve. His lungs were filling with fluid, and new antibiotics didn’t help. Everyone was on edge. Daddy and Katherine had little time to work on their issues. Greg really needed me as he tried to redeem himself in front of his friends, and I worked to be as attentive through e-mails and the phone as I could. He deserved no less. At the same time, the sicker Derek became, the more obliged I felt to visit. I would drive to the hospital, feeling the pull of Greg, determining not to touch Derek in a way that would betray him. Then I would look into Derek’s eyes and see the love for me there. And I knew I couldn’t deny him whatever he asked. When he’s better I’ll straighten this out, I kept telling myself. While deep within, I knew I could not imagine that day—for his sake or mine.

  I do not know how I stood myself. Even now, these memories wrench me.

  On Wednesday Derek moved back into intensive care. Because of the move, I did not see him that day. Katherine stopped by our house on her way home from the hospital that night. She hugged Daddy, breaking into exhausted tears. “I can’t stand to think of all the years I was away. How I left him when he was just a kid. Now look at him. He has to get better!”

  Clarissa cried just from watching Katherine. I comforted my sister, fleetingly thinking it was good to see how much Katherine needed Daddy.

  Thursday evening I joined Derek’s family for the ten-minute visits every hour. Derek looked so weak and pale, barely able to speak. Dr. Namon stopped by on rounds and promised us they were doing everything they could for him. He expected that Derek would strengthen once more. But by Friday we saw no improvement.

  Early Saturday morning, the doctor called the Kings with further bad news. Derek’s body had gone into shock. It was a secondary complication—a delayed reaction to all that his system had endured. His kidneys were failing, and they would have to start dialysis. The Kings rushed to the hospital, Katherine taking the day off work. She asked Daddy to come sit with them. I stayed home with Clarissa and Robert, hoping to go in later. The whole town was praying, phone calls going out by the dozens on the Methodist and Baptist churches’ prayer chains.

  The morning dragged on. I felt miserable for Derek and miserable for me. The sicker he became, the more I knew he would reach out for me. How could I not be there for him in the coming weeks, months?

  Greg called on his cell phone around noon. They’d just boarded the bus. I couldn’t stay on the phone long in case someone tried to call from the hospital. I’d thought my tears were spent, but hearing his voice made me weepy all over again. “Are things goin’ okay?” I asked. “You have more chances to talk to the guys?”

  “Yes. You know I pray a lot this week, Jackie. And you are so helpful to me. I don’t know what I do without you.”

  At his words, a sob wrenched deep in my gut. I could not go on like this. “I miss you so much! I need you right now, and you need me, and I hate being apart!”

  He soothed me, asking if anything in particular had happened. “You do not sound good,” he said.

  I gazed into the family room. Robert sat on the couch, watching me. I turned away. “It’s Derek.” My guilt forced the name into little more than a whisper. “We got news today that he’s really bad. Would you . . . pray for him, okay?”

  “I will.” Greg’s voice sounded tight, heavy. “I am praying now. I wish I could be with you. Help you.”

  “Oh, Greg, me too.”

  He paused. “You still have my ring around your neck?”

  “Of course,” I replied, stung. “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “I don’t know. I’m silly to ask that. I love you.”

  I fingered his ring, lying on top of my knit shirt. “I love you, too.”

  Daddy called some time after 1:00, his voice like lead. At his mere greeting, I sank into a chair at the kitchen table, limbs wooden. I’d heard the tone before—when Mama’s health had skidded so badly at the last. Of course that had been different. We all knew Derek would live.

  “I have some very bad news,” Daddy told me quietly. “The doctors say Derek now has somethin’ called ARDS. Acute respiratory distress syndrome. His lungs are failing. They’ve put him on a respirator. Jackie, there’s . . . there’s nothing else they can do.”

  “What do you mean there’s nothing they can do!” I cried. “What more does he need? I mean, they’ll just help him breathe until he gets stronger, right?”

  “It’s not like that, Jackie.” Pain throbbed in Daddy’s words. “Derek’s body is exhausted. It’s been through too much. And it’s just . . . shutting down.”

  I still could not grasp it. “But he’s goin’ to be okay, right? He will pull out of it.”

  Daddy breathed into the phone. “Honey. He’s dyin’.”

  “No!” The stunning words propelled me out of the chair, across the kitchen. I careened into the counter and leaned against it, pushing the heel of my hand into the tile. “No, he’s not, Daddy, no, he is not! We’re goin’ to pray. God’s goin’ to bring him through, he will!” Air gusted from my mouth. Daddy said nothing. Anger at his silence fisted in my gut. He was supposed to tell me I was right. “Is he conscious?” I demanded.

  “Barely.”

  I burst into sobs, loud and ugly and deep. Crying for Derek, crying for me. For his family and for us. No, God, he can’t die, he can’t die, he can’t die!

  “Jackie,” Daddy whispered, his voice snagging, “I’m so sorry.”

  “I have to come in there, Daddy,” I wailed. “I have to see him!”

  “I don’t know if you can see him now, with all that’s happening. Jessie and Lee are here. And even the Kings—”

  “I have to see him!”

  Derek just needed to hear my voice, I screamed to myself. If he saw me, maybe he would find the strength within him to get better, keep his promises to me.

  “I’m gonna call Grandma,” I declared. “So I can come.”

  “No, I don’t want you drivin’ when you’re so upset.”

  “I have to come, Daddy!”

  “Then let her bring you. Call Grandma Westerdahl to come over. And if she can’t, just let Robert stay with Clarissa for a while; they’ll be all right.”

  Grandma Westerdahl came to stay with the kids while Grandma Delham drove me into Albertsville. I scarcely remember the ride to the hospital. Not until we had parked, and Grandma Delham and I were hurrying inside, did I realize what I had done. Greg’s ring hung over my knit top, which was too form-fitting to hide it underneath. “Oh!” I gasped, sliding to a stop. Looking down at the ring, thinking what should I do. I grasped the ring, head swimming. Then before I could change my mind, I did what I’d sworn to Greg—and to myself—that I’d never do. I unclasped the chain and slid it from my neck.

  “Here.” I held it out to Grandma. “I forgot my purse. Would you keep this?”

  My wonderful grandma never said a word. She just took the ring and chain, and dropped them into her purse. As if she hadn’t just dropped my heart in with it.

&n
bsp; Around the corner of the waiting room, I stopped to breathe, rearrange my face. Derek’s family was hurting worse than I. They needed my support.

  I did not expect the pall in the room. I’ve known it intimately—that beast that greedily suspends itself over those awaiting a loved one’s death. Looking to devour. Sucking up oxygen, stretching faces with disbelief. Somehow in its terrifying presence, hope stubbornly shines, as it did within me. But the beast pulses, making hands rub foreheads, eyes stare at the floor. I knew every feeling and action, every glimmering, wretched one. I’d lived through them once, and I was not going to do it again.

  I knew Derek would pull through.

  Jason King bent forward on the couch, elbows on his knees, his face haggard. Miss Connie spoke softly to Miss Jessie. Derek’s Uncle Lee stood like a giant against the wall, muscular arms folded, eyes closed. Daddy sat with Katherine. Without even thinking, I flew to her. She slid her arms around me, shuddering a cry. We held each other, rocking. “He’s gonna be okay,” I whispered. “He will.”

  Dr. Namon entered, looking somber, small. Katherine pulled away, back arched, waiting. “He’s losing consciousness,” the doctor told us quietly. “If you want to talk to him, you should go in now. You can all go, a few at a time.”

  We sat like statues, trying to absorb the words.

  No, I told myself. No, no, no.

  Mr. King helped Miss Connie to her feet. “Let’s go, hon.” Katherine rose, too. I clutched Daddy’s hand as she and her parents shuffled out the door. Grandma paced the room, praying. Lee walked over to hug Miss Jessie.

  The minutes crept by. I focused on the ridiculously bright yellow pillow on the chair across from me, reliving moments with Derek. The day I’d first seen him without his glasses. Laughing with him at the Fourth of July parade. Kissing him. He could not die. Because suddenly I couldn’t imagine life without him. Daddy said nothing, throat clicking each time he swallowed. Grandma paced. Finally, Katherine reappeared, her parents behind her. Tears tracked down Miss Connie’s cheeks. She sank onto the couch, Mr. King beside her. No one said a word. Miss Jessie and Lee sidled out to see Derek next. Then Katherine went again, Daddy at her side, elbow under her arm. When they returned, her face was pale.

  “Come.” She beckoned me.

  At that moment, the truth hit me in one, giant wave, and the hope to which I had clung churned to froth. Somehow I pushed to my feet and followed Katherine into the ICU. The nurse caught my eye, her face etched in sadness, then looked away.

  In Derek’s compartment, a respirator whooshed, a gut-churning sound added to all the equipment bleeps. Its tube disappeared into Derek’s mouth, his lips forced open around it. He did not move, his eyes closed.

  “Go on.” Katherine pushed me forward. “He’s drugged, but he’s still awake.”

  I shot her a look of abject fear, then eased to the bed. “Derek.” I took his hand. “It’s Jackie. Can you hear me?”

  His fingers flinched in mine. His eyes did not open. I drew a ragged breath, looking over my shoulder for Katherine’s approval to continue. She was gone. Stupidly, I stared at the spot where she’d stood. She’d purposely left us alone.

  I leaned over the bed rail and placed my mouth close to Derek’s ear. I told him that we were all counting on him to get better. That I could not bear to think of going to school the entire year without him. That I was mad at him, and who did he think he was, anyway? Telling me he loved me, giving me wonderful kisses, only to go and get so sick? He was supposed to be getting well. He’d made me two promises, did he remember? I certainly did. Both of them.

  His hand twitched. I saw the smallest movement in one corner of his mouth.

  “Please, Derek.” My voice cracked. “Please get strong. Don’t do this. Don’t go! You can make it, I know you can.”

  The respirator whooshed, machines beeping. My eyes were out of tears.

  “Derek, listen. I love you. Me, Jackie. Just get better, okay? Do you hear me? I love you. Just . . . get . . . better.”

  “Uh,” he said in his throat. “Uuuh.”

  I eased away to gaze at him—his colorless cheeks, the cracking lips, stitches across his forehead. Then, carefully, I lowered my mouth to kiss the corner of his lips. When I pulled back, his eyes fluttered open for a brief moment. He tried to smile. I kissed him again, fresh tears filling my eyes. One landed on his nose, and I breathed a quivery laugh as I brushed it away.

  The nurse appeared. “You should go now,” she said gently. “In case others want to come in again.”

  I can’t.

  Bracing myself, I turned once more to Derek. “They’re makin’ me go, Derek. Otherwise I wouldn’t. Get better now, okay? And I’ll see you soon. Remember . . .” My voice caught. “Remember what you promised.”

  I squeezed his hand hard, not wanting to let go. Memorizing the feel of it. Pressed a palm against the side of his face, reveling in its warmth.

  Then I left him.

  Nothing to do but wait. I slumped with Daddy and Grandma and Derek’s family in the small room. Daddy held Katherine, his voice low and soothing when he spoke. Twice more, Derek’s parents went in to see him, though he was no longer conscious. Katherine could not rise from the couch.

  He died at 5:46 P.M.

  chapter 49

  That night, after I’d comforted Katherine and Clarissa and Robert and Daddy, and helped put my tearful brother and sister to bed, I fled, finally, to my room, where I cried and cried, and begged God for forgiveness. Greg’s ring hung once again around my neck.

  I cannot say which emotion was stronger—my grief or my self-loathing. They tumbled and burned within me like molten rock, until I thought they would crush me.

  With the shrieking finality of a loved one’s death, elusive meanings and desires inevitably surface. Only now, when I would never see Derek again, did I realize how much he meant to me. I wanted so much to kiss him again, feel his hand in mine. To just see his face. Derek had kept one of his promises to me, I realized. He had won a part of my heart.

  Don’t think I cried only for my own grief. There is enough reason to judge me without that. I was all too familiar with the pain of loss within a family. I grieved also for Katherine and Miss Connie and Mr. King. I prayed that God would strengthen them, somehow bear them through the coming horrible days.

  Throughout that searing night, I dwelt purposely upon my grief. How different from my reaction to Mama’s death, when I’d tried to drown my sorrow in a sea of busyness. But now my sadness would redeem me, for it was right to feel. It was understandable. Expected. It was humane. Derek had loved me wholeheartedly. He deserved my grief.

  But underneath the sorrow, deep within the dark recesses of me, a little voice spoke. One utterance, and it echoed through me as a fallen boulder in a canyon. Even now, remembering the first time I heard it, I cringe. I still cannot help but harbor guilt over its insidious words. The truth is this. Even though I had begun to love Derek, I loved Greg far more. My duplicity could not have remained hidden forever. At some point I would have been forced to take the dreaded step—in front of Derek’s family—and make my choice. How they would have judged me for it. Because my choice would have been for Greg.

  And the little voice whispered, “Now you won’t have to make it.”

  I tried to tell myself that I thought only of Derek. That now he wouldn’t have to be hurt. How flimsy, those excuses. Derek deserved to be alive. He could have graduated from high school, gone to college, met someone new and fallen in love. Deeper love than he’d ever felt for me. Hadn’t Daddy loved Mama more than life itself after he’d lost Celia? So much that thoughts of his past devastation had been long forgotten?

  No. That little voice spoke only for me. Selfish, dishonest, cowardly me.

  And I could not bear to listen.

  And I could not shut it out.

  chapter 50

  Bradleyville suspended school for two days. Monday the viewing for Derek would be held at the Albertsville Funeral Home.
The funeral was scheduled for Tuesday afternoon.

  Sunday’s service at our church felt like a funeral in itself. My eyes were swollen and lined, my face puffy. Not that I possessed the energy to care. Knowing how Derek’s family grieved for him, I did not want to face them, especially Katherine. Surely they saw into my soul, read the horrifying words of that little voice etched upon it.

  Pastor Beekins didn’t preach. Instead we gathered as a body of believers to pray that God in his mercy would see the Kings through the tragedy. Katherine clung to Daddy as if she could barely stand, remorse over the lost years with her brother carved into her face. Even Derek’s parents seemed stronger than she. Everyone cried. At the end of the service, Miss Jessie hugged me tightly, commenting with a shaky smile that if the church had a yearly tissue budget, we’d have gone through it that day.

  Daddy went straight from church to the Kings’ house with Katherine. I took Clarissa and Robert home, both red-eyed and worn. Seeing my stoic brother cry had torn me in new ways. As soon as she could, Clarissa went out to play with Della, needing to reconnect with childhood. Robert sat halfheartedly at the computer.

  Greg called that afternoon, and we talked a long time. Hearing his voice took my own away. “Jackie, I wish I was there for you right now,” he soothed again and again. “I love you so much. I’m so sorry.”

  I clutched his ring until my fingers cramped. The worst part was that he would never be able to comfort the most devastated pieces of me—the pieces that needed him most. “I love you, too, Greg,” I breathed. “I love you, too.”

  After his call I lay upon my bed, staring at his picture, utterly spent. For once my radio was silent. I envisioned the events of the next two days and wondered how our family would survive them. We’d not attended a funeral since Mama’s, and instinctively I knew it would bring back all the grief of her death as well. How would Daddy endure it—reliving Mama’s funeral while comforting Katherine? I hurt for Daddy almost more than I hurt for the Kings.