The Edge of Mercy

by Heidi Chiavaroli

  My bottom lip quivered. “Agreed.”

  “He’s right, you know. You need some rest away from this place. It’ll be good for you, and Kyle, too. I’ll stay with him tonight and I won’t leave until you get back. I promise.”

  I wanted to ask him how good his promises were, but I kept my mouth closed. For Kyle.

  “I’ll call and get you a room,” he said. “I will call you if anything changes.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes.”

  Foolish or not, I believed him one more time.

  Chapter 30

  I woke late in the hotel room the next morning, swigged down a cup of strong coffee, took a shower, and walked back to the hospital. None of the family was in the waiting room, and I rushed to Kyle’s room.

  Matt’s head lay in his hands, and he whispered words I couldn’t hear. I cleared my throat.

  “Hey.” He blinked. A thick growth of stubble shadowed the bottom half of his face. I hadn’t seen him this unshaven since he’d grown a beard when Kyle was two.

  “No change?”

  He shook his head. “The doctor just came in, said they plan to run additional tests today. He said they might be able to tell us more by the end of the day.”

  I sat in my chair by Kyle’s other side, kissed his cheek. The bruises looked worse today, a sign of healing. I wondered what went on inside his head, if anything. “Everyone leave?”

  “Your parents drove my mom home. They said they’d be back later. They all took turns in here with him, my mom telling him trailer park stories, your mom praying, your dad reading to him.”

  “Hmmm.”

  He stood. “I’m going to check in next door, too. Get some shut-eye. I’ll be back later. Call me.”

  I agreed. There was plenty to still be mad about, but Matt was right. None of it would do Kyle any good right now, especially if he could hear us.

  Essie came in close to lunch with a bag of my things and a few of Kyle’s. I picked out his team track trophy they’d won against D-R the year before and placed it on the side table.

  “Thanks, Essie. When he wakes up, he’ll be glad to see this.”

  Essie squeezed my hand. “He will wake up, Sarah.”

  I pulled out the stack of papers I’d printed with Elizabeth’s story. “What am I going to do with this?”

  She shrugged. “You lit up when you were talking about her the other night. When you were talking about hope. I thought maybe you could use it. Or maybe read it to him if nothing else. I’m sure you’ve exhausted his childhood stories.”

  I smiled for the first time since Matt had called with news of Kyle’s accident. “Yeah. Thanks.”

  She sat in Matt’s empty chair. “I’ve never prayed so much in my life,” she said. “I wonder if it’s doing any good.”

  I made a noncommittal sound and thumbed through Elizabeth’s journal.

  “Dad says God works out good for those who love Him. What about those of us who don’t know Him? Does He leave us out of that circle?”

  “I don’t know, Essie.” I wasn’t in any condition to think through big philosophical questions right now.

  “Sorry. I’ve been thinking too much I guess. Trying to finagle God into doing what I want, into making Kyle better. No amount of t’ai chi’s gonna accomplish that.”

  “Well, if you figure out the formula, let me know. I’ve said about a hundred sinner’s prayers in my life, and look at the good it’s done me. I gave up praying that prayer. I have one now, and it’s my lifeline.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Lord, help.”

  We shared a sad smile.

  “Maybe no one has all the answers,” she said.

  “Maybe.” I placed Elizabeth’s journal on Kyle’s nightstand.

  Essie stayed a few hours, then left me alone again. I looked at Kyle, his lips dry and cracked around the breathing tube, his skin pale where black-and-blue spots weren’t present.

  “Why did you do it, Kyle?” I whispered.

  Yet I couldn’t blame him. I’d already cast the blame on Matt. And where did I fall in the big scheme of things? Surely I was also culpable in some way. Unless my failed marriage was completely Matt’s fault. Unless I had truly been a perfect wife all these years.

  I ground my teeth and swept up Elizabeth’s journal in my hands, the sight of her words on bright paper in legible print both foreign and comforting. I flipped to the later entries, feeling the need to bond with her in our suffering. Whether or not the events had happened hundreds of years ago, she had found herself in darkness. Like me, like many in the world. Yet she had found hope. Now, more than ever, I needed to catch a glimpse of it.

  I read her story aloud to Kyle. And when I came to a paragraph I hadn’t remembered transcribing that stuck out to me, I clung to it, reading it aloud again.

  Over and over I read, and yet one verse I have found my heart clings to. “And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my power is made perfect through weakness.”

  I read this and shed warm tears, for I could not deny that the words were like sweet balm to my wretched heart. ’Tis nothing but this. ’Tis nothing but His grace and promise and finished work to see me through. ’Tis all I have left to cling to.

  I finished the words, their cadence still stirring in my soul. Elizabeth’s sorrow collided and embraced my own. I felt as if she spoke to me through the channels of time.

  In the moment Elizabeth’s last words passed my lips, I realized I’d been drowning in a swollen black sea of my own weakness.

  What if I chose to believe these ancient words? What if I chose to believe in God’s strength and not my own? That only by reaching the end of myself could I see what God was capable of?

  I clutched the promise close and did not let it go, trusted that it was for me, that God called me in that moment, that He knew my suffering and was promising something undeserved. Love. Mercy. Hope. And all-sufficient grace.

  “The last CT scan shows a reduction in swelling.” I couldn’t recall this particular doctor’s name. It didn’t matter. The words pouring from his mouth stirred a lightness in my heart.

  I glanced at Matt, who licked his lips surrounding the thick growth of stubble. Bags beneath his eyes made him look older than his thirty-five years. “That’s good, right?”

  The doctor nodded and stared at us from above his glasses. “It’s what we hoped to see, Mr. Rodrigues. Unfortunately we’re far from out of the woods. We won’t know how much damage was done to Kyle’s brain until he wakes…if he wakes.”

  I asked about his GCS number.

  “It’s still a four. I’m afraid he’s not responding any more than when we first brought him in. Only time will tell.”

  I nodded and thanked the doctor. Matt’s phone rang as soon as the man left. He looked at it and stepped out of the door, still within earshot.

  “Hi. . . . No, no, I’m not coming home. . . . Louis has it under control.” A curse. “He’s my son. . . . I don’t care, fine. . . . I hope you do.” He hung up and paced the hall before coming back in and sitting.

  We didn’t speak. I knew if Kyle didn’t wake soon, life would have to go on. Matt would have to see to his business and the house. I pondered Kyle staying in a coma for weeks, or months even. I thought about him waking up, if he’d be the same Kyle I knew and loved, or a small fraction of the young man I’d called my son. With each passing hour, chances grew slimmer that Kyle would wake without lasting harm, slimmer that he’d wake at all.

  The tears were always there, right at the surface, burning my corneas, ready to erupt. At the thought of Kyle waking into a different person, they spewed forth. I hid my face in my hands.

  My grace is sufficient for you . . .

  Even in this?

  My grace is sufficient for you . . .

  Matt’s arms pulled me toward him, and I didn’t resist. I cried harder. I couldn’t summon anger or my jealousy in that moment. For now, I allowed him to share the burden of my sorr
ow. If anyone knew how I felt, it was my husband.

  “I will do anything to make this up to you, Sarah. Anything. I’ll come home. Forget Newport. Forget divorce papers. Forget the Watermans. Forget Rodrigues Landscaping. When Kyle wakes up, I’m going to work off the rest of my days showing you guys how sorry I am.”

  I released a sad laugh. How badly I’d wanted to hear these words just a week ago. Now, when they lingered between us, I recognized them for what they were. Penance.

  “You can’t fix it like that, Matt. It’s too late.” The words didn’t accuse. They stated fact. “And what good is our marriage if it’s only to pay off your guilt? What good is it to me or you or Kyle? What if Kyle doesn’t make it? What then? Are you going to live in chains bound to me, trying to make amends for this past summer?”

  He released me, rubbed his crooked nose. Sometimes, he still felt like a stranger to me.

  “You’re tired, Matt. You’re not thinking straight, I get it. But do me a favor and don’t say anything else you’ll regret, okay?”

  I left the room, my body quaking within. I had to get away, at least for the moment. There was too much pain. Too much history, too many what-ifs. Neither of us thought clearly. We were running on regrets and emotion.

  I wondered if mercy and grace were really boundless, or if one day soon they too would run dry, along with my failed marriage and my son’s shriveling brain, along with my deferred hopes and pointless dreams.

  I pushed the hospital doors open and gulped in fresh breaths of air. The sound of cars and honking horns alerted my senses.

  I couldn’t let my guard down with Matt. Kyle needed me. He needed me strong. Matt was a volatile explosion of emotion waiting to happen. And for certain, I would be the first one hit.

  Chapter 31

  Ten days. Ten days since Matt first called me with news of Kyle being in an accident. My hope that our son would wake well diminished with each passing hour.

  Our family had become pale vestiges of our former selves—me, Matt, Kyle. We crammed into Kyle’s room every waking hour, spending more time together than we certainly ever had.

  Our parents and Essie came less. Lorna had even gone the entire day yesterday without coming. Like everything else, time went on, sweeping up people’s lives with it.

  “When do we stop this?” Matt asked me that afternoon.

  I knew what he meant. When do we stop clinging to hope that any hour, any minute, Kyle would wake up. I couldn’t give him an answer. An answer would mean defeat.

  “I can’t leave him.” God had given me stretches of peace in this time, but I also felt I battled for my son in prayer. If I left his side, I’d be giving up. “If you need to go back, I understand.”

  “I don’t want to.” Matt scratched at his clean-shaven cheek, another sign that time moved on. “Part of me feels like if I walk out that door, even for half a day, I’m giving up on him.”

  I swallowed. “I know what you mean.” I slid my hands into Kyle’s and squeezed. The steady beep of the vital machine sounded from beside me, assuring that somewhere in my son’s ravaged body lay a heart still beating and desiring life.

  “Don’t leave yet,” I whispered to Matt. “Give it a few more days.”

  He nodded and his eyes grew wet. “I’m not going anywhere unless you want me to.”

  Our gazes met and we shared grim smiles. He slid one of his hands around Kyle’s and reached for mine with the other.

  I didn’t resist his touch.

  My fingers twitched at the slight movement beneath them. I put down Elizabeth’s printed journal I’d been reading to Kyle on top of the bed and leaned forward. Matt had gone to the hotel to get a few hours of sleep. He usually stayed with Kyle nights, so he often slept in the day while I stayed with Kyle, talking to him, praying for him, reading from Elizabeth’s journal. I studied Kyle’s hand in mine. So many times I’d wished for a response, a movement, anything. I wondered if it was not a product of my imagination.

  “Kyle, honey, can you hear me?”

  Another movement. A press of my fingers. This time I knew I didn’t imagine it. I called for a passing nurse, who called for the doctor down the hall. Dr. Larson examined Kyle’s pupils and checked his pulse. When he did so, Kyle’s foot moved slightly beneath the sheet.

  “Did you see that?” I asked.

  Dr. Larson smiled, the specks of gray at his temples shining beneath the hospital lights. “I did. No doubt Kyle is beginning to rouse from the coma.”

  I clutched his hand tighter. Warm tears brimmed at my lids. I fumbled with my cell phone in my other hand.

  There was only one person I wanted in the room with us when Kyle woke.

  Matt entered the room not five minutes after I called him. His hair stood out in all directions, the white T-shirt he’d slept in crinkled and twisted, his eyes bright with hope.

  “Anything more?” He sat in his usual chair, but pulled it closer to Kyle’s bedside.

  “Just a lot of twitching toes.” I looked at Matt, knowing his thoughts must echo mine. “I’m scared, Matt.”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down, slowly. He licked his lips. “Me, too.”

  It was the first time my husband ever conceded fear to me.

  All we’d been through up until then paled in comparison to the precipice we hung on now. Here, on this side of Kyle’s coma, there was still hope of complete recovery. On the other side, if things didn’t work out as we wished—if Kyle didn’t wake as the Kyle we’d known him to be—could I cope with that new reality?

  But we couldn’t stay in this in-between place forever. We needed to move forward.

  Matt slid his hand into Kyle’s. “Hey, buddy. We know you’re in there, waiting for the right moment to wake up, but you’re giving your Mom and I a good scare, here. We’d sure appreciate it if you’d wake up. I—I need to talk to you, Kyle.” Matt’s voice quivered and I inhaled deeply to keep my emotions in check. “I really want to talk to you, kid.”

  Kyle’s hand moved under mine. Beneath the bandages wrapped on his head, his eyelids fluttered.

  My breath hitched. “Matt . . .”

  Dr. Larson stepped forward, speaking in a calm tone, explaining to Kyle that he was in an accident and that he had a breathing tube down his throat but that it would come out soon.

  “That’s it, buddy. Nice and easy now.” Matt took up Dr. Larson’s encouragement.

  Kyle’s eyes opened. He stared blankly at the hospital ceiling. He closed his eyes. They opened again, expressionless.

  Defeat shot daggers at my heart.

  “Hey, kiddo. It’s been too long.” Matt’s voice remained steady and I was thankful for the rock he was in that moment. For Kyle and for me.

  Slowly, Kyle’s gaze moved to Matt. His dry lips worked around the breathing tube and then with a sudden motion, his hands flew to his throat.

  Matt and Dr. Larson kept Kyle’s arms by his sides. “We’re going to take that out real soon, buddy,” Matt said. “Just want to make sure you’re breathing okay on your own. I think that’s how it goes, anyway. I’m not a nurse like your mom.”

  I marveled at Matt’s ability to remain calm in this, such a telling time for how the rest of Kyle’s life may play out.

  Dr. Larson worked with Kyle as he unhooked the breathing tube from the ventilator. Hollow breaths came through the tube, indicating Kyle breathed on his own.

  Kyle looked at me, and I saw something wonderful.

  Recognition.

  My heart sang.

  After ten minutes of continuous monitoring, Dr. Larson called for a nurse to assist him, and I looked away as they took the tube from Kyle’s throat.

  Kyle licked his lips and mouthed a word that caused the last of my strength to wilt. Mom.

  “Thank you, Lord.” Grateful tears came forth, and I didn’t bother to stop them. “Oh, honey.”

  He looked at Matt and mouthed, “Dad.”

  “Hey, kid. I’m here.”

  Then another word. W
e couldn’t make it out and asked him to mouth it again.

  My bottom lip trembled when I realized what word he wanted to convey to us.

  Sorry.

  Matt’s chin quivered. I knew he was having trouble holding it together as much as I was. “I’m sorry too, Kyle. I—” he glanced at me—“I am so sorry.”

  Chapter 32

  Kyle’s recovery proved slow, but hopeful. Three days after he woke, his doctors moved him from ICU to a recovery room, where I was allowed to be more active in his care. The nasal feeding tube came out, bandages came off. He took short walks around the room. Matt and I continued to take shifts. Kyle slept often, and I read Elizabeth’s journal to him while he dozed.

  I read the last passage I’d translated just as Matt came in for the night.

  “Everything okay?”

  I placed the papers on the stand. “Yes.”

  Sort of. I was feeling that hope again. That chance for mercy and new beginnings. Despite all Matt and I had gone through, I still wanted him for my husband. I didn’t want to give up on him, but I couldn’t bring myself to tell him as much. I was too scared. Scared of rejection, scared he’d want to come home and things would just settle back into the way they’d been before, scared he would only want to be with me as a means of atonement for all we’d been through.

  “Any news on next steps?”

  “Dr. Larson came down today. He—”

  A knock at the open door of Kyle’s room. Matt’s face paled. I turned and saw Cassie—fresh as a spring daisy in a form-fitting dress and high heels.

  I realized then that none of this had been real. Here, in the hospital with Kyle injured and now recovering had been torture, but it also served as a sort of cease-fire. A fantasy peace, where we could put our own selfish problems on hold for the sake of our son.

  But it wasn’t real. Cassie’s presence proved it.

  “Cassie.” Matt stood and went to the door. Once in the hall, he closed it just short of clicking.