Shelter of Hope

by Lyn Cote

  Rosa had not been able to come today since she was working. Marc was noticing Johnny’s performance so he could share it with her. As if feeling Marc’s concentration on him, Johnny looked to Marc and waved with a grin.

  Then it happened.

  The child across from Johnny in obvious frustration kicked the ball hard. It flew toward the street. Johnny raced to get it.

  A car jumped the curb and barreled onto the grass.

  Johnny, intent on the ball, did not see it.

  The car bounced on the uneven surface. Straight toward Johnny.

  Marc began running, shouting, “Johnny! Johnny!”

  In his mind, he heard himself screaming as his truck slid out of his control in January, heading straight for the car ahead in the mist.

  “Johnny!” he screamed, tearing his throat.

  The boy looked up.

  The car sideswiped Johnny. The small body flew into the air and landed flat on its back.

  The car rocked to a stop. Teenagers poured out, shouting and yelling.

  Marc didn’t hear them but he saw their mouths opening and closing. He reached Johnny and dropped to his knees. Johnny was limp and unconscious. Johnny! Johnny! Oh, God, help!

  Chapter Eleven

  Sounds from January tried to capture Marc’s mind—grinding brakes, crunching metal and piercing screams.

  He shoved them away. His lessons in giving emergency aid to others rushed in. He searched for a pulse at Johnny’s neck. It beat under his fingertips. Then he leaned forward and felt Johnny’s breath against his cheek. He’s alive. Marc sat back on his heels, drenched in relief—for the moment. Thank You, God.

  The soccer team surrounded them, a few kids were crying, all looked starkly terrified with large eyes and clamped mouths. “Is he going to die?” one of Spence’s daughters asked, visibly trembling.

  “No, he isn’t.” The reassurance came in a woman’s confident voice.

  Marc looked up to see Spence’s wife, Natalie, punching her cell phone.

  “Does he need CPR?” she asked.

  “No, but we must get him to the hospital. I don’t want to move him. In case of spinal injury—”

  “Hey, man, I didn’t mean to hurt a kid.” A gangly teen with long straggly hair pushed through the children crowding around. “I just hit the accelerator a little hard, I guess.”

  Marc would have liked to snap the kid in two. “Don’t leave,” he ordered.

  “No worries, man. I mean, I’m not going to leave the scene of an accident.” The teen looked scared out of his wits and his voice shook with fear. “Is he going to be okay?”

  “He’s alive. We need to get him to the hospital.”

  Natalie snapped her phone shut. “Help’s on its way.”

  Other parents from the bleachers appeared beside their children, pulling them into one-armed hugs. All faces turned toward him. The weight of their dependence on him was crushing. I can’t do anything more than any of them could. Helplessness ground inside him like rusted gears.

  It triggered a memory. Pain. Trying to open his eyes. Icy cold air on his face. Voices asking him questions.

  “Do you have his mother’s phone number?” Natalie asked, intruding.

  Rosa! Marc pulled out his phone and touched the speed dial for Rosa’s cell phone. He was immediately directed to voice mail. He hated leaving her this message but he must. “Rosa, Johnny has been hurt at practice. We’re taking him to the hospital to make sure nothing…it’s nothing serious.” His voice cracked on the final word. Please, Lord, make it nothing serious.

  But Johnny remained unconscious. Consuela with her walker and his own grandmother appeared beside him. Consuela looked strained but wasn’t weeping. Marc tried to give her an encouraging look. But his mouth couldn’t smile. “The ambulance—”

  Then in the distance Marc heard the welcome siren. He rose, shaking inside. “Everyone, step back so the EMTs can get to Johnny.”

  Remembered sirens screamed in his mind. He was flat on his back, looking up at the bright lights of the ambulance.

  Soon Marc helped Consuela into the ambulance to ride to the hospital with Johnny. Naomi ran to her station wagon and he to his pickup. As he drove away, he saw the policeman taking notes as he talked to the teen driver. And Natalie was standing there to answer questions, too, leaving Marc free to go.

  The next minutes blurred past Marc. He clung to the here and now, fighting every moment against consuming panic; the panic of the moment vied with January panic remembered. His heart beat double time. And he drove on auto pilot.

  He reached the E.R. entrance right behind the ambulance. He grabbed his keys and ran to help Consuela down from the back of the ambulance. He heard Johnny moan. The sound split him in two. He helped Consuela with her walker and then made himself stay beside her. Panic raged within and he couldn’t make it stop.

  Naomi caught up with them. “Marc, I’ll help Consuela. You go on so you can give the E.R. staff any info they need.”

  He nodded, grateful for someone telling him what to do. Shock was trying to take over his mind, shut it down. He fought it. Johnny needs me. He jogged through the automatic doors and followed the EMTs. Rosa, please come. Soon.

  As Marc watched the doctor talking to the EMTs and hooking Johnny up to machines, he gritted his teeth. Come on. Come on. Help him. The nurse succeeded in hooking Johnny up to monitors. The too familiar sounds from the monitors and IVs brought higher, faster waves of cold fear. He gripped his self-control with both hands. Johnny moaned again.

  “What’s the boy’s name again?” the doctor asked Marc.

  “Johnny. Johnny Santos,” Marc said through a dry mouth.

  “And you are?” the doctor asked, writing on a clipboard.

  “Marc Chambers. I…his mother and I are dating. I’m his soccer coach. His mother signed an authorization for me so I can allow you to treat him.”

  “Has anyone notified his mother?” the man asked.

  Marc sucked in air. “I called and left a message on her cell phone. She’s working.”

  “Are you all right?” the nurse asked. “You’re very white. Maybe you should sit down.”

  “I’m fine,” Marc barked. “How is Johnny?”

  “Mama,” Johnny said. “Mama.”

  Marc closed his eyes. The relief of hearing the boy’s voice turned his knees to jelly. He forced himself to stay standing. There was nothing to lean on, to hold on to here.

  “Coach, come closer so the boy can see you.” The doctor was reading the monitors the nurse had hooked Johnny to.

  Marc staggered the few feet to Johnny’s side. “Hi,” he croaked.

  “Mama?” Johnny said.

  “I called her.” Marc took Johnny’s little hand. “She’ll be coming soon.” Rosa’s voice repeated in his mind—I trust you with my son. This hit him like a punch to his breastbone; he strained to go on breathing normally.

  “Where am I?” Johnny’s voice was small and scared.

  “You’re at the hospital,” Marc said, filling his voice with manufactured confidence. “Don’t worry. You’re going to be fine.” Please, God.

  “Hi, Johnny,” the doctor said. “We’re going to take you to X-ray.”

  “Marc,” Johnny begged.

  “Your coach can go along with you,” the nurse said with a nod toward Marc.

  Unable to speak, Marc squeezed Johnny’s hand and tried to nod. The nurse was snapping up sides on the gurney and then the three of them headed down the hall. Consuela and Naomi rose from their chairs outside. Marc had the nurse stop so that the two grandmothers could speak to Johnny. Then the nurse started them off again. Marc gripped Johnny’s small hand, praying and trying not to let his own hospital memories take him to his limit.

  Loud country-and-western music blaring, Rosa handed two truckers their deluxe hamburger plates when her manager approached her. “Rosa, come with me.”

  His worried tone of voice caught her attention. He led her to the phone behind the coun
ter. “It’s your grandmother, an emergency.”

  Rosa’s whole body clenched. She took the receiver with suddenly numb hands. “Abuela?”

  “Don’t worry, Rosalinda. But our Johnny was hurt at his game,” Consuela said.

  “Where are you?” Rosa asked, fear rearing its head like a dragon.

  “We are at el hospital. Naomi and me. They X-ray Johnny now.”

  “Where’s Marc?”

  “Con nuestro niño.”

  Her grandmother’s lapse into Spanish meant she was very upset. That meant it was more serious than she was telling. But Consuela had said that Marc was with Johnny. That allowed Rosa to continue breathing. “I’ll come as soon as I can.”

  After farewells, Rosa hung up and turned to her manager. “My son is at the E.R.”

  The manager looked at her and then nodded. “It’s not busy. Go ahead. I’ll call someone else if it looks like we need them.”

  “Thanks.” After squeezing his hand, she headed for the back room to change into street clothes and head out. Each step ignited another wave of worry. The call had been so unexpected. Now its effect worked in her, churning her emotions.

  Soon she was driving down the county road toward the hospital. Each heartbeat was a prayer. She’d known everything had been going too good to be true. The new house, going back to school and loving Marc, it had all been undeserved and now she might pay dearly. Sobs tried to well up. She refused them. But her hands shook. I knew I didn’t deserve it. I knew something bad would happen. But why to Johnny? Why not to me?

  Marc sat, hunched in a chair outside the room where Johnny was being x-rayed yet again. He stared at the polished gray linoleum floor, his head bent and his hands loosely folded. The disinfectant smell was making him woozy.

  He saw her feet first. He looked up and then stood. “Rosa.”

  “They told me Johnny is here. What’s happening?” Consuela with her walker came with Rosa.

  He couldn’t speak right away. The sight of Rosa jammed all his words into a wad in his throat. She shouldn’t have had to come here again. It was only over a month since Consuela had been rushed here in an ambulance. This time it’s my fault. His heart thudded and his temples throbbed.

  “Marc?” she said, cocking her head to one side. “Where is Johnny?”

  “X-ray.” He pointed toward the door where the boy was. He wanted to fold her into his arms but how could he? If only he’d ended practice early, the children wouldn’t have been near the street.

  “He’s still in X-ray? Have they found out what’s wrong?” Rosa rapid-fired the questions. “How serious is it?”

  “They haven’t told me anything.” Marc found it impossible to speak naturally. He was tangled up, trying to deal with chaos and the uncertainty with fresh guilt piled on top.

  The door opened and the nurse came out, pushing Johnny’s gurney.

  “Mama!” Johnny called.

  Rosa hurried to him and touched his forehead. “Johnny, what happened?”

  Johnny started crying.

  The nurse motioned for Rosa to follow her as she pushed the gurney. “We’re going to talk to the doctor now. Johnny was very brave during his X-rays.”

  Marc stood where he was, watching the distance between them widen. He knew he should follow and stay with Rosa. But he was very near to cracking wide open. He turned and hurried down the hall in the opposite direction. When he glimpsed Naomi ahead, he took a different route and exited the hospital out the general entrance. He couldn’t face any more questions.

  He moved swiftly to his pickup. Once he reached it, everything boiled over. Images of the January crash, the sensations he’d experienced just before hitting the first vehicle jittered through him. Then the impact and then the helplessness that came as he’d watched his truck plow into more vehicles. The white mist had crowded around everything like cotton, making the scene surreal.

  The gorge in his throat rose. At the front of his pickup, he fought down the nausea, retching in dry heaves. He leaned over the front wheel well, fighting for self control. Hoping that no one was watching him.

  Finally he was able to climb into his truck. He started the engine and headed for home. He kept his eyes on the road, forcing away the stream of images and memories from January. And worse, shockwaves of cold panic vibrated through him.

  When he saw the familiar old farmhouse ahead, he sped up. Within minutes, he let Amigo out of the dog run. He led the dog upstairs in his apartment. Once inside he shut the door and collapsed onto his sofa. Amigo sat beside him, resting his chin on the bit of couch beside Marc’s face.

  The leftover horror of the accident raged within him. He clung to the lone remnant of the present, Amigo’s sympathetic eyes. And then Marc’s strength of will gave out. He closed his eyes in surrender and the past devoured him.

  In the dim light of Johnny’s hospital room, Rosa sat in a recliner identical to the one she’d rested in just weeks ago. Visiting hours had ended. The pediatric floor had quieted—just a fretful child crying somewhere down the hall. Tonight she sat beside Johnny, sunk in the deepest gloom she could recall. What was the next crisis she would have to face alone? Even Marc had deserted her.

  Johnny’s leg had been broken in two places. And he’d suffered bruises and lacerations. The doctor had kept Johnny overnight for observation. That tormented her. What were they waiting to observe?

  Her son’s injuries could have been fatal. When the doctor had said these words, she had nearly fainted. The fact that the car had only sideswiped Johnny had made the difference. He was broken, bruised and sore. But he would be all right—as long as nothing else presented itself before morning.

  She pressed her hands over her face, despair leaking through her like icy water. This summer and fall had been too good to be true. This accident might be what she deserved but Johnny didn’t deserve this. No.

  Quiet footsteps alerted her. She looked up. A man stood in the doorway. For a moment, she thought it might be Marc. But then he walked into the light. She saw that it was Trent’s father, tall with silver strands in his blond hair. He looked like what he was—a wealthy, successful surgeon. “It’s past visiting hours,” she said inconsequentially.

  “Doctors can come any time. I heard from a friend, another doctor here at the hospital, about Johnny’s accident,” he said in a low voice. “Is he all right?”

  She stood up. She didn’t know what to say. She hadn’t expected Dr. Fleming.

  “Is it all right if I come in?” he asked.

  “Why are you here?” she said the words like a curse, suddenly angry. This was Trent’s father, the father of the man who had hurt her over and over for many years. She wanted to lash out at him. But he wasn’t the one who had driven wildly and hit Johnny with his car.

  “I’m here,” Dr. Fleming said simply, “because my grandson has been hurt.”

  “Why do you care now?” Rosa couldn’t hold back her sarcasm.

  He stood his ground, not moving, not speaking. “You have a right to be suspicious and negative. But I do care now. Is it too late?”

  His contrite tone softened her, made her ashamed of her rudeness. “Sorry. Please come in.”

  He walked to the bed first and gazed down at Johnny who was sleeping. “Did you know I had a heart attack this year?”

  “No, tell me. What about your heart attack?” She sat down in the recliner again.

  “I nearly died. I had to have quintuple bypass surgery. It made me think about dying. It’s interesting how thinking about dying really leads to thinking about living.” He spoke to her but gazed at Johnny.

  “I know what you mean.” She pulled up her feet and buried her cold hands under her.

  “Do you?”

  “I lost my mother in this hospital to ovarian cancer almost three years ago.” Mama. Her heart said the name just like Johnny had called to her when she’d come here today. Mama, she grieved.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, sounding sincere.

&nb
sp; Rosa pursed her lips and blinked away tears.

  Dr. Fleming walked over and sat down on the other chair by the bed. “Did you know that I was one of a pair of fraternal twins?”

  “No.” Cold, Rosa pulled the white cotton blanket which was draped over the arm of the chair over her legs.

  “Your Johnny has your darker coloring but he is my brother, Carson, all over. He died when we were still children. That day I saw you at the pumpkin farm, it was like watching my brother live again. Johnny moves just the way Carson did and his voice is the same and his features. I don’t think I imagined it. The resemblance is real.”

  Rosa couldn’t think of what to say to this. Speaking of a child who died… A shiver went through her.

  “For many years I felt guilty over my brother’s death.” Dr. Fleming gazed at Johnny.

  After a long pause, Rosa asked, “Why?”

  He turned his gaze to her now. “For no logical reason. It just seemed to me that there must have been something I could have done that would have saved him. We were only around eleven years old, playing on the ice over the river. He fell through. I ran for help. But the water was too cold. He had lost consciousness and drowned within minutes. It took them days to find his body which had been carried away under the ice.”

  “How dreadful.” The story made Johnny’s accident look paltry. She shivered again, chilled by it. “Your poor mother.”

  “Yes, I don’t think either of my parents ever recovered fully from the loss.” The man’s voice was sad but calm. “And I held on to the false guilt for so long. When I couldn’t bear it any longer, I just turned away from it. I tried to distract myself with others things—frat parties, medical school, expensive cars. So I ended up an ambitious and overworked surgeon married to a vain woman who puts a great deal of stress on money and appearances. And I have two sons who are too much like her. When I was recovering from the heart attack, I had a lot of time to think about the past, the present.”