“Sore. Tired.”
“I should call the nurse, and tell her you’re conscious.” She had pushed her chair away from the bed, but Chris’s next words stopped her from getting up.
“Rebecca, stay with me a minute. I’m scared. I can’t feel my legs.”
“Are you sure? Maybe they’re stiff or—”
“No. I can’t move my toes.”
“Let me get a nurse.”
“In a minute. Can you tell me what happened? How did they find you?”
“I heard the crash.” She told him how she’d found a bystander with him, then recounted what they thought were his injuries. “Your family will be on a plane home as soon as they can. They might already be in the air.”
Rebecca called for the nurse, who came immediately, followed in a short while by a doctor. After evaluating Chris again, they took him for an MRI. The doctor suspected that Chris’s paralysis was temporary due to swelling around his spinal cord, but time would tell.
When Chris was returned to the room it was nearly four o’clock in the morning. He held his eyes open, but just barely, and no sooner had they gotten him settled in bed than he closed them again. Rebecca scooted next to the bed and fished for his hand that had been buried beneath the covers.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he said before he fell asleep again.
***
The sun slid under the window blinds and right onto Rebecca’s face as she slept in the pull-out chair. It took her a few seconds to register where she was. Although the quiet of early morning offered no clues, the smell of antiseptic cleaners gave away her location—the hospital.
Pushing out of the makeshift bed, she shuffled to Chris’s side. He hadn’t woken up yet this morning. Again, she nudged back the hair hanging on his forehead and ran her hand along his face, feeling a day’s growth of beard beneath her fingertips. A small bandage stuck to his right cheek where he had an abrasion.
She reached then for his hand, squeezing his fingers between hers. His warm skin sent a wave of relief through her. He wasn’t in danger of dying, she knew, but seeing him lying so still unnerved her. She wished he would squeeze her hand, whisper her name, open his eyes—anything that would offer a connection to him. She stood there for a few minutes, and as she studied his face, the familiar rush of attraction came over her just as it had the first time they met and he expounded on the bountiful varieties of yogurt available.
She smiled and then prayed for him with as much deliberate thought as she could muster. Then she prayed that his family would have a safe return trip.
Unlike her relationship with her dad, Chris’s family was supportive and nurturing. He would need them here, particularly if…she didn’t want to think it, but it was a possibility. If he didn’t regain feeling in his lower body. The thought of Chris being paraplegic made her chest physically ache, and again she pushed the thought aside, not ready to deal with it. A sob choked her, and she breathed deeply, trying to expunge thoughts of Chris never again hiking a mountain trail.
The door opened behind her letting in the noise of a young family passing through the hall. She stepped back expecting to see a nurse returning to check Chris’s vital signs. Instead, Father John entered wearing his freshly-pressed, black dress-thingy. She’d have to find out the proper name for it. If it weren’t for the worry on his face, she’d have thought him a man ready to conquer the day.
He touched her arm. “Rebecca, I saw your message first thing this morning and got here as soon as I could. You could’ve called the emergency number.”
“He wasn’t in imminent danger. I didn’t want to wake you.”
“Your message said he was in an accident. What happened?”
Rebecca stepped back, letting Father John approach the bed. She told him as much as she knew about the accident and Chris’s condition.
“When he woke up, he couldn’t…couldn’t move his legs.”
He winced. “Where are his parents and brother?”
“They’re on their way. They were on vacation in Europe. A family trip celebrating his parent’s thirtieth wedding anniversary. Chris begged off because he was starting a new job.”
“I remember now. He did tell me about the trip, but he didn’t name work as his reason for not going.”
Rebecca cocked her head. “He didn’t?”
“He told me he didn’t want to be away from you for that long. He knew he couldn’t take you along for a whole host of reasons, so he decided he’d rather stay here.”
Tears stung her eyes again. He passed up an opportunity to see Europe with his family because he wanted to be close to her. That was crazy.
She hadn’t thought until then what a wreck she must seem. She had fled her apartment before she’d taken her shower last night. Then she had gotten dirty and rain-soaked and spent the night alternately crying and sleeping in a sorry excuse for a bed. She’d have to clean up as best she could after Father John left.
“I think Chris is probably the kind of guy that tells you all the time, but in case he’s not, he loves you.”
“He is that kind of guy.” And what had she given him in return? Not once had he heard the words “I love you” fall from her lips. Father John didn’t know how she had failed Chris, never once assuring him of her devotion. Her body crumpled over Chris’s where he lay on the bed. Her head rested on his legs, the legs that hadn’t moved at his command since he was thrown from his motorcycle. The way she collapsed reminded her of a tent whose poles were pulled out from the pockets. Like a billowing heap, she hit bottom.
A choked cough that could only have come from Father John reminded her she was not alone. She turned to see him losing his own battle with his emotions. His eyes were moist, and he cleared his throat as if by doing so he could swallow away the grief threatening to overcome him.
In an instant, he pulled her into his arms, and she felt more than heard him succumb to the sobs trying to escape their prison. She squeezed him tighter, ceding whatever strength she had left to him. His visit seemed less like the simple duty of a parish priest, and more like a man scared that his friend’s life may have been drastically and irreversibly altered.
After a minute his breaths steadied, and he rubbed soothing circles on her back.
“He’s going to be okay, Rebecca. Whatever happens, we have to trust God.”
Those words transported her back eight years to a moonless, muggy night alongside a bug-ridden lake. Her legs dangled off the dock, inches above the murky, algae-covered water. Another pair of legs hung next to hers—older, hairier, and decidedly more masculine. He put his arm gently around her and said those same words. “I know it’s unfair, Rebecca, and it seems like he’s getting off scot-free, but we have to trust God.” When she looked into his green eyes, nearly obscured by the darkness of night, she was too inexperienced to recognize what she saw there.
A mosquito landed on her calf and she swatted it. A second later he did the same to a mosquito on his arm. They laughed, and then the hum of the cicadas seemed to swell to a roar as he leaned slowly into her and placed a gentle kiss on her lips.
That memory had lain dormant, lost in her subconscious for years. Despite the sweetness of that kiss, there would be no others, and the summer crush that formed during camp fizzled by the time school resumed less than a month later.
She was grateful for the innocent moment they had shared because it bonded her, however subtly, to the man whose black clothing she now drenched with tears.
“I think God sent you back into my life at just the right time, John.”
“He’s good at that.” This time a little laugh escaped his lips instead of a sob.
Being with someone else who cared about Chris eased Rebecca’s tension. She sensed the man who was still holding her up felt it, too.
She backed out of his arms, suddenly aware of how it might look if someone were to come into the room. She wiped her eyes and accepted a Kleenex from the box Father John held out to her. He pulled a couple of th
e flimsy hospital tissues for himself and set the box back on the tray at the foot of Chris’s bed.
After wiping her eyes and nose a few times, Rebecca had an idea. “Chris had his rosary on him. I took it out of the bag last night, and I wanted to pray on it for him, but I don’t know how. Maybe you could teach me?”
Father John smiled and dug into his pocket. He pulled a small plastic card out of his wallet and handed it to Rebecca. It had a drawing of a rosary and all the beads labeled with the appropriate prayers. He turned it over in her hand and pointed to the back. “This side lists all the mysteries.”
Mysteries? The whole thing was a mystery to her. She’d have to ask Chris for a more thorough explanation later.
“Here, why don’t you use Chris’s beads?” He took the beads that were lying on the nightstand and handed them to Rebecca. “Start here,” he said, grabbing the crucifix, “and we’ll work our way up and around. One bead for each prayer. Just follow my lead.”
For nearly twenty minutes, Rebecca stumbled her way through the repetitious prayers, at last learning most of the words to the “Hail Mary.” She hadn’t known what it was all about, but by the end she felt a sense of peace she hadn’t before.
Just as they finished and Father John tucked his beads back in his pocket, Chris opened his eyes. “Hey. Two of my favorite people.”
Rebecca took his hand and scooted by Father John to the side of the bed. “That timing is too perfect. How long were you lying there awake faking us out?”
Chris gave a weak smile. “Last two decades.”
Father John moved closer to the bed. “How are you feeling?”
“Tired, achy, out of it.”
“The nurse gave you something for pain last night,” Rebecca said, stroking the back of his hand. “She said it might make you a little groggy.”
“Still can’t move my legs.”
Rebecca willed herself not to break down again. “It might take a while.”
“I’m going to let you two have some time alone,” Father John said, looking at his watch. “I’ve got a couple appointments this morning. Can I anoint you before I go?”
“Is it that bad?” Chris asked.
“It’s a sacrament of healing. Doesn’t mean you’re on death’s door. I’d say the severity of your injuries warrants it.”
Rebecca’s head moved back and forth between them as if she were watching a tennis match. She had no idea what ‘anointing’ was and why Chris thought it meant he was near death.
“Okay,” Chris said. “Please do it then.”
For the first time, Rebecca noticed that Father John had brought a small, black case with him. He opened it and withdrew a small vial, a leather-bound book, and a white cloth.
“Latin?” Father John asked, and a little sparkle glimmered in his eye.
“Go for it,” Chris said with a weak smile.
Rebecca followed along as best she could, but when Father John switched to Latin, she got lost. He laid his hands on Chris’s head and then put oil on his forehead and his hands—those hands she loved so well—and prayed over him. They said the Lord’s Prayer—finally, something she knew—another prayer, and then it was over.
Father John left, and she and Chris were alone again. She held his hand, inhaling the fragrant scent of oil as she rubbed it into his skin, and not a word passed between them. Chris seemed calmed by Father John’s prayers, and she didn’t want to disrupt his peace. The quietude didn’t last more than five minutes before Chris’s mother burst through the door followed by his father, Alan, and Jamie.
***
Chris felt like he had been hit by a bus although they told him it was only an SUV. Watching his mom and Rebecca worrying about him felt like being hit again from the other direction. After his family had fussed over him for a couple hours and he had coaxed out some of the details from their trip, he insisted they get something to eat and take Rebecca with them. She hadn’t eaten the whole time she’d been there. They all needed food and rest, and he needed time alone.
So far he’d been successful at holding himself together. Only pride prevented him from dissolving into a puddle of tears in front of all of them. Finally alone, he felt like he could cry, but he didn’t. The tears were frozen by fear, and he entertained all the “what ifs” he’d pushed to the back of his mind. What if I can’t walk? What if I can’t work? What if I’m impotent and can’t marry? What if I never have children? What if Rebecca leaves? What if I need a caregiver?
He knew, given what the doctor had said, that his paralysis was likely temporary. He would probably be fine, but he couldn’t dismiss the possibility, however slim, that he wouldn’t.
Being left alone to wallow probably hadn’t been such a good idea after all. When Rebecca eventually returned, his mood lifted immeasurably.
She kissed the cheek that wasn’t covered by a bandage.
“Where’s the rest of the gang?”
“I made them go home and sleep. They’re exhausted. I told them now that they’ve seen you’re okay they should go home, rest, and get cleaned up so they can come back refreshed tomorrow.”
“And they listened?” He couldn’t imagine Rebecca giving orders and his family obeying.
“I told you they were exhausted. Alan said something about coming back after he took a shower, but I tried to discourage him.”
Chris leaned back into his pillow. His worrying had worn him out nearly as much as his family had, and he wanted to relax with Rebecca for a while before falling sleep.
He sat straight again. “Wait—do you even have your car here?” She said she had walked to the scene of the accident and then hitched a ride behind the ambulance.
“No, Abby and Joel are going to swing by with it this evening.”
He nodded. It hurt less now. “Good.”
When he tried unsuccessfully to get into a comfortable position, Rebecca leaned in and gently pressed her hand to his back, sliding the pillow up behind his head.
“Thank you,” he said and sighed. “Happy as I was to see them, it’s kind of a relief now that they’re gone.”
“I know what you mean. I’m so glad they’re back, though. All through the night I was wishing your mom here for you.” She settled back in the chair, the legs squealing as she pulled it forward alongside his bed again and took hold of his hand.
They sat in silence for a while before Chris thought he could speak without tearing up too much. “Rebecca, I want you to go home tonight and rest.”
“I can stay, Chris. It’s more important that your family gets a good night’s rest after all their traveling.”
“No, it’s important you all rest. You, too. I’ll be fine here tonight.”
Her eyes narrowed and a slight scowl twisted her lips.
“Really, Rebecca. I want you to go home and sleep in your own bed. You can come back in the morning.”
“I hate to think of you here all alone.”
“I’ll hardly be alone. There will be people in and out of here all night long checking on me and everything else. Please. I want you to take care of yourself.”
Finally she sighed and relented. “Okay.”
Now the hard part. “There’s something else I want to talk to you about.”
She didn’t respond, but she scooted her chair forward another inch and squeezed his hand.
“I appreciate all your prayers, and I think we should pray and hope for the best as far as me getting the feeling back in my legs.” He paused, and she gave a little nod while he readied himself for her objections. “But I think we should prepare for the worst.”
“No, Chris. You’re going to walk. I know it. I can feel it somehow.”
“I hope you’re right, but just in case, you should think about how it might be… if I don’t get that ability back.”
He didn’t want to make her cry, but the tears fell from her still-red eyes.
“Chris, it’s too soon to—”
“Please, Rebecca. I’m not giving up hope, and
I don’t want you to either. I just want you to think about the fact that things may be different. I may not walk. I may not be able to do a lot of the things I’ve always taken for granted . . . My future, our future, may look a lot different than either of us imagined.” He used her hand to pull her closer. She didn’t say anything, but tears rolled down her cheeks, one then the other. “I know we haven’t talked about marriage, but I’ve thought about it. A lot. And I thought if maybe you had, too, well, you should be prepared.”
She pulled her hand away and sat back in the chair, folding her arms against her chest. “Fine. You said what you wanted to say, but I don’t think we should go borrowing troubles from tomorrow when today has enough of its own. When and if a doctor says with certainty that you won’t regain use of your lower body, then we’ll deal with it. Even then I would have a hard time believing it. People defy doctors’ expectations all the time.”
He closed his eyes. That went about the way he expected. At least he planted the seed. He looked at her again, and she unfolded her arms and scooted herself onto the side of his bed. He thought he felt her body press against his thigh, but it must have been the shift of the elevated mattress that he felt behind his back. On instinct, he tried to move over for her, and while his legs didn’t move, again, he felt what he thought might be some kind of muscle reaction. It was so slight he dismissed it as wishful thinking. She had placed one of her hands across his lap, and he hadn’t felt that at all.
Her other hand stroked his face from his temple to his chin, and he felt that to the core. Her eyes registered affection and thankfully not pity. After a few seconds she leaned in farther and pressed a kiss to his lips.
Except for the seductive kiss that spiraled into their breakup—and even then she’d let him lead—Rebecca had never initiated a kiss between them. That she chose this moment to do so spoke volumes to Chris. Her kiss was as loving as he could imagine, a gentle caress, but he couldn’t miss the undercurrent that said, ‘I want you’ in the most primal, elemental way possible. For the first time since he opened his eyes to the harsh fluorescent lights of his hospital room, Chris felt fully alive. More than that, he felt hopeful. He couldn’t help but respond to the balm her kiss spread through his soul and into his body, reviving him, setting his heart to race, and…
Stay With Me Page 24