by Nicole Young
“I don’t believe it. That doesn’t sound like Brad. I mean, Brad’s the guy who got me going to church. Seeking God. Trusting Jesus. He can’t just give up on life.”
“No one could have predicted this. But good health was important to Brad. He worked out, ate right. That bullet changed everything. Even the best of us can suffer depression after a blow like that. And then to lose your fiancée too.”
“Not fiancée. Girlfriend. It wasn’t official.”
“I think it was official in his mind.”
I sniffled. “It’s good to hear that.” I cleared my throat. “So what can I do to fix the situation? As his former wife-to-be, I’m not going to sit by and watch him languish.” “We can’t predict how he’ll react. We just have to take it slow. I’m sorry.”
I clung to him. “Take me to see him. Please. If I can’t be Tish, then I’ll be Tasha. I don’t care. I have to see him. Please let me see him.”
He scratched his head, thinking. “I don’t know. Sam wouldn’t be happy about it.”
“What is she, his keeper? I have as much right to Brad as she does. Brad loves me. He wants to marry me. We’re going to be together the rest of our lives and raise kids together and sit in our rockers on the front porch when we’re old.”
My voice rose along with my level of desperation. I shook Puppa by the arms. “I have the right to see him. You take me to see him!”
He wrapped me in a calming embrace. “Shhh. Everything’s going to be okay. I’ll take you to see him.”
I nodded into his shoulder, filled with relief. But behind the calm, a tinge of uncertainty crept in. If Brad was really the way Puppa described him, would I be enough to make him want to live again?
What if I wasn’t? My heart skipped a beat. Of course I’d be enough. Of course I would.
The road meandered through a residential area. Large two-stories and sprawling ranch homes were arranged in spacious order along the edge of the Manistique River. Puppa slowed as we crossed a snow-covered bridge. Below, swift-moving water flowed black against white banks.
Around the next curve, we came to a newer one-story institutional building disguised as a Georgian manor home.
RIVER’S EDGE ASSISTED LIVING, the sign read.
I bit my lip, gearing up for my first glimpse of Brad. “Don’t talk to him or get too close,” Puppa told me on the way over. “Just take a good look at him and come out. We’ll talk more then.”
We passed through a central gathering room with cathedral ceilings and tasteful décor in mint and mauve. Long hallways led off on two sides. Puppa followed plush carpeting down one hall to the last door on the left. He knocked.
A twenty-something man wearing blue scrubs and a buzz cut came to the door.
“Mr. Russo. Welcome. And who is your guest?” He ushered us into a small private living room and gestured toward two chairs. “Please have a seat.”
“Thanks, Austin.” Puppa sat.
I took the other chair.
A kitchenette was built into one corner of the room. Austin sat on the edge of the counter.
Puppa spoke. “This is Tasha Stewart. She’d like to observe Brad for a few moments.”
“Oh? A student at Bay?”
“Yeah.” I nodded, going along with his theory that I attended Bay de Noc Community College in Escanaba. “Physical therapy.”
“I’m afraid Mr. Walters will be a disappointment for you,” Austin said. “He’s refused therapy. He may never regain his strength.”
I gasped, then quickly composed myself. I nudged the sunglasses up on my nose. “Just have to take a few notes, make a couple observations. I’ll only stay a moment.”
“I’m sorry, he’s sleeping right now and doesn’t care for company. If you’d like to come back later, I can see if he’s willing to help you with your project.”
“No.” The word popped out more quickly than I’d planned. “I’d rather make my observations while he’s sleeping if that’s okay. He doesn’t even have to know I was here.”
Austin hesitated. “It’s probably not a good idea. You know how he can be, Mr. Russo.” He looked at Puppa as if hoping he’d take the hint and get me out of there.
Puppa gave him a determined look. “If he’s sleeping, what can it hurt? Go ahead in, Tasha.”
I stepped toward the door. Austin made a move to follow me.
“Let her go alone, Austin. She doesn’t bite,” Puppa said.
Austin looked panicked, like he’d be held accountable if he let a stranger in to see his client without proper escort.
But at Puppa’s smile of reassurance, Austin calmed down and gave me the sign to go in.
Puppa gave me a stern glance. “Remember what I told you.”
I nodded and turned the doorknob. Stepping inside, I removed my sunglasses, clutching them in one hand. My eyes took a moment to adjust. Dim light filtered in where the blackout shade gapped from the window. I pressed the door closed behind me, careful not to make noise. A bed, a chair, and a dresser took shape in the darkness. I moved a step toward the lump under the covers and stopped, recalling Puppa’s warning.
I stood and listened to the sound of Brad’s breathing. Eyes closed, I basked in the gentle rhythm. I hadn’t heard that sound in seven months. And if he’d died that day, I would never have heard it again. Now to think he’d lost his will to live and wanted to die… I felt like racing to the bed and shaking him. Life was too short. Life was too precious to waste like that.
Another step closer. What could it hurt? His breathing hitched and I half expected Brad to sit up. But the rhythm resumed and I bent my face close to his, studying the sight that had kept me going during my exile. The promise of seeing those eyes crinkled in laughter once more had brought me through the long months of separation.
His face took shape in the gloom. Black lashes lay in soft slumber along his lower lid. How often had I pictured those same full lashes surrounding the eyes of my imaginary daughter? And there was that broad forehead I loved to press against my cheek. The strong arch of his brow led to a staunch nose and gentle lips… while I stared, his mouth twitched, as if begging to be reunited with mine.
Oh, Brad, I whispered in my mind. Wake up and love me and everything will be okay.
He was so close. Right there in front of me, only a breath away. My love, my groom, the father of my children yet to come…
I leaned forward and softly pressed my lips against his, nearly fainting at the rush of emotion. His skin felt exactly as I remembered, smelled of the same subtle musk. I was with him again. I was with Brad, touching his lips, feeling the heat of his body.
A tear coursed down my cheek, making a tink as it landed on his pillow.
A sharp breath sounded in my ear. I gasped and pulled back, horrified to see Brad’s eyes open, looking at me in outrage.
“Who are you?”
My eardrums echoed with the bellowing words. I went scuttling to the far wall.
The door flew open and Austin dashed in. “Everything okay, Mr. Walters?”
“Who is she?” Brad thundered again. He made no move to get up, instead allowing his writhing face muscles to express fury.
Austin shooed me out the door. “Just some pesky student working on a report. Sorry she disturbed you, sir.”
The door slammed closed behind me, Austin remaining inside to calm his client.
In the living room, still seated in his chair, Puppa smiled and wagged his finger at me. “I told you not to get close to him.”
I blushed at my own audacity. “I thought he was sleeping.” “You kissed him, didn’t you?”
I gave him a frown. “You say that like you knew I would.” I wagged a finger back in his direction. “Dirty old man.”
“It’s good for him. Let him start thinking about the good stuff in life. That’ll give him a reason to live.” Puppa chuckled.
“I’d probably be okay with it if I’d gone in there as myself. But I don’t want him fantasizing about some chick with black
hair.”
“Come on,” Puppa said, grabbing my hand and practically skipping out the door with me. “We did enough damage for one day.”
24
Safe in the truck, Puppa and I shared a laugh attack bordering on hysterics. Brad. I was so happy to see him again-even kissed him-but at the same time, so devastated at his condition.
Puppa wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. “Good grief. I haven’t had this much fun since… well, since last time you were here. You sure know how to show a guy a good time.”
“It’s great to be back. Gosh, I missed you… and Brad.” I used the edge of my coat to dry my face.
“I tell you what,” Puppa said, shaking his head, “I could never have predicted the amazing things that have happened this year. When you turned up last February,” he gulped with emotion, “I had no idea the blessings that would be showered on our lives.”
I squeezed my eyes closed, thinking of Brad’s fate. “I think I brought only darkness.”
“You are one of those people who bring light to the darkness.”
“Please. I can’t see how stumbling into a drug ring, stumbling over a dead body, almost getting my boyfriend killed, then stumbling out of here in four months or less could be considered bringing light to the darkness.”
“It’s that journey you’re on. Somehow you allow others to see their own darkness. Once they’re aware of it, they can’t ignore it anymore. They have to embrace it, or step into the light.”
“Well, I’m no Gospel Queen if that’s what you’re getting at.”
“Not at all. People see you seeking God and that gives them hope that maybe God can love them too.”
I crossed my arms and humphed. “I’m not sure that’s a compliment.”
Puppa gave a chuckle. “Yeah, that didn’t exactly come out right.” He gripped the steering wheel with enthusiasm. “Patricia, you have no idea how those few short months changed all our lives. I thanked God every day when you were with us.” He glanced over at me. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised he brought you back from the dead. Obviously you have more good works up your sleeve.”
I snorted. “Where do you come up with this stuff? I’m totally useless as a Christian. I’ve broken every commandment and then some.”
“That kind of honesty is what makes you so priceless. You accept that God loves you just the way you are. Flaws and all.”
“Sheesh. Do I have a choice? How do you point out to your creator that he made a piece of junk? I don’t think he wants to hear that. Sounds like an insult to me. I mean, I once had a guy walk through one of my renovation projects and point out all the bumps in the drywall, as if those minor flaws somehow negated the incredible beauty of the home. I don’t even want to tell you what I did to him.”
Puppa swung his face my way, eyes bulging.
“Oh, my gosh,” I said quickly. “Nothing like that. I just gave him a piece of my mind and threw him out.”
I leaned back and looked at the passing scenery. The sun poked out from behind thick white clouds, giving the woods a dusting of diamonds as the rays hit ice on branches.
“There’s nothing like winter in the U.P.,” I said, caught up in the view.
“Too warm for you in California, was it?” Puppa asked.
“Too warm in lots of ways.”
The sun disappeared behind the clouds, returning the world to dull gray. I wondered how Celia was faring. And Portia. For a moment I wished there could be two of me.
I stared at my hands. I hadn’t brought light to Del Gloria. I’d brought darkness to that world. It would take time to get over the guilt. If Celia died, maybe I’d never get over it.
I swallowed hard and aimed my misery at a new topic. “So what am I supposed to do about Samantha and Joel in my house? I can’t see throwing them out with a baby on the way. But, come on, it’s my home.”
“Let’s keep the return of Patricia Amble under wraps awhile longer until we can weed out any threats on your life.” He gave me a look. “Now that you’re alive again, someone might actually try to kill you.”
Puppa turned toward Port Silvan. “If we could keep it quiet, the deed could be reversed, and maybe Samantha and Joel can rent it from you. They love it there. They’ve turned it into a happy home for themselves.”
I bit my lip and squelched a tear with my fist. “Yeah. They seem happy. I guess I’ll have to think about it.”
We passed the driveway. VALENTINE’S BAY LODGE, the sign said. Wish I’d have thought of turning the place into a bed-and-breakfast.
Puppa kept his focus on the road, somehow knowing I’d lost the mood for fun and games.
The truck slowed to take the curve at Cupids Creek.
“Tell me more about Brad,” I said. “He used to love life. What happened?”
“You died.”
“Then it makes sense he’ll be fine now that I’m not dead anymore.” Through hovering tears, farmhouses drifted past like ghosts.
“Let’s take it slow. I liked his reaction today. That’s the most life I’ve seen in him since the accident.”
“Yeah,” I said in a wry voice, “there’s nothing wrong with his lungs.”
“But, Patricia,” Puppa said, serious, “I’ll warn you right now. Don’t get your hopes up. If Brad decides not to pull out of this, you may have to accept that choice and move on.”
I shook my head in stubborn denial. “That’s not going to happen.”
Puppa turned down the drive to the lake house. “I hope not. I really hope not.”
That night, in the upstairs bedroom farthest from the stairs, I snuggled under a pink ruffled bedspread and tried to focus on the downward spiraling days of Edmond Dantès, now the vengeful Count of Monte Cristo. I scarcely felt sorry for him as he finagled an invitation to see his lovely Mercedes, now married to another man. But when the envious Count conjured up a despicable plot against Mercedes’ son, I slammed the book closed, going for my journal instead.
On paper, I relived the day’s events, wiping away tears as I wrote of Brad’s shattered life. Reading over the account, I became more determined than ever to be an instrument of change for Brad. He had done the same for me. He had loved me when I’d loathed myself. He’d had faith in me even though I acted untrustworthy. Now it was my turn to demonstrate unfaltering love.
I yawned. The words blurred in my sleep-deprived eyes. I set the journal on the bedside table and turned out the light. But my mind fought the solace of dreams, instead lingering in Brad’s bedroom at River’s Edge, tracing the lines of his face and revisiting the touch of his lips. I drifted to sleep, imagining I was safe in his arms.
25
I woke the next morning excited to talk strategy with Puppa and pin down our plans to revive Brad to the land of the living. I dressed in layers to combat the nippy temperature in the drafty old house, then raced downstairs for a cup of hot coffee.
The sun rose bright over the icy bay, splashing light the color of hope against the walls. Puppa took a sip of coffee. “Don’t forget what we talked about,” he said, caution in his voice. “I’ve been dealing with this situation a long time. We’ve tried everything. Brad may not be as happy as you think to find out you’re alive… and that you’ve seen him in that condition. In fact, it may just put him over the edge.”
“I know-you said that before. But that’s worst-case. He’s going to be so happy to see me. Just wait. When he realizes his physical condition doesn’t have anything to do with my love for him, he’ll work toward recovery. He’ll want to get better so we can be together.”
Puppa tapped fingers to his lips. “This isn’t some fairy tale where you kiss the prince and he magically comes back to life. It’s real. Real tragedy. Real heartache. You need to accept the fact that Brad may never recover. He may never be part of your happily ever after. I’m already sorry I brought you over there.”
I shook my head. “You’re right. Life’s not a fairy tale. It’s real. Real love. Real hope. Real miracles. Those
are the facts I’m going to accept.”
“Then you’re setting yourself up for real disappointment.” “I’m willing to take that chance. I have to take that chance, because if I give up on Brad, I give up on myself. Then I’ll die too.”
Puppa stared at some distant place. Then with an abrupt humph, he stood. “I just don’t want to see you get hurt. I’ve been where you’re at. Love isn’t always enough to save someone.” He stomped toward the kitchen.
I shrugged it off and drank my coffee. There would be no tears, only laughter this time around for me and Brad.
Later that morning, Puppa presented me with a box of stuff salvaged from the lodge.
“Sam thought I’d want this. It’s all the stuff you left behind when you died.”
I fished through the oversized bin, which contained my purse, complete with wallet, checkbook, and credit card; the passport I’d gotten years ago for the day when I could finally take that trip to a remote beach in the Fiji Islands; an album of before-and-after shots of my various projects; a couple keepsakes from my youth; and Konrad the Clown, my seventh grade sewing project. The poor guy was showing his age, with one button-eye missing and worn patches on the tube socks that formed his legs and arms.
I raised my arms in a questioning shrug. “So where are my tax records and receipts?”
He looked at the floor. “Sam figured you couldn’t be audited if you were dead, so she shredded them.”
“Great.”
“I think you have a pretty good excuse. Don’t fret over it. Here,” he said, throwing me a set of keys.
I caught them in one hand. “What are these for?”