by Irene Hannon
“Amy? Tim. Round up Heather. We need to get to the hospital right away.”
Ever since Tim had driven their father to the hospital yesterday for tests, Amy had been on tenterhooks. And a visit with her father last night hadn’t reassured her one iota. He’d looked pale and drawn and far weaker than he had just a couple of days before. Although she’d tried all day to concentrate on her work while they waited for the results, it had been a losing battle. The minutes had seemed like hours, the hours like weeks. By the time morning gave way to afternoon, she felt as if she’d been at work for a year. By late afternoon, she couldn’t even sit at her desk anymore. She’d tried to brace herself for bad news, but she realized now that she wasn’t as prepared as she’d thought. Her stomach clenched, and every nerve in her body seemed to tense in unison.
“Tell me what’s going on.” She tried to keep her voice calm, but a quiver ran through it.
“Mom just called from the hospital. Dad’s been readmitted. Dr. Strickland is on his way from Nashville, and he wants to have a family conference.”
“What’s the problem?”
“I’m not sure. No one at the hospital is talking. I’ve already called Chris. He’ll meet us there. Find Heather and meet me out front. I’ll drive.” The line went dead.
The short trip to the hospital was silent, as was the ride up in the elevator. Heather looked like she was about to cry, and Amy reached over to squeeze her hand as the door slid open. But her sister was so distraught she didn’t seem to notice.
When they reached Wallace’s room, Chris was standing near the foot of the bed, one shoulder propped against the wall, his arms folded across his chest, his expression grim. Nora sat beside Wallace, her face almost as pale as her husband’s. Amy and Heather went at once to Wallace’s side, bending down to kiss his forehead, while Tim waited his turn.
“Hi, Dad.” Heather’s voice was tremulous.
“We came as soon as Tim called,” Amy added.
Wallace shook his head. “My word, you’d think I was going down for the third time. Who’s watching the store?”
Her father’s attempt to lighten the atmosphere only tightened Amy’s throat. “It can survive on its own for a few hours,” she responded, trying to emulate his example but not quite pulling it off. As Heather moved closer and began to converse with their father, Amy stepped back. “Any news?” she asked Chris in a low voice.
“Not yet. Strickland said he’d be up as soon as he reviewed the results.”
For the next half hour, the Hamiltons made a heroic effort to conduct a normal conversation. But their collective anxiety wasn’t conducive to small talk, and as the minutes ticked by, the stress level in the room inched higher and higher until it was almost as thick as the summer humidity in the Cumberland River valley. And Luke Strickland’s solemn face, when he stepped into the room, did nothing to dispel it.
“Is everyone here?” As usual, he wasted no time on chitchat, but got right to the point. Amy had appreciated that straightforward approach up until now. Today, though, she almost wished he’d ease into the bad news. But her wish went unfulfilled.
“Everyone who’s going to be,” Tim responded.
The doctor gave a curt nod and closed the door. Despite his sometimes brusque manner, Amy was glad that her father was under his care. Luke Strickland might be young—late thirties, she estimated—but despite his age, he was the best. She was grateful he was Wallace’s physician, and even more grateful that he had been willing to drive up from Nashville to deal with this crisis.
“Okay, here’s what we’ve got,” he said, his tone clinical. “Mr. Hamilton, the blood tests you had yesterday indicated that your white blood cell count is down. I had suspected that might be the case. That’s why I ordered a few other tests as well. One of those revealed a fungal infection in your lungs. They aren’t uncommon in bone marrow transplant patients during the first three months after surgery, but those that occur in the lungs are more worrisome because they can lead to pneumonia. We don’t want to deal with that complication. That’s why I want to keep you here until we get this under control. We’ll begin treating you with amphotericin, which is a very powerful drug with a number of potential side effects, including headache, fever, muscle pain, fatigue and chills.”
“Can’t I just take this medicine at home?” Wallace asked.
“It’s administered through an IV. And we need to monitor you closely while you’re on it. I mentioned some of the common side effects. There are other more serious complications we’ll need to watch for, as well, including cardiac irregularities, breathing difficulties, blurred vision and seizures, to name a few. We’ll be drawing blood twice a day and keeping a close eye on kidney function, at least for the first two weeks you’re on the drug. Does anyone have any questions?”
Too numb to respond, Amy surveyed her siblings. They all appeared to be as shocked by the turn of events as she was. And just as unable to think of anything intelligent to ask. Other than the obvious question, of course. And no one seemed to be brave enough to voice that one. Except Nora. Despite her fragile-looking appearance, her mother had always had the courage and strength to face the truth and meet problems head-on.
“Does this infection indicate that the transplant isn’t working, Doctor?” Nora’s voice was calm, but anxiety stretched the skin tautly across the fine bone structure of her face as she braced herself for the response.
Dr. Strickland turned toward her mother, and there was an almost imperceptible softening in his manner. “No, Mrs. Hamilton. Not at all. The infection is a result of all the post-transplant antibiotics your husband has been taking. Those drugs are necessary to reduce the risk of bacterial infection. But they also destroy beneficial bacteria that keep fungi in check. So far, we’ve seen nothing to indicate that the transplant hasn’t been a success. As we discussed before the surgery, however, it can take up to a year for bone marrow to function in a normal manner. That’s why we need to monitor patients with great care during that period.”
Her mother’s relieved expression, and the doctor’s clear explanation, eased Amy’s mind. Although her father wasn’t out of the woods, and pneumonia was a serious threat, at least the transplant wasn’t failing. She felt confident that everything that could be done was being done. All she could add to the mix was prayer. And she knew her parents, Heather and Chris would be doing their part on that score as well.
“Doctor, could stress have lowered Dad’s resistance? Contributed to this problem by making him more susceptible?”
From Tim’s question, it was obvious he was still blaming Jeremy for Wallace’s latest health crisis. But at least the doctor’s reply discouraged him from that line of thought.
“Unlikely. There’s a very basic medical explanation for this. Beyond that, it would be hard to establish any causal links.”
Amy shot Tim a reproachful look, but he responded with a defiant lift of his chin.
“Now I would suggest that all of you go back to your normal routine and let your father get some rest. He’s had a trying day.” Dr. Strickland addressed this comment to the siblings.
“Thank you for making the trip from Nashville, Doctor.” Nora extended her hand.
Dr. Strickland took it in both of his and gentled his voice. “And you get some rest, too, or we’ll have another patient on our hands.”
“He’s right, Mom. I’ll stay a while. You go on home,” Amy offered.
“I don’t want to leave your father just yet.”
“At least go have something to eat,” the doctor urged.
“Good idea.” Tim stepped forward. “I’ll take you out for dinner, Mom. Amy will stay with Dad.”
Just then Ethan appeared in the doorway. Heather was beside him in an instant, and he wrapped his arms around her.
“Sorry I’m late. I didn’t get your message until fifteen minutes ago,” he murmured into her hair.
“Okay, Heather has a ride home.” At Tim’s comment, Amy shook her head. Her broth
er, the detail man. “Chris?” Tim continued.
“I’m officially still on patrol.”
“We’re set, then. Amy stays, Mom eats with me, the rest of you go back to your routine. Let’s head out.”
No one argued. Once Typhoon Tim was on a roll, there was no stopping him. Even Wallace didn’t challenge his plan. One by one they said their goodbyes, until only Amy and her father were left. She sank into the chair beside his bed and took a deep breath.
“Tim should have been a drill sergeant,” she commented.
“Takes after the old man, I guess.”
“You’re being too hard on yourself.”
“No, I’m not. But sometimes I’ve been too hard on the people who worked for me. As well as my children.”
At the regret in his voice, Amy wondered if he was thinking of Jeremy. She waited, but he said no more. His eyelids had drifted closed, and she was struck anew by the realization that this once powerful, tough, demanding but always fair man, who had led the Hamilton family with strength and courage, who had tackled innumerable business challenges and always emerged on top, was now facing the biggest battle of his life. Amy had always thought of her father as invincible. But as he lay spent and pale in the hospital bed, she was reminded that no one is indestructible. And as she sat beside him and watched him sleep, she prayed yet again that the Lord would see them safely through the troubles that the family now faced.
When Nora returned, Amy stood and met her at the door. “He’s been sleeping since you left,” she whispered.
“I’m glad. He needs the rest. You go on home, dear. You’ve had a couple of long days yourself.”
“You should go home, too, Mom.”
“I will. Tim’s coming back for me in an hour or two.”
“Would you like me to stay with you?”
Nora smiled. “No. You go on home. Being managing editor of Nashville Living is demanding, and you won’t be able to do your usual stellar job if you’re tired. The best thing we can do for your father now—besides pray—is make sure the business he loves doesn’t falter in his absence.”
Her mother was right. Conceding the point, Amy leaned over and hugged Nora. “You’ll call me if you need anything, right?”
“Of course, dear. Good night.”
As Amy emerged from the elevator into the lobby a few minutes later, she noted that the autumn evening was pitch-dark already. Winter would be upon them before they knew it. There was even a slight chill in the air, producing a tingle that warned of cooler air soon to follow, she realized, as she stepped outside. Later tonight, it would get quite a bit colder. But right now, the fresh, clean air was invigorating after the antiseptic hospital smell that they’d become all too familiar with over the past few months. She walked toward the parking lot, inhaling deep, cleansing breaths, as if…
All at once her step faltered, and then she came to an abrupt stop. What on earth had she been thinking? She didn’t have her car! In all the excitement, it seemed no one, including her, had remembered that she’d gotten a ride with Tim.
Dismayed, Amy planted her hands on her hips and considered her options. She could call one of her siblings. But Chris was still working, Heather was with Ethan, and Tim was no doubt back at the office trying to catch up on the work he’d missed in the past couple of days. She could call a cab, she supposed. But it might take a while for one to arrive. Or she could walk. Her fashionable pumps with their slender three-inch heels weren’t exactly designed for long-distance hiking, but it wasn’t all that far to The Enclave. Besides, a walk might clear her head, help her relax, she decided, striking out.
The first few blocks were no problem; in fact, she enjoyed herself. Just as she’d hoped, the fresh air worked wonders. She’d been depressed when she’d left the hospital, but her attitude improved with every step and every breath. Until her feet started to protest.
By the time she reached Sugar Tree Park, just a few blocks from home, she was almost limping. She headed toward the first bench she saw and sank onto it, reaching down to ease off one shoe and massage her foot. If a cab appeared, she decided she’d flag it down, despite the short remaining distance. Even another block was more than she could face in these shoes.
As Amy turned her attention to her other foot, she recalled Nora telling them as children that there was a price for vanity. Amy didn’t think she’d been talking about footwear, but the axiom fit, nonetheless. One of her first orders of business when life slowed down—if it ever slowed down—was to buy some sensible shoes, she resolved.
In the meantime, she’d manage to get home, her protesting feet notwithstanding. Only not just yet. She’d give herself ten minutes first, even though she knew that brief rest wasn’t going to make the final few blocks any easier to traverse.
The woman seated on the park bench was in shadows for the most part, but something about her posture caught Bryan’s attention. It wasn’t only the slumped, weary lines of her body that caused him to take a second look. It was just that she seemed…familiar.
As he drew closer, Bryan slowed his car and squinted at the dim figure. Just then, she raised her head, and her blond hair glinted in the streetlight. It was Amy! What in the world was she doing sitting in Sugar Tree Park at—he checked the digital clock that glowed on his dashboard—seven-thirty at night, holding her shoe?
A wave of concern washed over him. Although the light was far too dim to read her expression, he had a feeling that if he could look into her eyes, he’d see discouragement and fatigue in their depths. That shouldn’t surprise him, he supposed, given all the problems in the Hamilton family. But it still didn’t explain why she was here in the dark alone on a cool fall evening…still in her work clothes, he realized. Unless something else had happened.
Her personal affairs weren’t any of his business, of course. Maybe she’d just needed some time by herself. And she was only a few blocks from The Enclave. She could be home in a matter of minutes. Still, for safety reasons alone he didn’t like the fact that she was sitting in a deserted park in the dark. Davis Landing had a very low crime rate, but it wasn’t utopia. Bad things did happen on occasion. And he didn’t want one of them to happen to Amy.
As he debated how best to proceed, she slipped her shoe back on and stood. Perhaps the thing to do was follow her home, at a safe distance. That way he wouldn’t intrude, but he could assure himself that she arrived there without incident. Yes, he decided, that was a good plan.
At least it was—until she started to walk and he noticed that she seemed to be limping.
Trashing his original plan, Bryan put the car in gear, made a U-turn and pulled up alongside her, easing his window down as he came to a stop. “Amy?”
Her step slowed and she peered into the dim interior of the car. At the sight of Bryan’s face, she almost wept with relief. They might not be on the best of terms, but surely he’d give her a ride home.
As if reading her mind, he reached across and pushed open the passenger door. “You look like you could use a lift.”
Without hesitation, Amy stepped off the curb. “I think I know how the Israelites felt when they came upon the manna from heaven,” she told him as she slid onto the seat and summoned up a weary smile.
An answering smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t think I’ve ever been compared to manna before.”
“Trust me, it’s a compliment. You saved my life. I wasn’t sure I was going to make it to The Enclave.”
He eyed her sling-back pumps with their high, slender heels. “Walking home from work in those kind of shoes probably isn’t the best idea.”
“I wasn’t coming from work. I’ve been at Community General.”
“You walked all the way from Community General?” He turned to stare at her.
“It’s not that far.”
“It is in those shoes.”
She couldn’t argue with that. “I guess I wasn’t thinking too clearly.”
“Is everything all right?”
“No. Dad was readmitted today.” All at once her voice was soft and uncertain.
“Problems with the transplant?”
“No. But he’s developed a fungal infection in his lungs. According to his doctor, the antibiotics that kill the bad bacteria also kill the good ones that ward off infections like this. He’s worried this might lead to pneumonia.”
“I’m sorry.” He didn’t know what else to say. Medical problems and complications were all too familiar to him, and he’d done more than his share of time in hospitals. It was gut-wrenching, emotionally draining and totally disruptive. As a result of his experiences, Bryan had developed a very healthy appreciation for normal, everyday routine. Something that had been absent from Amy’s life for at least the past few months, he suspected.
“Thanks. Dad’s illness has been hard on everyone. Not to mention all of the other problems we’ve had to deal with.”
He darted another quick look in her direction. He’d noticed the faint blue smudges under her eyes when he’d first come back to Davis Landing, but they were even more prominent now. And he recognized them for what they were: visible evidence of stress and sleepless nights. His own face had looked like that on more than one occasion. Often for weeks at a time. He also knew that the invisible evidence was even more distressing. Taut nerves, knots in your stomach, grinding teeth. Yeah, he’d been there.
“What brings you to Davis Landing at night?”
Her question pulled him back to the present. “I had to drop Dylan off at a friend’s house for a sleepover. His first. I don’t know who was more anxious about it—him or me. I ended up sitting across the street in my car for half an hour before I could force myself to drive away.”
A brief smile flitted across her face. “He’ll do fine. He strikes me as a very bright, capable little boy.”
“He is.”
They were approaching The Enclave, and Amy turned to Bryan. “I appreciate the ride. I tried to focus on having dinner instead of thinking about my feet, but it wasn’t working. You came along at just the right time.”