by Kim Watters
Samantha pulled up a chair next to the bed and sat down. “Mark called me. He heard it on the scanner. I would have come earlier but I just got off work.”
“That’s okay. I’m glad your husband wasn’t one of the paramedics. It probably would have freaked him out.”
“Nah. He’s a professional.” Concern laced Samantha’s voice as she reached over and picked up Ruth’s hand. The gentle contact soothed her. “So, what’s wrong? Why are you still here?”
“As a precaution. I took a pretty nasty blow to the head.”
“So that explains the bandage. Good. Now maybe you’ll get some much needed rest.”
“Right. Like that’s going to happen with the nurses checking on me all the time. You of all people ought to know better.” A tiny snort spilled through Ruth’s lips.
Samantha squeezed her fingers and hovered close to the bed like a mother hen. “Look. When they release you, I want you to stay with us for a few days, okay? I’ll get my shifts covered, and it will be like old times when we roomed together in nursing school.”
Ruth would probably get more rest if she went home, but she didn’t want to disappoint her friend. “That sounds awesome. Thanks for the offer.” Her gaze slid from Samantha’s face to the blank television screen and then back. Ruth had to know. She couldn’t really rest until she found out. “Can you do me a favor?”
“Sure. What do you need?”
“I need to know that Noah’s okay. He was the pilot.” Uncertainty arose, and Ruth’s eyes filled with tears.
Samantha’s expression softened. “You love him, don’t you?”
Ruth nodded.
“Let me go check for you. I’ll be right back.” Samantha rushed from the room.
Five minutes later, she returned, a small frown creasing her forehead. “He’s not here. You came in alone. Noah refused treatment at the scene, but Mark talked to one of the paramedics who said the pilot didn’t appear to have any injuries, so I’m guessing he’s okay. Look, I gotta run now. I want to stop by your house and grab some clean clothes for you. Call me when they release you, and one of us will come pick you up.”
“Thanks, Samantha. I will.”
Once her friend left, Ruth closed her heavy, sleep-laden eyelids. Where are you, Noah? I need you.
Noah’s footsteps dragged along the long corridor at eight o’clock the next morning. His entire body hurt, probably a residual effect from the accident and the long, uncomfortable stay in the waiting room chair downstairs. Somehow he’d managed to sleep, but no matter which way he turned, comfort eluded him. Was the discomfort more from the furniture or his mind’s inability to shut off the kaleidoscope of images that hunted him? The crash. The fire. An unconscious Ruth.
And the realization that he loved her.
Had she woken up yet? If the hospital staff downstairs knew, no one would tell him.
His feet rooted to the linoleum floor. What if she hadn’t make it? What if—Gasping for breath he leaned against the cold, unforgiving wall and closed his eyes. He didn’t know what scared him the most. His feelings for her or the idea that her injury was fatal. Or maybe it was both.
Nonsense. Ruth was okay. They wouldn’t let him see her if something bad had happened.
Dread crept in and attacked any progress he’d made. Images of that other hospital hall from three years earlier filled his brain. Could he handle this again? Nerves frayed, he almost punched a hole in the foam cup of coffee he carried.
Outside of room twenty-one, Noah froze. Ruth was inside. Could his heart take seeing her lying in a hospital bed? Could his brain allow him to walk away from her?
The uncertainty of the last twelve hours had only confirmed his decision. It had to be this way. He had to let her go. It was in her best interest. He couldn’t face the possibility of hurting her again. So why did he feel so rotten?
Gasping for air, he filled his lungs with the disinfectant-laden hospital air and trudged through the wide doorway. His gaze immediately went to the opposite side, to where the pristine bed waited to swallow the next patient. His attention lurched to the closest bed, where a motionless Ruth lay in a half-sitting position. With her eyes closed and the riot of blond curls haloing her pale face, she reminded him of a sleeping angel. Only a bandage on her forehead and the hospital gown signaled her close brush with death.
Nausea hit him full force.
“Ruth?” His whisper barely registered over the sound from the television, yet her eyelids fluttered open.
“Hi, Noah. I’m so glad you’re okay.”
Her smile lit up the room, and his darkness receded. Momentarily. Guilt reached out its sharp, merciless claws and grappled him again. “How are you feeling? How bad are you hurt?”
“I got nothing more than a few cuts and bruises and I’m sore, but I’ll heal. Keeping me overnight was simply a precaution. I’m waiting for the doctor to release me.” Her voice softened and sounded like melted butter on a homemade biscuit, which made him want to forget why he’d come and try to figure out how to start over. “Thanks to you, it wasn’t worse.”
“Here. I brought you a few things.” Uncomfortable at her seemingly herolike worship of him, Noah set the big vase of flowers on the tray table next to the water jug. Then he held out the cup in her direction before he put her overnight bag and laptop on the floor near the bed. “I know how lousy hospital coffee is so I walked down the street to the coffee shop. I made it just the way you like it.”
“Two creamers and one sweetener?” Her fingers touched his as she took the proffered cup. The inexplicable feeling that they belonged together clouded his thinking.
He reeled from the contact and moved away from the bed. “Yes.”
“Thanks, Noah. The flowers are beautiful, too. How did you know I prefer a mixed bouquet?”
“I saw the silk flowers on the shelf in your living room.” Noah shifted uncomfortably, yet his traitorous eyes continued to stare at Ruth. Somehow he’d never be able to look at another flower arrangement or a pink sweetener without thinking of how the woman in front of him had changed his life for the better.
“Oh. Would you like a seat?” Ruth motioned to the chair at the head of the bed.
“No, thanks. I won’t be here that long.”
Ruth’s smile dipped as she took a sip of her coffee. As she continued to stare at him over the lip of the cup, her eyes widened in confusion. “Why did you walk to the coffee shop, Noah? Why are you still in the same clothes? Are you hurt? Did you spend the night here, too? Samantha said you weren’t admitted.”
She filled the sudden silence while her fingers bunched the top sheet. “Of course. There’s got to be tons of paperwork to fill out. The plane’s a complete loss, isn’t it?”
Noah nodded. But the plane was the least of his worries. He had insurance. Getting through the rest of his life without Ruth was the real heartbreaking thought. He had to get out of here before he did something stupid—like confess his love.
“I’m so sorry. I know you loved that plane. But the important thing is that we all survived. I heard on the early news that the glider pilot is okay. He parachuted to safety after impact.” Ruth stretched out her arm but let it drop to her side.
Noah shifted his weight. “I’d also heard that.”
He wanted to lean forward and kiss her again. He wanted to feel the softness of her lips against his as he’d felt on the tarmac at Rio Salado City. Except if he kissed her again his resolve would waver. He couldn’t risk it.
“Is there something bothering you?” Ruth’s fingers tightened around the cup. Coffee sloshed though the tiny hole and spilled onto her hand.
Looking for a way to keep busy, Noah grabbed a tissue from the box on the tray and dabbed her fingers, the scent of coffee overriding the lingering odor of disinfectant. His voice wobbled under the strain of his words. “I’m sorry, Ruth. I came to apologize.”
As her hand stilled on his, he lost himself in the depths of her eyes. He wanted to memorize every detai
l of her. Today her irises were a murky moss-green and filled with confusion.
“Apologize for what?”
“For the accident. I promised to keep you safe, and I failed.” His voice cracked.
Groaning slightly, Ruth pushed herself up in the hospital bed and stared up at him, her eyebrows pulled together in a frown. “How can you say that? The accident was just that. An accident. You had no control over what the other pilot did or didn’t do.”
Noah shoved a hand through his hair and stepped back from the bed. He couldn’t stop the accident scene from replaying in a continuous loop inside his head. “That doesn’t matter. I take full responsibility. I should have seen it coming.”
“This is ridiculous, Noah, and you know it. Next thing you’ll be telling me is that our friendship is off.” Ruth closed her eyes, placed her fingers to her forehead and then began to rub.
Stricken, Noah could only nod. It had to be this way. He couldn’t take the added responsibility of loving Ruth and losing her. Pain radiated from his heart. “It has to be this way. Don’t you understand?”
“No, I don’t. I care bout you, Noah Barton.” She pulled the covers off and gingerly moved her legs to the side of the bed. Noah stood, frozen to the square piece of linoleum as Ruth wrapped the hospital blanket around her shoulders and walked toward him.
She anchored her arms around his waist and rested her head against his chest. He reciprocated. Holding her was right, but that was where it had to end. Savoring the moment to remember for later, he rested his chin against the crown of her head. Their hearts beat together, united. Untwining her arms, he picked her up and gently carried her back to the hospital bed and set her down on the white sheets. He pulled the covers over her, his fingers grazing the softness of her cheek.
Tears filled her eyes as she stared up at him. He was shutting her out. “Don’t do this, Noah. Don’t you at least care about me a little?”
Refusing to answer, he turned and stumbled from the room.
The scent of vanilla wafted from the lit candle next to Ruth’s computer monitor while the light sound of jazz played from the built-in speaker. The stillness of her house at eight o’clock on a Tuesday evening settled around her in a comfortable familiarity. Cradling her head between her hands, she stifled a yawn. Four days had passed since the accident, three days since she’d been released from the hospital, and yet she still ached.
Now she understood why people said they’d felt like they’d been hit by a semitruck. She knew firsthand and groaned as she stretched her arms over her head. Maybe she should have spent another night at her friend’s house. At least Samantha’s four-year-old daughter, Kylie, had kept Ruth entertained.
Ruth needed to get back to work. The inactivity grated on her type A personality. It would also keep her mind occupied so she could forget about Noah.
Grief clung to her and refused to release her from its grasp. She’d chosen wrong again. Beyond tired, she wondered if her job or even remaining in Arizona was really all worth it. Worth the sleepless nights, the odd hours and the aggravation of too few organs for everyone that needed them. So far, no heart had become available for Marissa, and time was running out. The little girl had taken another turn for the worse, and there was nothing short of a miracle that could change it.
Ruth stared at the bulletin board on the opposite wall where she’d hoped to place Marissa’s picture some day. A collage of pictures of survivors stared back at her. The smiling Tabitha, with blond hair and chubby cheeks. Nathaniel, the Asian boy standing on a dock next to what looked like his brother. And then there was Claudia, the baby with the big blue eyes in a pink onesie that read “Mommy’s little blessing.”
A gift from heaven. A tear trickled down Ruth’s cheek.
Each one of these children had one thing in common.
Each one carried a donor organ.
An organ she’d help place.
Ruth’s hand touched the butterfly bracelet around her wrist. Her near brush with death last week had made her more aware of how precious life was and how it could abruptly change.
Ruth stared at a photo of her and Rachel on her antique desk. Even though they were identical twins, most people had no problem telling them apart. Rachel had always been the paler, skinnier twin, more fragile because of her disease.
Ruth’s fingers grazed the surface of the frame as if trying to reach back in time to touch her sister again. Rachel’s curly blond hair had blown in the slight breeze as they’d puttered around in their tiny rowboat on Bragg’s Lake near the Wisconsin Dells. The sun shone brightly, sparkling off the tiny waves. The lapping water against their boat had been rhythmic and soothing.
This Indian summer day in early September had been their last day on the lake together. Rachel had grown too weak to go out in the boat, and by the next summer, she was gone.
Sometimes just looking at her sister’s picture was more than Ruth could bear. A steady stream of tears coursed down her cheeks. The box of tissues by the phone remained untouched. It was almost as if Ruth needed to purge herself instead of hiding everything behind a wall of efficiency.
When her sister died, the fragile string that connected them together unraveled. She hadn’t felt complete until she’d fallen in love with Noah. Judging by his lack of communication since she’d left the hospital, he hadn’t changed his mind.
Noah’s image dallied in her consciousness. She ached at the haunted shadows beneath his eyes. She cried even harder at the image of the way the crow’s feet deepened when he dared to laugh. His tender kiss after she’d lost her first donor had made her feel loved and cherished.
She loved a man who couldn’t let himself love her in return.
Her gaze strayed back to the picture in the gray metallic frame embedded with rhinestones. She couldn’t help Rachel now, but she helped other children and adults. She helped spare other parents and siblings the anguish and despair over losing a loved one.
A viselike grip tightened over her heart. Was Ruth reliving the past? Was she so focused on what had happened that, like Noah, she’d had difficulties putting it all behind her? Was that what the pictures scattered across her wall were all about?
Dropping her head to rest on the scarred surface, Ruth sighed in frustration as her fingers curled into balls. She banged them on the desk, upsetting her desk organizer. Several paper clips jumped out and scattered across the top, the noise upsetting the stillness of the night. Her monitor woke from its screen saver, the blinking cursor inside the search box signaling for her to input information.
What information?
That Ruth was a fraud? That her undying need to help others was really just a way for her to stay in the past instead of dealing with her real issues like letting her sister’s memory rest? Because Noah wasn’t the only one with past issues, pretending to go through daily living.
Maybe she shouldn’t have been so set against going to therapy when her parents had suggested it. Maybe she could have worked through her issues instead of pushing them away. More tears followed the path made by the ones before.
Did she still have it in her to be an organ donation coordinator? If Marissa didn’t make it, she didn’t know if she could stand it anymore. Was this what burnout felt like? She’d heard it happened, but usually around the three-year mark.
Forcing herself from the office, she retreated to the kitchen to grab a pint of chocolate ice cream from the freezer. Her bare feet slapped against the tile floor all the way to her couch. Gingerly, she lowered herself onto the soft surface and sank down onto the cushions. Sorting through the mail that had somehow manifested into a pile on her coffee table, she spied the annual invitation to the donor/recipient family picnic sponsored by Arizona Organ Donor Network scheduled for this coming weekend.
Her hands trembled as she slid open the flap and took the slip of paper out. As she read over the words, her earlier frustrations disappeared. She still had more coordinations in her.
Okay, Lord. I get it. You’re no
t going to let me give up, are you?
Saturday afternoon at the large park in central Phoenix, Noah wiped his damp palms across his jeans as he leaned against a palm tree. It wasn’t the heat from the sun shining through the fronds that made him hot and uncomfortable. The day had dawned mild, a sure sign the summer furnace-like temperatures stretched out behind them like an endless dream. Nor did the park filled with strangers cause his hands to shake. No. Only the ten-year-old girl that had agreed to meet him at the donor/recipient family picnic could have that affect on him.
He felt the urge to run until his legs burned and his lungs hurt with exertion. And keep going until he couldn’t run anymore from the people, the park and the evidence that God did work miracles on Earth through people like Ruth. But he couldn’t run from his memories, or his emotions or his faith anymore.
He bowed his head and prayed. Lord, give me strength. You’ve brought me this far. Please be with me when I meet Jessica.
He tested and tasted the words again. It was like riding a bike. He’d wobbled at first, rusty from disuse, and at times like now, he could use some training wheels. Or Ruth. But he’d made his decision in the hospital not to see her anymore and had even pulled himself off rotation for any calls from AeroFlight. He’d almost killed her. His heart just wasn’t strong enough to continue to love her and lose her like he’d almost done.
Staying against the tree, he stared at the pigeon strutting around the garbage can off to his left. Occasionally, the gray bird would find something interesting to peck at, and more pigeons fluttered to the ground. The biggest one stared up at Noah with a beady eye as his head dipped up and down, searching for an elusive crumb left behind by some picnic goer. A quick glance at his watch told him that in a few minutes his life would be altered again—but in a more positive way.
He glanced at his watch again. Doubt filled him, and he wished Ruth would be by his side when he met Jessica for the first time. Maybe he shouldn’t have been so hasty in his decision.
He missed Ruth. And with a blinding certainty, he realized that he needed her in his life. Going through life alone was far worse than taking another chance on love. And he knew without a doubt that he loved her.