I Know the Plans

by Melissa Wardwell

  “He has a long road ahead of him if he pulls through, Mrs. Jones. With a head trauma like this, we just don’t know how he will respond until he is wakes. He will remain under sedation until he arrives in Michigan. The doctors there will take over.”

  “Thank you, Sergeant Gardner,” she managed to respond. “I appreciate it. You have given me hope.”

  “Best of luck to you. I hope it all works out.”

  Tiffany hung up the phone, knelt to the floor and let tears fall. Her soldier was coming home.

  It took several moments to calm herself. A list of all that had to be done before she could bring him home moved through her mind like the credits at the end of the movie. He would need a quiet house. The repairs needed to be complete before she could bring him to the house. Then questions about head traumas ticked through.

  Voices of her friends and family hummed around in the other room. When she walked into the kitchen, she was greeted by her parents as well as Brad’s. It was a good thing the rooms were done upstairs.

  “Oh, sweetie!” her mom cried. “You look like you haven’t slept in weeks.” The air left her lungs as her mother embraced her.

  Tiffany caught a glance at Ryan and mouthed, “Help me.”

  “Well, Mom, she probably hasn’t,” Ryan intercepted.

  Hannah pulled back, “I suppose not. I am so sorry you have to go through this.”

  Brad’s mother, Karen, stepped forward with his dad, Max, close by. “How are you doing, dear?” Her embrace, being gentler, was a welcomed reprieve.

  “Probably about as well as you have been.” Tiffany pulled back to look into her eyes. “You and Max must be going out of your mind. I hope the drive here was uneventful.” Max drove a semi truck for an oil company based out of Texas making it difficult for them to visit.

  “It has been difficult for sure,“ Max stated. “Sounds like we arrived in time. Do you have news?”

  She had everyone gather in the partially staged living room while she busied around the kitchen. Ever the hostess, she grabbed a serving tray out of the cupboard, a carafe to fill with coffee, mugs for each guest, and placed it all on the rolling serving cart she found at an antique shop. She prepped coffee and placed cream, half and half, sugar and stevia on the cart with the other items. The busy work gave her a minute to have a good cry as she moved from one station to the next. She figured she would give everyone the story once. Repeating it would be too difficult.

  Heavy steps sounded behind her. She heard them, but was too focused on her task that she didn’t acknowledge the person. When she almost ran into Ryder’s chest, she finally snapped to. He placed his hands on her shoulders to get her to stop. She did her best to ignore how the simple, strong touch affected her senses. She stepped out of his hold and set back to work.

  “What can I do for you, Ryder?” she asked in a clipped tone. Now that her eyes were opened to Ryder’s affections, she needed to put distance between them.

  “I’m worried about you.” He hadn’t moved from his place by the sink as he leaned against the newly installed counter.

  “Why?” She kept her hands busy, thumbing through cupboards to find cookies or something to serve with the coffee.

  “Because you’re… well, you’re my friend.”

  She paused at his words. She could hear the cover up in his voice. What had she gotten herself into? How could she have not seen it before? She searched for the right words to say to deflect him.

  She turned to face him, giving Ryder what she hoped was a convincing look. “I don’t need friends right now. I need my husband. I need him to come home so we can get back to being us.”

  He took a step toward her; she took one back almost knocking over the cart. Her heart broke for him as she watched his shoulders drop and concern shown on his face.

  “What if he doesn’t pull through? Who will be there for you? All of those people out there are hurting as much as you are.”

  She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “I don’t need to think about that right now. Now, I need you to help me finish this place up, so it is quiet when he gets home. I’ll probably be at the hospital a lot. I am counting on you. If you can’t keep it positive, don’t finish the job. Don’t come back. I need nothing. Prayers and hopeful attitudes are all that is needed. Can you do that?”

  She plastered on a stern look, hoping he got the point. He nodded that he understood.

  “Whatever you need of me, I’ll do. I’ll leave you to your family.” He walked to her at a pace that made it hard for her to back out of his way. She couldn’t hide the nervousness he ignited. In no time, he had her in his arms long enough to tell her he was there for her, short enough to keep it looking platonic. She knew better though. The change was clear to her now. He no longer saw her as a friend.

  He let her go and left the room. She could hear him saying good-bye and best wishes to her family as he left.

  “Get it together, girl. Your man is coming home.”

  The coffee maker indicated that it was done brewing as she took a calming breath. The mix of joy, excitement, and dread of the uncertain rattled around in her mind as she poured the coffee and pushed the cart out to the living room. There were prayers to pray and plans to make.

  CHAPTER 3

  TIFFANY WAITED FOR the nurse to call her back to Brad’s room. The sterile smell made her stomach roll as she passed the waiting room. The TV hanging on the wall flashed with images of rubble and smoke in some Middle Eastern village. The thought crossed her mind that it could be a village similar to where Brad and the others were stationed. The camera bounced as it scrolled over the carnage around the videographer. A body lay in an odd position as men ran past, frantic to save those who could be saved.

  No matter how she moved her head to avoid the images, they were in her mind. She scanned the room for the remote to turn the TV off. Unable to find what she desired, she dashed for the wall, reached behind the device and unscrewed the cable line. “Who would want to see that in a VA Hospital?” She turned to the rest of their friends and family who had joined her and she paced to the other side of the room. “I mean, really? That is the garbage that takes our loved ones from us. That is why so many are in hospitals like this. Why would anyone want to see what our soldiers have to look at when they go to work? Do they love the blood? The gore? The tears? We are surrounded by sick, demented people if that is the case, and we live in a nation that should be issuing straitjackets as well as rifles.” Her rant went without comment from her entourage or other patients. The struggle to keep her worry and frustration at bay was growing more and more difficult with each click of the clock.

  She caught sight of her brother slowly rise from his chair and make this way toward her. “Ryan, I don’t want your speeches or hugs,” Tiffany declared as he continued on his path with determination in his eyes. Ryan wrapped his arms around her, holding her in a bear hug she hated right now. She didn’t want him to hold her. She wanted her husband to hold her. She wanted to push and fight against him; yet, she knew it wouldn’t take much to knock him off his balance. Instead, her limbs turned to jelly and tears fell like a heavy rain.

  He hushed her as they began to sway. “Breathe, Sis. Brad needs you to hold it together. Just breathe.” His calm demeanor and gentle way alleviated her raging, broken heart.

  He was right, and she knew it. She’d had her meltdown, now it was time to pull it together. The fact that they rushed him home from Germany concerned her. Typically, they would have kept him. Not knowing was making her crazy.

  Ryan backed away, placed his hand on her shoulder and gave it a light squeeze, “You can do this. No matter what you are about to face, God will give you the strength you need to endure this trial. He has a plan even though none of this makes sense right now. Just trust Him to be with you both.”

  Ryan raised a brow to solidify his words and Tiffany nodded that she understood. It wasn’t what she wanted to hear, but it didn’t matter. God had this.

  Tiff
any went to a chair in the corner of the room and sat, more like dropped, in the seat. Everyone’s backs were to her. She didn’t want them there; she just wanted to be alone, but she wouldn’t begrudge them a single moment with him. They needed to see he was okay as much as she did, especially his parents. Tiffany’s thoughts swarmed, images flashed, and dreams broke on the floor in front of her. She was seeing the worst without knowing what the doctor had to say. She hadn’t even seen Brad, yet something in her, like a warning siren, told her things would never be the same. That the man that she kissed goodbye a few months ago would never return.

  The verse she stenciled on the wall of their little suite of rooms back home came to mind. “For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope.” The verse that followed then came to mind, “Then you will call upon me and come and pray to me, and I will hear you.”

  “I did that, Lord. I have trusted Your plan all my life. I feel like it is all a joke right now.”

  Her thoughts wavered with her faith. Nothing she had wanted for her life came to light, except for Brad. Now that she thought about it, meeting him wasn’t even in her plans.

  The plan was to graduate high school with honors. Then it was on to Kettering or MIT to rock the world with her wicked engineering style. Then she would find that man who would set her boisterous heart on fire, marry him, and have as many babies as the Lord would allow. She hadn’t planned on meeting that man in her first year of college. In her life plan, her husband was not in the military, but the day she met the brown haired, brown eyed, tan skinned corporal on the front porch of her brother and sister’s house, she knew she would have to alter those plans.

  Their courtship was like that of a great novel romance. They loved passionately and fought just as hard. It wasn’t difficult to let him break through her walls when he would melt her resolve with one look. A touch of his hand on her cheek would send waves of electricity through her body. Don’t even get her started on his kisses. The man was an expert for sure. It was that intoxicating chemistry that changed her life forever.

  One night, that was all it took; one night to let all her barriers down. One night to give in to four months of late night talks and sweet, intoxicating, mind-altering kisses.

  Motherhood was meant to be at least six years down the road, not at twenty-one, and not without a gold band on her right ring finger.

  “What do we do now?” she asked Brad as they stood in the bathroom of her parents’ home looking down at the drugstore pregnancy test. The joy of sharing a baby with such a wonderful man crashed with the realization that her dream of building skyscrapers might never happen.

  “What do you want to do?” She could hear the worry in his voice. He was returning to his platoon in a few more months after being on leave for almost a year to recover from injuries sustained overseas. She praised God that he hadn’t died, and it saddened her that it was the death of his friend, Sergeant Doug Matthews, Jill’s deceased husband, in the same explosion that brought him to the area.

  “Brad, I don’t know. This wasn’t supposed to happen; not yet at least.”

  Brad moved to stand behind her and encased her in his arms. She looked up at their reflections in the large mirror in time for him to place his hand on her abdomen while his other arm held her close across her shoulders and chest. Tears were streaming down her face as his eyes began to mist. The weak smile on his face gave her a small sense of peace.

  “I know it’s scary, Tiff, I just can’t help but be excited. I have an option for you, though this moves things up a little sooner than I planned.” He turned her to look at him, “I wanted to ask you this on the shores of Lake Michigan; not in a bathroom but…”

  She knew what was coming, she had wanted this too. Maybe a change in plans wouldn’t be too bad, not when she had the perfect man to hold her and share life with. They could work it all out.

  He took hold of her hand, and as she imagined the waves were crashing on the beach while the seagulls squawked overhead.

  “I love you more than anyone else in my life. I never thought that would be possible. And now that you are carrying my child, I couldn’t imagine feeling more full than I do now. No, it isn’t what we planned, so we will make the best go of it we can. So, Tiffany Marie Daniels, will you marry me?”

  She didn’t see the mirror or even the dated wallpaper on the bathroom walls. All she saw was the love pouring from the man who had made it easy to change her plans.

  “Yes, Brad, I will marry you.”

  They’d agreed to tell only her parents as they knew they would need their support. The embarrassment was too great. Her stance on premarital sex seemed no longer valid.

  A very small wedding was decided on as they didn’t want extra stress on Emma, it only being months since Ryan’s accident and rash choices. At the time, bitter anger was the emotion associated with her brother.

  Six weeks after the wedding, they stood in the middle of their new apartment, boxes scattered from one end of their place to another. She felt numb and alone yet still hopelessly in love with her husband.

  When they signed on the lease three days prior, Brad had received a call from his superior officer that they had a month to get affairs in order; he was going back to Baghdad. This was supposed to be a happy time for them, she was overflowing with tears instead. To top it all off, Tiff had been having some intense cramping. She hoped it would pass and it was just some of that stretching that her doctor had warned her about. She wasn’t sure how she was going to get through the rest of the pregnancy without Brad by her side. He would miss the ultrasound to confirm the gender of their firstborn.

  She had told him of her discomfort when they were packing, but kept the severity of it to herself. He watched her every move, ready to jump at the slightest intake of breath. His hovering was beginning to get on her nerves.

  That night, lying in his arms as he slept, Tiffany prayed. Something was wrong; she was afraid to get up and go to the bathroom for fear of what she would find. Eventually, she couldn’t hold on any longer.

  Slowly unfolding his arms, she crept from the bed and shuffled for the bathroom. A warning pricked her heart and she prepared herself for whatever was about to happen.

  Pain like no other seared through her womb. She cried out as she felt innocence leave her body. The thunder of Brad’s feet reverberated through the floor as he made his way to the door.

  “Honey?” he asked, “are you okay?”

  “No, just give me a minute.” Through the sobs and shaking hands, she held the sweetest thing that she would never know.

  Holding the thirteen-week-old baby in the palm of her hand, her heart shattered, and another wave of agony shook through her. She must have cried out, because Brad came through the door without her indicating that she was ready for him.

  He stopped in his tracks when he saw what she cupped. Looking to her for confirmation, she nodded to affirm. She didn’t have it in her to say anything.

  He inched toward her, slowly taking her in his strong arms, careful not to hurt the precious child in her palm. Unable to stand any longer, she sank to the floor with Brad following. They whispered prayers for the sweet baby and words of love to each other. It was all a fog.

  That little infant that was no bigger than a walnut was the first of many heartbreaks in their marriage. Now, the one beauty in her life was in a room beyond the double doors, possibly suffering and she couldn’t do a thing about it.

  “God, don’t take him. Please.”

  CHAPTER 4

  THE DOORS AT the end of the hall opened with such force that Tiffany jumped from her thoughts. The doctor stood in the center of the waiting room, clipboard in hand, and seriousness on his face.

  “Mrs. Jones?” a strong male voice called.

  Tiffany rose from her chair, fear of what he might have to say gripped her lungs. Seeing her hesitation, Ryan came beside her and took her hand.

  “I’m
Mrs. Jones.”

  “I am Sergeant Moore. I’m Sergeant Jones’ doctor.” He shook hands with each person who had come to surround her: Jill and Mike. Pastor and Mrs. Cross. Ryan and Emma. Max and Hannah. Then he shifted his attention to Tiffany. “So, your husband is settled in ICU for now, until we know more than what the scans are showing us. We are bringing him out of sedation at a slow pace. We don’t want to shock his system. You can come back and sit with him. Talk to him even. He can hear you. When asked questions, he is squeezing the nurse’s hand and his eyes are fluttering.” There was a collective sigh.

  Mike, the good doctor that he was, wanted to get down to the facts, “What did the scans show?” Mike, Ryan, and Brad were as close as brothers. She couldn’t blame him for asking before she could. If she was honest, she was numbed with fear and couldn’t think.

  Sergeant Moore pulled out a chart of the brain. “Your husband suffered a pretty bad blow to his head. Judging from the size and shape of the gash, we are guessing he hit his head on a rock or rubble. The results we got from the EEG showed some damage to the frontal lobe. That area houses memory functions like motor skills. As the healing process progresses, we will know more. His other injuries seem to be healing fine.”

  “What other injuries were there?” Max asked.

  “It looks like the bullet wounds he sustained are healed over though the x-rays we took show there are still a couple in place.” Tears fell from Tiffany’s eyes without warning as a repeat of images of the news report flashed.

  “Now, the most recent lacerations and breaks are the ugliest. His face took the brunt of many fists. He has six rib fractures, knife wounds to his arms and legs, and several contusions in various areas.” With each item listed a collective gasp or sob escaped those around her. “Mrs. Jones, your husband endured quite an ordeal at the hand of his captors. There are assumptions to what he suffered, but we have no idea how bad it was. I want you to prepare yourself, if you can, for a lengthy healing process, both mentally and physically. Obviously, one will take longer than the other.”