Possibilities: A Contemporary Retelling of Persuasion

by Debra White Smith

  Fleetingly, Allie wondered how many minutes would lapse before Aunt Landon had the scoop, and she just didn’t care. Allie had her man . . . the man of her dreams . . . her very own American hero. And nobody was going to stop them this time. Nobody!

  “Hey, Frederick!” Louise’s high-pitched call exploded into Allie’s victory. “What do you think of me now, huh?”

  She glanced in the direction of Louise’s voice and didn’t spot her for several seconds. Finally movement on top of the plane pulled Allie’s attention upward. There the willowy blonde stood, her hands on her hips like the queen of the airways. The wind tossed her hair in all directions, and she cocked her head at an arrogant angle.

  “Oh my word,” Frederick growled.

  A horrid sense of impending disaster shook Allie to the core.

  “You’re a jerk, Frederick Wently!” Louise screamed.

  “Louise!” Frederick yelled and dropped Allie’s hand. “Get down from there now!”

  Her face a mask of mockery, she bent forward and bellowed, “Wanna see me tap dance now? Do ya?” And she started a soft-shoe routine.

  Stunned, Frederick wondered if he was going to have to go up there and drag her off.

  The Groves and Helena scurried down the stairs. “She was crawling through the safety hatch, and we tried to stop her,” Charlie Grove declared with a “do something” look at Frederick.

  “Crazy woman!” Frederick moaned and raced toward the plane. “Get down now, Louise!” he commanded through clenched teeth.

  “No!” she said and flounced into a more intense tap dance session. “Not until you let me sit up front with you!”

  “You’re going to fall and break your neck!” Frederick hollered and wanted to choke himself for even suggesting there was an escape hatch.

  “No, I’m not,” she challenged. “Because you’re going to catch me.”

  “I can’t catch you, Louise Grove!” Frederick screamed. “Now get down before you get hurt!” He pointed downward and wondered if the woman had had any discipline at all growing up.

  “You caught me when I jumped off the picnic table,” she challenged. “You can catch me now.”

  He braced himself in case she did jump and wondered if his back would ever recover this time. “It’s too high. And remember, I’ve got a bad back.” He lifted his hands and imagined her toppling down the plane and hitting the concrete head first.

  Frederick shot a furtive glance toward the rest of the group. They were all imagining the same thing, if their expressions were anything to go by.

  “Come on and get down, Louise,” Jim coaxed. “You can ride by me, okay?”

  She eyed Jim for a few seconds and her hard expression eased, but soon she was back to Frederick and flaming furious once more. “I want to ride up front with Frederick, not you.” She crossed her arms, tapped her toe, and looked skyward.

  So far Louise had done nearly everything Frederick suggested. She’d crawled up on the plane, screamed about him, and tap danced. Now all that was left was breaking her neck. Horror mingled with ire.

  “Okay, okay,” Frederick acquiesced and didn’t even want to admit she’d won the control game. “I’ll let you ride up front for a while if you’ll just crawl back through the escape hatch.”

  “Okay!” she said with a smirk that said, I won! She lifted her chin and glared toward Allie.

  Frederick could only imagine what Allie was thinking.

  “Just be a good girl and crawl back down the way you came.” Martha’s maternal encouragement was all Louise needed.

  She turned around and took several baby steps toward the edge.

  Relaxing a bit, Frederick began walking around the plane. Once Louise got on the wing, he could help her down to safety and the whole episode would be over. Frederick rubbed his face and dreaded the thought of being chained to Louise Grove for life. The poor guy who did say “I do” had better be ready to have a tiger by the tail. He gazed toward the tower and shook his head.

  When a throaty scream ripped across the airport, Frederick stopped and looked at Louise. Wildly, she waved her arms and teetered toward the asphalt below. Her gaze met Frederick’s, and he recognized the raw panic ravaging her soul. The terror was genuine, and it was exactly what engulfed him in cold dread.

  The airport swayed. Frederick’s face chilled. He scrambled forward just as she tumbled onto the wing. Another ear-piercing scream accompanied her hitting her neck against the nacelle’s ridge. Then she toppled to the concrete in a silent heap.

  “Nooooo!” Martha’s shriek mingled with dismayed yelling as the rest of the group crowded Frederick.

  Stunned by the crumpled form, Frederick hustled forward and collapsed at her side while his own words pummeled his brain: I don’t care what you do. You can crawl through the escape hatch, tap dance on top of the plane, scream to the world about me, then fall off and break your neck, and it’s not going to make one shred of difference in my final decision.

  The family’s yelling and talking and confusion mingled with the war in his mind and became secondary to his need to know if she was alive. He kept telling himself that dead people usually have their eyes open in a blank stare—at least the ones he’d encountered in Afghanistan. Louise’s eyes were closed. He picked up her wrist, held his breath, and checked her pulse. Thankfully, her heart’s soft tattoo met his fingers, and her chest moved gently with the intake of air.

  “Don’t touch her! Don’t touch her!” Jim’s frantic cry penetrated Frederick’s horror. He looked up into the young doctor’s face and realized he was surrounded by a huddle of panic-stricken family members.

  Spreading his arms, Jim wedged himself between the family and Louise. “Somebody call 9-1-1!” he insisted.

  “I already did!” Allie’s urgent voice floated from outside the circle.

  Frederick stood and inched away from Louise, his stomach rolling. I shouldn’t have said what I did. How could I have been so cruel? I should have been faster. How could this have happened? Oh, Lord, please don’t let her neck be broken. Please, God, I take it all back!

  “The paramedics will need to stabilize her spine and neck before they move her,” Jim explained, his voice strong and sure. “If there’s a fracture, we can do more harm if we move her.”

  Martha Grove’s cry erupted from near Jim. “My baby!” she shrieked. “My baby! Oh, dear God, please tell me she won’t die!” Martha stumbled and Frederick jolted forward, but Charlie Sr. appeared from behind and stabilized his wife before she collapsed to her knees.

  A movement to the left snared Frederick’s attention. Macy was dragging herself up from the concrete and examining her knees. Allie, right at her side, was helping her stand. Macy must have tripped, he thought.

  “I’ve got a first-aid kit in my car,” Allie said.

  Frederick looked back at Martha’s flushed face as she hovered near Jim and peered at her unconscious daughter. Shaking his head, he backed away even farther. He’d told Louise he wasn’t scared of her. But right now Frederick’s fear was rising to epic proportions.

  “I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “I’m so, so sorry.”

  Twenty-Three

  Frederick paced the emergency room waiting area as he’d done years ago when Allie broke her leg. Ironically, this was the exact same hospital. Not much had changed, except this time the patient was Louise. And this time, the body part that was broken was her neck. Jim was right in his diagnosis. So were the paramedics. Their latest report from the ER X-rays validated their professional evaluation. The doctor also said Louise had yet to gain consciousness and was showing no signs of reflexes.

  Oh, Lord, help her, Frederick prayed and paused near the Coke machine. No one was saying “paralyzed” right now, but the word hung between them like an unspoken omen. Frederick well understood the hopelessness that diagnosis could bring. He’d been told he’d never walk again. The doctors said his sheer willpower had overcome the odds. Frederick knew there was a power much higher than his who had pl
ayed a vital part.

  He eyed the choices on the drink machine and pulled out two dollars. When the cold bottle of Coca-Cola thumped out, he retrieved it, unscrewed the lid, and guzzled a third of the liquid. The acidic burn brought a sting to his heavy eyes and a satisfying tingle to the back of his throat.

  But nothing could wipe away the horrid reality that this accident was his fault. He’d allowed Louise to believe he was interested in her so he could get closer to Allie. Last night he’d done a lousy job of explaining that they really weren’t in a relationship. Today he’d brutally given her the instructions for how to break her neck. And she’d done it. Like a small child, she was desperate for Frederick’s attention and willing to resort to anything—even tap dancing on top of a plane—to divert him from Allie. This only fueled Frederick’s awareness of her immaturity and his greater need to wisely handle the mess. So far his performance had been anything but wise.

  Frederick glanced toward the distraught family on the other side of the waiting room. Martha Grove’s forlorn sniffles and Helena’s less-controlled crying mingled with Allie’s gentle encouragement. Her shoulders hunched, Martha mopped at her face and nodded at whatever Allie was saying. Helena, on Allie’s other side, was piling up tissue and paid little attention to Allie. Mr. Grove sat apart from the ladies and stared into space.

  Charlie Jr. and Macy had left once they received the medical report. Dinnertime had come and gone. They had to relieve their baby-sitter and prepare the twins for school tomorrow.

  As for Jim, the guy had been given bedside privileges because his practice was associated with Atlanta Mercy Hospital. He’d known the doctor on duty and half the staff. Frederick hadn’t seen him since he trotted down the hallway beside Louise’s gurney. Impatient for some news, Frederick pulled his cell phone from his pocket and pressed Jim’s speed dial number.

  He answered immediately with, “Frederick, I’m just around the corner . . . coming to get you. She’s awake and wants to see you.”

  “Me?” he gasped.

  “Yes, you. And her mom. They’re moving her to ICU.”

  Jim appeared at the waiting room’s doorway and disconnected the call. His face was stiff; his eyes, grim.

  Uh-oh, Frederick thought, and the nausea returned. He looked toward Martha, and then his focus trailed to Allie. She and Martha and Helena all focused on him.

  “Louise is awake,” he said.

  Martha jumped up. “She’s awake? May I see her?”

  “Yes.” Jim’s firm reply came from beside Frederick. “She’s asking for you and for Frederick. You can both see her for just a few minutes, and then they’re moving her to ICU.”

  “ICU?” Helena wailed. Charlie Grove stood. His fists balled but he said nothing, just stared at Jim in red-faced agony, his handlebar mustache as askew as his hair.

  “She’s unable to move right now.” Jim’s gaze faltered. “And in these situations, it’s important to monitor her breathing. Sometimes these patients can just, well, stop.” He shrugged.

  “Is she paralyzed?” Allie questioned.

  “For right now, yes. It looks that way . . . from her neck down.” Jim held on to the ends of the stethoscope around his neck and gazed at the floor.

  “Is it permanent?” Allie asked.

  “They don’t know. In these situations it’s hard to tell.” Jim’s expression suggested he didn’t want to say too much. “Well . . .” he added, “it’s best to say you’ll need to talk to her regular doctor. I’m just a helper at this point.”

  Frederick felt as if he were trying to breathe through a wet sponge. The air was too heavy, and the guilt constricted his lungs past the point of function.

  This is all my fault, he thought and rammed his fingers against his scalp.

  Martha’s wail began slow and weak and gradually escalated to that of a mourner saying her last good-byes. Charlie Grove’s bulky form slumped onto the edge of his seat, and then slid to the floor. Frederick didn’t realize the guy had passed out until he flopped over in a limp wilt.

  “Oh my word, he fainted!” Allie exclaimed and left Martha.

  “I’ll see to him,” Jim commanded and knelt at Charlie’s side. He looked up at Frederick. “You go ahead and take Mrs. Grove to see Louise. You only have a few minutes.”

  “Yes, okay,” Frederick said and tossed his Coke into an empty chair. He dubiously observed Helena, who had gone strangely quiet. She had stopped crying and was staring straight ahead as her father had been only minutes before. Frederick hoped this was not an indicator that she would faint next.

  He stepped to Mrs. Grove’s side, put his arm across her shoulders, and said, “I’m sure everything’s going to be okay.” But the whole time Frederick had the gut-wrenching feeling that everything was a long way from okay.

  “She’s got to calm down before she goes in there,” Jim advised. “Otherwise they won’t let her in.”

  Allie looked up from her post near Mr. Grove. For the first time since this ordeal sprang upon them, Frederick made eye contact with her. Her soft, brown eyes were full of compassion and understanding . . . and a plea. Frederick knew what she was thinking. He just knew. She was telling him not to blame himself, that the whole thing was Louise’s fault, that she was young and rash and irresponsible, and she reaped the consequences. But nothing could alleviate Frederick’s self-reproach, not even Allie’s silent encouragement.

  Mrs. Grove laid her head on Frederick’s shoulder, and he stroked her temple. “Mrs. Grove, do you think you can stop crying long enough to smile for Louise?” he coaxed.

  Her broken sobs slowed, and Frederick ushered her forward. “She needs you to be brave for her right now. She needs to see your smile,” he added and felt like a hypocrite. He was asking Louise’s mother to do something he was incapable of. Frederick had just contributed to a very young, very beautiful woman becoming paralyzed. Smiling was the last thing on his to-do list.

  “Allie, you brace him,” Jim commanded. “I’ll go get something that will rouse him. I’ll be right back.”

  She nodded and gazed after Frederick as he ushered Mrs. Grove toward the hallway. Jim passed them on the way out and motioned them to follow. Allie wanted to stroke Frederick’s face just as he was stroking Mrs. Grove’s. Whether or not anybody else noticed that he was eaten up with remorse, Allie knew.

  Once she got him alone, Allie planned to talk him out of it. What Louise did was of her own making. Frederick hadn’t forced her on top of that plane. She’d gone of her own free will. Just as Louise had been irrational in her anger last night, so she had been irrational in her actions today.

  From all Allie could gather, Louise lived dangerously. She had for years. How she’d managed to avoid detrimental accidents this far was anybody’s guess. And while Allie certainly felt sorry for the young beauty—especially if she was paralyzed for life—she simply could not allow Frederick to pin the blame on himself.

  Mr. Grove moaned and shifted. Allie turned her attention to him. His eyes slid open. He blankly stared up at Allie.

  “It’s me, Allie, Mr. Grove,” she said.

  He straightened and rubbed his forehead. “I passed out, didn’t I?” he questioned.

  “Yes.” Allie looked toward the red-eyed Helena. Allie didn’t think Helena would notice if a gang of apes marched through the room.

  “Louise.” Charlie straightened his legs then prepared to stand.

  “Mrs. Grove and Frederick are going in to see her now.”

  “Good.” He struggled to his feet and settled back into the chair. “I know she’s crazy about—about Frederick. I’ve never seen her so in—in love before.” He lowered his head. “If anyone can help her, he . . . he can . . . he can.”

  Twenty-Four

  Mrs. Grove clung to Frederick until he reached Louise’s room. All the way he held her up and wished for someone to hold him up. The stone-faced nurse that led them to the room opened Louise’s door and said, “You’ve got three minutes.”

  Freder
ick eyed the swathed figure lying motionless in the elevated bed. Louise’s limp hair, sprawled against the pillow, lacked the life of a vivacious young woman in a convertible. Louise was hooked up to an IV along with a variety of other monitors. One screen featured the steady rhythm of her heart. A severe neck brace gave her the appearance of being choked. Her face was pale except for the twin splotches of rouge that once blended with her complexion. The room’s antiseptic smell took on the odd undertone of funeral flowers. Frederick would have vowed Louise were dead if he hadn’t known better.

  A technician near the bed’s head looked up from his duties and said, “We’re getting ready to move her. You need to hurry.”

  So I’ve heard, Frederick thought and nodded as the man swept past them.

  “My baby, my baby,” Mrs. Grove moaned.

  Frederick gripped her arm. “Stay calm,” he encouraged as a hard tremor wracked his body. After the land mine shrapnel pierced his spine and he’d been rushed into surgery, Frederick recalled awakening in a hospital bed alone. He’d tried to move his legs but couldn’t. He fought with the covers until his arms were free, but his legs refused to budge. He’d barely been able to wiggle his toes.

  Frederick relived the agony that blazed through his veins. He’d imagined life in a wheelchair, being totally dependent upon others—on his parents, on his sister. He had no wife to meet him at the airport or help him, like many of the injured did. He didn’t need the doctor to tell him he’d have to have a miracle to ever walk again. Frederick knew long before the doctor’s prognosis. And he’d already decided that, with God as his helper, he’d walk again. And he had. Even though he’d live with a bad back the rest of his life, he walked and walked with determination.

  As he looked at Louise, Frederick identified with her as he never imagined he could. His story was a chance-of-a-lifetime miracle. He had no clue if Louise would ever overcome this tragedy. But he did know that she would feel a level of panic she never imagined existed. At least he’d had the use of his arms. She was immobile from the neck down. He swallowed a groan and recognized that whether she ever walked again or not, she’d need a strong network of people to stand beside her.