Hearing the curtain slide back, Patrick turned as the physician entered.
“I’m Dr. Kedar,” he said, extending his hand.
Patrick shook it, his own cold and trembling. “Dr. Minkin sent us here.” He gestured helplessly. “My son—”
“Yes, I know. He said your boy has a high fever, difficulty breathing and has been vomiting since yesterday.”
Patrick shook his head. “The vomiting started today.”
“When did you notice the fever?” the doctor asked, pulling a stethoscope from his lab coat pocket and listening to Sean’s lungs.
“After Thanksgiving dinner yesterday. We’d been playing in the snow earlier so I thought his rosy cheeks were from that. I should have known—”
Christie put his hand on her arm and shook her head. He heeded her warning. No sense dragging out “what ifs” and “should haves.” The concern was for Sean, not his own ineptness as a father.
Sean’s listless form looked limp and unaware as the doctor moved him up and back to listen to his breathing.
“What is it?” Patrick asked.
The physician gave him a cursory glance, continuing to check Sean’s pulse and scrutinize Sean’s nose and ears. He put the instruments back onto the tray before he answered. “I’ll need a chest X-ray and a culture before I can be certain.”
“Is it an infection?”
“The body uses fever to kill bacteria and viruses that cause infection…so yes, it’s most probable he has an infection. The culture will help pinpoint what we’re dealing with.”
Patrick stood behind Christie and gripped the chair back. “Is this serious?”
“If the bacteria is meningococcus. Yes. Your son has the symptoms—high fever, difficulty breathing, and vomiting. Has he had painful joints or a stiff neck and back?”
“I don’t think so. He didn’t complain about that.” Patrick studied the doctor’s face, looking for a sign.
“That’s good news. We’ll know what it is soon.” He moved toward the door. “Someone will be in to do the culture, and then we’ll take him to X-ray. We’ll let you know when he’s back.”
“Should we wait here?” Patrick asked, hating to leave Sean in case he awakened.
“You can until they take him to X-ray.” The doctor left, and Patrick moved to Sean’s side.
Christie joined him, running her hands along the child’s arm and petting his hairline where moisture beaded from the fever. “I’d do anything to be here in his place.”
Patrick wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “Me, too,” he said, touched by her concern.
The curtain glided back, and an orderly stepped in. “I need to move your son to X-ray.”
Patrick shifted aside, but Christie lingered, her hand on Sean’s cheek.
“He’ll be okay, Mom,” the young man said, sliding in beside her.
Christie shifted, her mouth opening as if to explain his error. She moved aside without comment, an uneasy look on her face, and Patrick took her arm, guiding her away from the cubicle.
“The waiting room is to the left when you go through the double doors,” the young man said.
Patrick placed his arm around her shoulder as they headed through the door. His mind juggled his thoughts— Christie’s and his deep concern for Sean, but, as well, Christie’s unintended admission. She loved Sean, whether she acknowledged it or not.
In the waiting room, the doctor’s comment flew into his mind. He didn’t like the sound. “Do you know anything about mengi-something-coccus, whatever the doctor said?”
Christie sat a moment and gnawed on the corner of her lip. “Meninges has to do with the brain. I think it’s the tissue around it. Something like that.”
“That doesn’t sound good. I know coccus refers to bacteria, so that must mean—”
Christie grasped his arm and gave it a squeeze. “Please don’t try to guess what it is, Patrick. You’ll scare us both. Let’s just wait until we hear from the doctor.”
Patrick nodded, and though he didn’t speak his concern, it weighed on his mind and heart. The possibility of Sean having a bacteria in the brain, like meningitis, frightened him.
Time dragged. Though he and Christie talked about other things, nothing they addressed seemed important to Patrick. The longer they waited, the more each tried to second guess what had happened. Christie blamed herself. She needed a quarantine room at the center. Patrick feared he’d let Sean play in the snow too long.
The conversation faded, and they sat in stony silence with their own thoughts. Patrick wanted to ask Christie about yesterday. Why she’d withdrawn and what he’d done to cause it. They seemed to walk on eggshells with each other, both afraid to do or say something that might cause stress between them. Only God could make a difference, and he’d prayed for the Lord’s help daily.
When Dr. Kedar came through the doorway, Patrick shot from his chair like an arrow taut in the bow. He beckoned to Christie.
She rose but remained near her chair.
Patrick’s chest tightened as he waited for the physician to speak.
“We won’t have the culture results for a while yet, but the X-ray indicates it’s probably not meningitis. From what we can tell now, your son has pneumonia.”
The physician’s words sent Patrick on a spiral of both relief and worry. “Pneumonia? That’s serious.”
“Better than meningitis,” the doctor said. “Pneumonia is a good guess. What kind of infection we’ll know later. I’m afraid he’s already dehydrated from the vomiting and fever. You understand, he’ll have to be admitted.”
“Admitted, but…”
“He’s better off here, Patrick,” Christie said, stepping to his side and wrapping her hand around his forearm. “Even though it’s difficult.”
“Your wife is right,” the man said. “We’ll start him on antibiotics. Does he have allergies to penicillin?”
“Not that I know of,” Patrick said.
“Good. We’ll start with that. He’ll be feeling better as soon as we begin treatment.”
Christie gestured toward the waiting-room doorway. “Can we—”
“Certainly,” the doctor said, not waiting for her to finish. “He’s back in the same cubicle. We’ll have him in a room shortly.”
Patrick eyed Christie, amazed that she’d never flinched when the doctor had called her his wife. Her only focus was Sean. He sent God a thank-you for the amazing turn of events.
“I keep picturing Sean looking so helpless,” Christie said, resting her back against her kitchen chair. She pushed her plate away. “I’m not really hungry. I’m sorry.” Lifting her hand, she rubbed the tension in the cords of her neck.
Patrick placed his fork on the edge of his plate and closed his eyes. “I can barely swallow either.”
Christie fiddled with the napkin she’d dropped beside her plate. “All we can do is pray.”
“I’ve been praying all day. I didn’t want to leave him there.”
“You had no choice, and you know he’s better off.”
He reached across the table and rested his palm on Christie’s hand. “Thanks for being here. It means a lot to me.”
“You don’t have to thank me, Patrick.” He couldn’t have kept her away, she had realized as she had waited by his side. Her thoughts drifted now to the small cherub face, the cheeks rosy with fever, his eyes closed or glazed with confusion. The sight squeezed her heart.
“Christie?”
Patrick’s voice roused her, and she looked at him, surprised her mind had drifted.
“I realize our thoughts are on Sean right now, but I have a question to ask you.” He faltered, lowering his head before raising it again to focus on her. “Something that’s been troubling me since yesterday, along with my worries about Sean.”
She felt a frown settle on her face, amazed he could think of anything but his child. “What is it?”
“I’d like to know what happened yesterday.”
“What do you mea
n?”
“What happened between us? All of a sudden…”
His voice trailed off as Christie’s thoughts struggled back to the conversation that seemed so long ago, yet had only been the day before.
How could she talk about it without letting him know how much she cared? The last thing in the world Christie wanted to do was gain Patrick’s pity when he learned his ex-wife had tumbled head over toes again.
“What happened?” he repeated.
She struggled over how to answer him. She’d already said too much the day before, and she didn’t want to go there today. “A reality check. That’s all.”
“A reality check? What does that mean? You told me that you cared. I know you worry whether or not we can make things work. Whether we can let go of the past. All I can say is I feel empty without you and I think you feel the same. Yesterday we were this close,” he said lining his index fingers side by side. “This close to resolving issues. This close to being honest about our feelings and fears. This close. Then without an explanation you turned me off. You turned cold.”
You turned cold. She’d done it again just as she had years early. When Patrick needed her love and warmth to draw him closer, she’d become aloof and sent him away. She’d slept on her side, facing away from him. Rigid. Unloving. Would this always be the way she handled problems? Fear clouded her reasoning.
“I can’t talk about this now. Please.” She longed to wrap her arms around him and find some solace against his chest. “I have to think about this, Patrick, and right now all I can think about is Sean.”
Patrick’s face sagged, and he fell against the seat back. “I’m sorry. It was selfish of me to ask you now. Just know that I want…more than friendship. I want you by my side where you should have been all along. I’ve asked God to forgive me for what I did to you. Now I’m asking you. Please forgive me. I can’t ask you to forget, but maybe someday the hurt will fade. Can you trust me, Christie?”
Tears welled in her eyes. Trust? The one thing she couldn’t promise, not after hearing him say he wanted her as a mother for Sean. What about loving her as a wife? Her mind rattled with questions. Did he love her for herself? So often she thought he did. Then, moments came when she knew he didn’t.
“Trust is difficult,” she said finally. “I’m trying to do that. Trying with all my heart.”
“That’s all I can ask,” he said, sadness flooding his face.
“No. You can ask me to be with you through Sean’s illness.”
He lifted his downcast eyes. “Will you?”
“Yes. That, I can promise.”
Chapter Sixteen
Before visiting hours began Saturday morning, Patrick and Christie rode the elevator to Sean’s room. Patrick hesitated outside the door, seeing a doctor hovering above Sean.
He gave a rap and stepped inside, his gaze riveted on Sean’s mottled face. “Is something wrong?” He stopped at the edge of the bed while Christie clutched his arm.
The doctor—one Patrick had never seen before—turned to face him. “Are you the boy’s father?” the physician asked.
“Yes,” he said, extending his hand.
The doctor grasped it in a firm shake.
Noticing the man’s serious face, Patrick’s pulse jolted. “What’s wrong?”
“Your boy’s not doing as well as we’d hoped.”
“What happened?” Patrick asked, hearing his voice raise in pitch.
“He had a seizure early this morning.”
“Seizure?” Panic rolled over Patrick like a truck.
“Oh, no.” Christie clutched his arm in a vicelike grip. “What kind of seizure? What’s—”
“It was minor. It’s caused by the fever. We’re waiting for the report on the culture so we can ascertain the most effective medication for this particular bacteria.”
Anger charged past Patrick’s panic. “Where’s Dr. Kedar?”
“He’ll be in later this afternoon.” The doctor stepped back and regulated the IV drip. “Your son will be fine. Seizures happen occasionally with high fevers. It’s nothing to worry about.”
“Nothing to worry about. That’s easy for…” Patrick felt Christie’s fingers press into his arm, and he lowered his voice.
“I’ll call the lab again,” the doctor said as he headed through the doorway.
Patrick stood frozen to the spot. Fear and frustration tore through him as his gaze shot to Sean, lying deathly quiet, his arms bound to the bed. Patrick jabbed at the straps. “I know this is for his safety, but I hate this.”
“He’d pull the needle out if they didn’t do something, Patrick.” She wrapped her arms around his waist from behind, and he could see her looking at Sean around his back.
Her touch filled him with hope, and he pivoted to face her. Tears pooled in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. Patrick gathered her into his arms, and she pressed her head against his chest, silent tears turning to soft sobs. He found comfort for himself in her sorrow and rested his cheek against her hair, drawing in the lemony scent of her shampoo and a whisper of sweet perfume.
He held her close, turning so his gaze lingered over his child’s face, mottled by fever and sickness. “Pray with me, Christie.”
She nodded and lifted her chin to face him.
“Heavenly Father,” Patrick said, his voice hushed, “keep Sean in your loving care and bring him back to full health, if it’s Your will.” He said the last four words, then sent a counter thought. “And please, Lord, let it be Your will.”
“Amen,” Christie said, easing away to move nearer to Sean. She leaned over the bed railing and kissed his cheek.
Patrick’s emotions overflowed. Her compassion for his son rocked him to the core. No matter what she said in words, he knew the truth through her actions. And that’s all he needed to know.
Christie moved aside and sank into a chair beside the bed. Patrick pulled another near hers, and they sat in silence, waiting for the doctor, waiting for Sean to open his eyes. His tiny chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, and Patrick returned to his prayer, this time silently.
When he refocused, his gaze settled on Christie’s face. Strain and anguish pulled at her features as he knew they did on his own. If nothing more, this horrible situation shed light on his situation with Christie. He needed her, not for Sean, but for himself.
His thoughts settled on First Corinthians. God’s description of love. Love is patient, love is kind. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails. He’d gone wrong years ago. He’d been impatient and unkind. He’d lacked trust and hope. He’d failed miserably, but not today. Today he knew what love was, not just from God’s Word, but in his heart.
Christie knew it, too. Perhaps she always had, and he’d not given her a chance.
Patrick riveted his gaze to his son while moisture welled in his eyes. Sean looked so helpless, so small, so lifeless. His chest lifted and fell with each raspy breath. If he could, Patrick would willingly take the illness from his son and give it to himself.
“We have to think positively,” he said, surprised to hear himself speak aloud.
Christie reached over and touched his hand, drawing it to her face still damp with tears. She pressed her cheek against his knuckles, then kissed his fingers.
When she drew his hand away, he met her gaze. “Thanks for being here,” he said. “I can live with this rather than not have you at all.”
A jaw muscle twitched with his falsehood. Patrick had wanted more. No matter what had happened before, he wanted Christie again. He believed he would never find a woman more beautiful, inside and out. Her lovely face and slender frame tempted him, but more than that, she had a special spirit—generous and caring, sometimes too independent, too unbendable.
But he could live with that by harnessing his own need to control. These were attributes he’d never noticed in Christie years ago. Then she’d keep her feelings inside, afraid to let her needs show until they turned to bittern
ess.
But she’d lost her bitterness over the past weeks. She was still unbendable at times, but that’s what made her Christie. Spunk and spirit. He loved both sides of her. He had to face it. The day she’d admitted her part in their failed marriage and walked away had been one of the loneliest days of his life.
Looking at Christie now lifted his morale. With her hand enveloped in his, he counted the minutes until he heard footsteps. This time, Dr. Kedar entered the room.
Patrick leaped up. “I thought you wouldn’t be here until later today.”
“My plans changed,” he said, moving to Sean’s side. He listened through the stethoscope and checked Sean’s pulse. “Sean has bacterial pneumonia along with a staph infection. We’re changing the antibiotic to Vancomycin. That will make all the difference. You’ll have a new boy in a couple of days.” He grasped Patrick’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “I’m sorry. Until we get the lab tests, we do the best we can.”
“He’ll be fine?” Patrick asked.
“Perfect. The new med is on the way.”
“Thank you,” Christie said.
Patrick nodded, sliding his arm around Christie’s waist and drawing strength from her presence. With the Lord and Christie at his side, Patrick knew his life was on the mend.
Monday afternoon Christie pulled into the hospital parking lot. The day at Loving Care had dragged until she could scream. With her thoughts on Sean, she longed to be with Patrick at the hospital.
She hurried inside and took the elevator up to the fourth floor. At Sean’s doorway, she stopped, amazed to find her parents at his bedside. “What are you doing here?”
“Same as you,” Emma said. “We’re worried about the boy.”
“How is he?”
“Doing better,” Wes said. “The fever’s coming down.”
Relief washed over her. “Praise God.” She gripped her father’s arm. He shifted and wrapped it around her shoulder, giving her a hug. Her gaze took in the room. “Where’s Patrick?”
“We sent him down for some coffee. The poor boy needed a break,” Emma said.
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