“Of course I am. That’s why they put the calming juice in my IV. My blood pressure showed higher numbers than our Razorbacks have ever scored.”
Diane guided Mother’s hand to the bed but continued holding it. “Maybe I need some calming juice.”
“No, sweetheart, what you need is faith.”
Diane’s spine sagged. “You’re going to talk to me about faith…now? Here?”
“There’s never a time or place where the topic of faith isn’t appropriate. Listen to me, Margaret Diane…”
How could she say no, given the circumstances? “I’m listening.”
“There’s no reason for you to fear my dying. I know where I’m going, and I’ll see my parents, my grandparents, your father, and so many others who have gone on before me. Best of all, I’ll see my Jesus. Of course, I’d rather it didn’t happen today. I’ve still got a few things I want to get done down here.”
Diane nodded. Like finding Maggie.
“But either way, it’s in God’s hands. I trust Him.”
Longing swelled in Diane’s chest, a longing that both frustrated and flustered her. “How can you be so sure?”
“Why, how can I not?” Mother gazed tenderly at Diane’s face. “God is strong enough and wise enough to craft this world. He put the universe in order. The sun, the moon, the planets, the seas—they all work together at His command. If He can accomplish all that, it stands to reason He can handle something as insignificant as this moment.”
Sadness colored her expression briefly. “And I’m very sorry it’s taken me so long to fully understand the truth of what I just told you. If I’d accepted it earlier, I would have been a much better mother to you. Please forgive me, Margaret Diane.”
Acid stung the back of her throat. Diane gulped. “Mother, I—”
Someone whisked the curtains aside. “All right, Mrs. DeFord, the surgeon is ready for you.” Liz approached the bed, her face and voice obnoxiously cheerful. Two others in blue scrubs followed her. They surrounded Mother. One began unhooking things and the other frowned at the numbers blinking on the screen.
Liz touched Diane’s arm and guided her out of the way. “There’s a nice waiting room to the right of the elevators on the second floor. When your mother’s surgery is finished, that’s where the doctor will look for you to tell you how things went.”
“And then I’ll get to see her?” Words pressed for release. Diane needed to say them.
“Not right away. She’ll need an hour or so of recovery before we move her to a regular room. Once she’s settled, someone will come for you. So please go on up and make yourself comfortable, all right?”
The two hospital workers wheeled Mother’s bed past them. Liz scurried after them. She sent a smile over her shoulder.
“Don’t worry, Diane. We’ll take good care of your mother.”
Diane marched over and stepped outside the curtains. “You’d better!”
Thirty-Six
Bentonville, Arkansas
Sean
His partner was in the room with him, but Sean worked alone. And he didn’t mind. Meghan slumped in the corner of the sofa with his files of information spread on the arm and across the cushion beside her, presumably examining the documents, but she never released her grip on her cell phone. With her grandmother undergoing surgery, Meghan’s focus was miles away. Between searches on the Internet and calls to government agencies, he paused to offer prayers for Mrs. DeFord, the surgeon, Meghan, and her mother.
He glanced at the notes he’d scribbled over the course of the morning. Thanks to online census records, he’d discovered that Nora Burton was paid a yearly salary of $400 in 1940. Not an insignificant amount of money for that time, but not elaborate either. She didn’t have any expenses to speak of—the helpful clerk at the Bentonville courthouse confirmed the state paid all expenses, including electricity, food, clothing, and medical care for everyone at the orphans’ home—but $400 hardly accounted for extravagance.
Even if Mrs. Burton received a yearly raise, how had she bought a new car every year plus saved enough to put her daughter through college, buy the property—according to the clerk, the state had received $12,400 for the three-acre plot and all buildings—and fund the addition on the side of the orphanage? Maybe she’d inherited money from someone. Or maybe she’d found another way to pad her bank account.
Suddenly Meghan let her head drop back, and she groaned.
Sean set his work aside and crossed to the sofa. He perched on the opposite end. “You know what they say—a watched phone never rings.”
She grimaced. “That’s a watched pot never boils. And it isn’t true, by the way. It will boil. It just feels like forever if you’re sitting there watching.”
“Spoken from experience?”
“Sadly, yes. I disproved the theory for my second-grade science-fair experiment.” She slapped her hand on the armrest, sending papers flying. “Why doesn’t Mom call? Grandma’s surgery was supposed to start at nine thirty. Grandma told me this morning the surgery would take an hour and a half to two hours. Well, it’s been two hours and forty-five minutes. So why doesn’t somebody call?”
Sean didn’t know. “There’s another saying—no news is good news.”
She ran her hands through her tousled brown hair and groaned again.
He needed to get her mind off her worries, so he shared the information he’d uncovered. She listened, but not with the attentiveness he’d come to expect from her. She was still worried. He sighed and rested his elbows on his knees.
“Meghan, close your eyes.”
She narrowed her gaze but she didn’t close them.
“C’mon. I’m gonna pray.”
Now she snapped them closed, leaned forward, and folded her hands.
Sean closed his eyes, too, and addressed his Father. He prayed the same things he’d offered during the course of the morning—for wisdom and steady hands for the doctors, strength and healing for Mrs. DeFord, comfort and peace for Meghan and her mother—but he said it all out loud so Meghan could hear. Maybe he should have done that earlier, because when he said “amen” and opened his eyes, she seemed more relaxed than she had since she knocked on his door at eight fifteen that morning.
He pushed himself to his feet and stretched. “It’s way past noon. I’m hungry. Let’s go get a pizza.” Standard on-the-road fare.
“Not until I hear from Mom.”
“Well, then, how about you stay here and keep working? I’ll go get a pizza and bring it back, and we’ll eat in the room.” They might as well make use of the table and chairs in his kitchenette.
She shook her head and gripped her stomach. “I don’t think I can eat.”
“Not eating won’t make the phone ring.”
“I know, it’s just…”
He settled his weight on one leg and gave her a firm look. “What would your grandmother say if she knew you were skipping a meal?”
Sheepishness crept over her features. “She’d tell me to eat.”
“And you should always do what your grandmother tells you.” He grinned and headed for the door. “Pepperoni with extra cheese?”
“And mushrooms.”
“On your half.”
“And green peppers on yours?”
Now she sounded more like herself. He gave a mock salute. “I’ll be back soon. Keep working. And don’t worry. Your grandma’s in good hands.”
Las Vegas, Nevada
Diane
Dr. Bashad took Diane’s hand between his. “In all likelihood, she is experiencing a metabolic reaction to the anesthesia. Since she has never had surgery before, there was no way to know how her body would respond to it.”
“But a coma?” Diane frowned at the kindly Middle Eastern man. First he’d told her the surgery was a success, and now he explained that Mother’s body had closed down and she was unresponsive to stimuli. The two halves of the verbal report didn’t seem to match. “I read the paperwork she brought home about ca
rotid endarterectomy, including the risks. It said she might have a stroke or a heart attack. But there wasn’t anything in there about a coma.” Anger born of fear sharpened her tone. “If it’s a possibility, you need to warn people about it.”
Sympathy glimmered in his dark eyes. “I know this is a shock to you. I’m sorry it has happened. It’s not common for someone to slip into a coma after surgery, but it isn’t completely unheard of either. The very old and the very young seem to be most susceptible to a physiological shutdown when they’ve been subjected to the stress of an operation and the accompanying combination of medicines.”
She’d never been one to let someone she didn’t know hold her hand, especially someone who’d dealt an emotional blow, but at that moment Diane could only be grateful for the compassionate contact. Without it, she’d collapse in a puddle on the floor. She swallowed tears and forced a question. “Do you have any idea how…how long she’ll be…shut down?”
“Unfortunately, no. Some people revive within a day or two, and others remain unresponsive for weeks or even months.” He sighed, patting her hand. “We will simply have to wait and see.”
“That doesn’t help much.”
“No. No, I realize it doesn’t, but it is the best I can tell you right now.” He withdrew his hands, and Diane hugged herself. “We are transferring your mother to the intensive-care unit. They generally do not like to have visitors there, but I will let them know they’re to allow you to sit in the room. Would that be helpful?”
A hysterical laugh built in her throat. Did he really think it would make her feel better to sit and observe her mother lying in bed like a corpse in a coffin? She jolted to her feet. “I need to call my daughter.”
“All right. Call her. Take as much time as you need. Then, when you’re ready, go to the receptionist’s desk downstairs. I’ll leave a message for you there with your mother’s room number.”
Before he reached the door to the hallway, Diane was punching in Meghan’s number.
Bentonville, Arkansas
Sean
Sean balanced the pizza box on one hand and aimed his room card for the slot. As he popped the card in the scanner, the sound of weeping met his ears. He froze in place, looking up and down the hallway for the source of the sound. At the far end of the hall, a maid retrieved a stack of towels from her cart, but she didn’t appear distressed.
The keening came again. He tipped his head toward his door. His heart fired into his throat. Yes, it was coming from his room. He plopped the pizza on the floor and wrenched the doorknob. He burst into the room, calling Meghan’s name as he crossed the threshold. She was huddled in a ball at the end of the sofa, where he’d left her a little more than a half hour ago. He sank onto the sofa, crushing several papers, and took hold of her shoulders. “Meghan, what happened?”
“Grandma…”
He braced himself for the news that Hazel DeFord had died on the operating table.
She choked on a sob and swiped her nose with her fingers. “She’s in a coma.”
He rubbed his hand back and forth across her shoulder blades. Her muscles were taut, tense, and quivering. “Did she get a blood clot or something during the surgery?” He didn’t know much about operations, but he’d never heard of anyone lapsing into a coma because of one.
“No.” Her voice shook as if she were running a high fever. “The doctor thinks it’s a…a metabolic reaction to anesthesia.”
“Well, then, will she come out of it when the anesthesia wears off?”
She shrugged. “Mom said they have no way of knowing when or if she’ll come out of it, because it’s a rare thing to happen. And because of her age.” Her chin crumpled. “I shouldn’t have come here. I should have stayed with her.”
Meghan’s being at the hospital wouldn’t have changed the outcome, but she already knew that, so he didn’t need to say it. Instead he followed his instincts and wrapped his arms around her. She clung even harder than she had at the airport when he’d pulled her into his embrace. He held her, rubbed her back, let her cry. And he prayed for God to provide the comfort she needed. He’d pray for Mrs. DeFord later. Right now Meghan needed God’s peace.
A knock at the door interrupted. Meghan pulled loose and turned her face away. Sean grabbed a box of tissues from the desk and dropped it next to her before crossing to the door.
The maid he’d seen earlier stood on the other side with his pizza box. “Did you want this thrown away?”
He took it. “No. I forgot it was out there.”
She gave him an odd look. “All right. You have a good day, sir.”
“Thank you.” He closed the door and hurried back to Meghan. He slid the pizza on the table along the way and sat on the edge of the cushion. She’d used half a dozen tissues, and she held them in a wad. He’d known her for six years, and not once in all that time had he seen her succumb to tears. Her red-rimmed eyes, blotchy face, and tear-stained cheeks made him ache.
He snagged the little waste can from the end of the sofa and held it out to her. She dropped the soggy tissues and leaned forward, head down, her pose dejected. He brushed her arm with his fingertips. “You gonna be okay?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Do you want me to pray again?”
She shook her head.
The refusal stung. “Why not?”
“Because I want to pray.”
Hope exploded through Sean’s chest.
She raised her face and met his gaze. Tears deepened her velvety eyes. “I’ve been thinking…about Grandma. And my great-grandparents. And you.”
He tipped his head to the side. “Me?”
“Yes. You’re so certain. Of where you’ll go if you die. How you’ll see the people you love again. Maybe I’m scared, maybe even a little selfish, but I want your certainty. And I want even more than certainty about heaven.” She reached out and he caught her hands. “The people at Grandma’s church sang this hymn—something like, ‘I’m so glad I’m a part of the family of God…’ ”
She didn’t get the tune quite right, but Sean recognized it. He sang his favorite part—“ ‘Joint heirs with Jesus as we travel this sod…’ ”
“Yes. Joint heirs. Jesus is God’s Son, and if I’m His joint heir, then I’ll be God’s daughter, right?”
His pulse doubled its tempo. “That’s right. Galatians 3:26 says, ‘So in Christ Jesus you are all children of God through faith.’ And Acts 16:31 tells us how to make it happen—we believe that Jesus is who He says He is. That’s what’s called faith, Meghan. Once you’re a joint heir with Jesus, you’ll have the same source of peace, strength, and wisdom I was talking about at the cemetery.” He held his breath for a moment, not wanting to push her but so eager for this woman who’d stolen a piece of his heart to find her way Home. “Is…that what you want?”
She nodded, and fresh tears spilled down her cheeks. “I’ve never had a real family. I’ve never had a father. I want that. More than anything.”
“Then tell Him.”
She lowered her head and scrunched her eyes tight. Her fingers clenched his hand like a vise, and he squeezed back as he closed his eyes. “Dear God, I want You. I want Your Son. I want to live better, braver, like Grandma and Sean. I’ve seen You in them. Please be in me, too. Let me be…Yours. For now and forever.” Her voice broke, and warm tears dripped on the backs of Sean’s hands. “Thank You, God. Thank You, Father. Amen.”
They opened their eyes at the same time and their gazes collided. Her brown irises still swam with tears, but peace, joy, and wonder bloomed in her expression. Although she’d said nothing remotely close to the sinner’s prayer he’d seen printed on prompt cards or in the back of witnessing booklets, he knew without a doubt the sincerity of her request had gone directly to Father-God’s ears. Meghan DeFord had just been born into the family of God.
So many things ran through his mind. He wanted to tell her about faith, about growing in grace, about the way his heart was trying to beat r
ight out of his chest with love for her. But he couldn’t. Not with her grandmother lying in a coma in a Las Vegas hospital. He gave her hands a final squeeze.
“So what’re you going to do? Catch a flight back to Vegas?”
She shook her head.
“Then what?”
“Finish the investigation. As fast as we can. Find Maggie. Take her to Grandma.” With each short sentence, her spine straightened, her chin rose, and her shoulders squared. The most beautiful smile burst across her face. “Let’s bring Maggie home.”
Las Vegas, Nevada
Diane
“Ms. DeFord? Ms. DeFord…”
Someone shook Diane’s shoulder. She jerked away from the hand, and a cramp caught her neck. She grimaced, opened her eyes, and gripped the cramping muscle. An unfamiliar woman with her blond hair pulled up in a messy bun stood only a few inches away. Diane scowled at her. “What do you want?”
“I’m sorry to bother you, ma’am, but it’s time to clean the room.”
Diane looked around in confusion. Gray walls. Blue curtains. A black box flashing numbers. And a steady buh-beep, buh-beep, buh-beep measuring her mother’s heartbeat. Reality eased through her brain. The hospital room.
She forced her stiff body to sit up in the chair where she’d spent the night. “Go ahead and clean. You won’t bother me.”
The woman grimaced. “I’m very sorry, Ms. DeFord, but you’ll have to leave the room while it’s being cleaned. Hospital policy.”
Diane rose and moved to her mother’s bed. She gazed down at Mother’s quiet face. Eyes closed, mouth slightly open, clear tube feeding oxygen into her nostrils. Exactly the way she’d been last night before Diane fell asleep. She sighed and faced the woman. “How long will it take to clean the room?”
“Around forty minutes. Then an aide will give Mrs. DeFord a sponge bath, switch out the dressing on her wound, and change her diaper.”
Diane cringed. Her regal mother in a diaper. She hoped when Mother awakened she would have no memory of the indignity. “So…an hour then?”
Bringing Maggie Home Page 29