by Irene Hannon
Grant scanned the other faces again. He could sense their support. But it was also clear that the decision was his alone. And he wasn’t sure he was up to the task.
Anguish contorted his features, and he reached up to rake his fingers through his uncombed hair. “I need to find the chapel,” he choked out.
Bill rose. “I’ll ask the nurse where it is.”
He returned a few minutes later and gave Grant the directions. “Would you like some company?” he murmured.
After a brief hesitation, Grant spoke. “Yes, but give me a little time alone first.”
When Grant entered the small chapel a few minutes later, he was grateful to find it empty. He sank into a pew near the front and dropped his head into his hands, desperate for solace and guidance. How could he make the decision to remove Christine’s life support? How could he end the life of the woman he’d loved with such passion and absolute devotion? The woman he’d remained faithful to through the endless months and years since the accident? Yet how could he tie her to a useless body when her spirit was clearly ready to move on?
As Grant prayed, he heard someone enter the chapel and knew that Bill had joined him. Though his brother-in-law remained in the back, leaving him undisturbed, Grant found comfort in his presence, knowing that Bill—as well as the rest of his family—would stand by him no matter what decision he made. And as a minister, Bill brought an added benefit. So many times in the past few years, Grant had turned to him for spiritual guidance when the darkness had closed in around him. And Bill had always come through for him. Perhaps he would do the same today.
Taking a deep breath, Grant turned toward his brother-in-law. Bill took that as a signal to move forward, and he made his way down the aisle to slide into the pew beside Grant.
“I don’t know what to do,” Grant said, his face haggard, his eyes anguished.
“It’s not an easy decision,” Bill acknowledged.
“I know it sounds selfish, but if I let her go, that part of my life is over forever.” His voice broke on the last word.
Bill’s eyes filled with compassion. “I think it’s over anyway, Grant,” he said, his voice gentle.
Grant closed his eyes, and a spasm of pain contorted his face. “I know,” he whispered, looking up at the cross over the altar. When he spoke again, his voice was pensive. “It’s odd, really. I guess you could say, in a way, that this is the answer to my prayers.”
“What do you mean?”
“For the past few months, I’ve been asking the Lord to either take Christine home or give her back to me. But I didn’t think He was going to leave the final decision in my hands.” Grant turned to Bill. “I want to do the right thing. I want to abide by God’s will. But I don’t know the rules of this game. What am I supposed to do?”
“God has great respect for life, Grant. But in every way except for her physical body, Christine is gone. Only artificial means can keep her alive. In a case like this, I think God would want us to release her so that she can go home. To Him.”
Grant knew that Bill was right. In his heart, he’d known it all along. The decision was straightforward. But that didn’t mean it was easier to make. He bowed his head, fighting back tears. After a few seconds, he felt Bill’s hand on his shoulder.
“You don’t have to decide today, Grant.”
“It’s not…” His voice broke once more, and he tried again. “It’s not going to get any easier.” He wiped his sleeve across his eyes. “There’s no reason to wait. It will just prolong the agony for everyone. I—I’ll let the doctor know.”
“Would you like to take a moment to pray first?” At Grant’s nod, Bill bowed his head and placed his hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “Lord, we ask You for Your sustaining strength in the days ahead as we prepare to make this difficult, final journey, and to say goodbye. We commend Christine now to Your loving care as we release her from the constraints of this earthly life, confident in Your promise that eye has not seen, ear has not heard, what God has prepared for those who love Him. We know Christine was Your loving and faithful daughter. Welcome her home now, to her eternal reward. And give comfort and strength to those of us left behind, so that we can continue to live Your word as we prepare for the day when we, too, will be called home to join those we love in the joy of Your presence.”
For a long moment the two men sat in silence, but at last Grant stood. “Let’s find the doctor.”
They spoke with the physician first, then returned to the waiting room. One look at their grim expressions was all it took for those gathered to discern Grant’s decision. Stella’s face crumpled and she groped for Marshall’s hand, Andrew stood and embraced his son, Pete pulled out his handkerchief and blew his nose, and Kit let the tears stream, unchecked, down her face.
They all took turns paying a final visit to Christine. Grant went last, and as he stood on the threshold of her room, the full impact of his decision began to register. For two-and-a-half years, he’d planned his life around his visits to his wife. Now that life was coming to an end. This was his last visit.
Grant moved into the room and made his way to the side of the bed. Christine’s face was partially obscured by the respirator, her chest rising and falling to its mechanical rhythm. With distaste, he scanned the complicated machinery and equipment that surrounded her, keeping her body alive. He knew this wasn’t what she would have wanted. The woman he married had had sparkle and vibrancy and enthusiasm. She had been more alive than anyone he’d ever met, embracing each day with joy and anticipation. Trapping her in a useless body when everything else that defined her was already gone would be wrong. And despite his grief, a sudden peace settled over him.
He reached for her cool hand, then sat on the bed beside her. “I’ve come to say goodbye, Christine,” he said, his voice ragged. “I hope somehow you know what’s in my heart, even if you can’t hear me. Because the love I feel for you has never dimmed. And it never will. When you leave, you’ll take a part of me with you. The part that is yours for always.” He searched her face, and the anguish in his eyes was as searing as a white-hot poker laid against bare skin. When he spoke again, his voice was raw with pain. “Dear God, I wish things could have been different! I wish you had recovered, and we could have lived the life we looked forward to with such joy. I wish we could have raised the children we wanted, and grown old together to enjoy our grandchildren. But that wasn’t in God’s plan for us. I don’t understand why this happened. I never will. But I’ve tried very hard to accept it, and to be grateful for the brief time we had together. It was a blessing I’ll cherish all of my life.”
He leaned over and kissed her forehead, then reached up with trembling fingers to brush the hair back from her face. “Goodbye, my love,” he whispered. “Rest in peace now. And never forget how much I love you.”
Grant stood, grasping a piece of equipment for support when his legs threatened to buckle. For a full minute, he stared down at Christine’s face, the image blurring as tears ran down his face. Finally he forced himself to walk toward the door.
As he reached for the handle he turned, allowing himself one last moment alone with his wife. One last moment to recall the joy he’d known with this special woman. Then calling up every ounce of his courage, he opened the doors and motioned to the waiting nurse.
Concern furrowing her brow, Morgan glanced again at the clock. Eight-thirty. Though she had only known him a short time, Grant didn’t strike her as the type to be late for a meeting. Not without calling to explain.
Pulling out her Blackberry, she searched for his home number, then punched it in. But after three rings, his answering machine kicked in. She called his work number next, surprised to discover it was a cabinet shop. Kincaid Woodworks. There’d been little talk of business on Christmas, but she did recall Grant’s father mentioning something about a shipment of lumber. It hadn’t registered until now. So Kincaid Woodworks must be a family business. And Grant must be a carpenter. Interesting. She’d just ass
umed he had some sort of office job.
But that didn’t matter now, she reminded herself. If Grant wasn’t going to show, she needed to get back to Boston.
Maybe Kit would know where he was, she speculated, retrieving the tiny Seaside phone book she’d noticed in the kitchen. But again, she got an answering machine. This time, though, she left a message.
As she hung up, Morgan decided to give Grant until nine. Then she was out of here.
In the end, she gave him until nine-thirty. Finally, her patience exhausted, she packed up her car and headed back to Boston.
Half an hour later, as she pulled onto the highway for the long drive south, she tried to concentrate on the ad campaign that had interrupted her holiday meal. She needed to have some ideas ready to present to the client by Wednesday.
But though she gave it a mighty effort, she couldn’t focus.
Because something back in Seaside just didn’t feel right
“Morgan? It’s Kit Adams.”
A tingle of alarm raced along Morgan’s spine, and she tightened her grip on the receiver. She remembered Kit’s voice as lilting and upbeat, but the woman on the other end of the line sounded shaky and tearful.
“Is something wrong?”
“I got your message. And Grant sends his apologies for missing your meeting. But we…we’ve had a death in the family.” Her voice was so choked she had trouble speaking.
“I’m so sorry,” Morgan said, thinking of Grant’s father and uncle. But they’d both seemed in good health. “Was it someone…close?”
“Very. Grant’s wife, Christine, suffered a massive stroke on Sunday night. It left her…brain dead…and unable to breathe on her own…so Grant made the decision to…to discontinue life support.” Kit’s voice caught on a sob.
Morgan stared at the bleak, gray Boston sky outside her window, her face a mask of shock as she tried to assimilate Kit’s news. “I’m so sorry. I…I didn’t even know Grant was married.”
Kit sniffled. “For six years. Two and a half years ago, while they were on a hiking vacation, Christine fell and suffered a head injury. She’s been in a coma ever since.”
Morgan closed her eyes. “I had no idea,” she whispered.
“Most of us gave up hope of her recovery a long time ago,” Kit said, her voice still unsteady. “But Grant never did. He visited her every day. I think he always believed that one day he’d walk in and find her awake, waiting for him. But it…it never happened. And now the Lord has called her home. Even though most of us expected it to happen at some point, it’s still such a shock.”
“Is there anything I can do?” Morgan asked, feeling helpless.
“Just pray for him,” Kit said tearfully. “Because as hard as the past two and a half years have been for him, saying goodbye will be even worse.”
Chapter Five
Morgan turned up the collar of her coat as a gust of icy wind lashed at her body, making the struggle across the uneven ground at the cemetery more difficult. She supposed she could have remained at the church, as many had, while the family and close friends concluded the funeral rite with the final commendation to the grave. After all, she didn’t fall into either of those categories. And maybe she shouldn’t even have come. Maybe she was infringing on what was intended to be a very private service.
But she’d wanted to be here, for the whole thing—even if it did mean taking a day off work. Though she and Grant might be very different, connected only by chance through an unexpected gift from Aunt Jo, she wanted to let him know, by her presence, that she cared. And that she grieved for his loss.
Morgan’s thin gloves didn’t offer much protection from the biting wind, so she shoved her hands into the pockets of her coat. While she waited for the final, brief service to begin, her thoughts turned to the woman Grant had loved. After speaking with family and friends last night at the visitation, and listening to the eulogies today, it was clear that Christine had been a very special woman. Intelligent. Talented. Loving. With a deep faith that had been the guiding force in her life.
But the accolades hadn’t been only for Christine. She’d learned a lot about Grant, too, as family and friends had praised his steadfast loyalty, his faithfulness and his unwavering devotion. Morgan couldn’t even begin to comprehend the overwhelming sense of loss he must be feeling. She only hoped that the tremendous outpouring of love and support he’d received over the past couple of days, and the overflowing crowd at the church, had offered him some comfort.
Bill took his place beside the casket, and motioned everyone to move closer. Morgan complied, but still remained somewhat in the background. Grant and Kit sat in front, their hands entwined. Andrew was on the other side of Grant, his hand resting on his son’s knee. Pete was up front, too, of course, as were Kit’s twins. So were Christine’s parents, whom she’d met the night before.
And Grant’s mother was there, as well. She’d arrived last night, too late to visit the funeral home, so Morgan hadn’t met her. But she’d overheard someone at church point her out to a friend. From various conversations, she’d discovered that Grant’s parents were separated, that his mother had a prestigious job in Boston with a big-name financial firm, and that she was somewhat estranged from the family.
As everyone settled into place and Bill began the brief graveside service, Morgan sent Grant’s mother a curious glance. Her fashionable clothing was elegant rather than trendy, and her hair and makeup were perfect. She sat at the far end of the front row, and Morgan noted that she glanced at her watch several times while Bill spoke.
As the service ended, Morgan’s gaze shifted back to Grant. He stood, shook Bill’s hand, then turned to greet those who moved forward to speak with him. Again, Morgan felt out of place and moved a few steps farther away. She’d given him her condolences last night; she didn’t need to intrude on this final, private moment.
Slowly, people began to drift back toward their cars, leaving just the immediate family around the casket. As Morgan turned to go, as well, she caught sight of Grant’s mother, standing off to one side. She watched as the woman checked her pager, then turned her back on the group gathered at the grave site and withdrew her cell phone from her purse. After punching in a number, she put the phone to her ear.
With a jolt, Morgan recognized herself. She’d done something very similar at Aunt Jo’s funeral. It was obvious that, like Morgan, Grant’s mother was a workaholic. While her son was saying his final goodbye to his wife, she was on her cell phone taking care of business instead of comforting him.
Morgan suddenly felt sick to her stomach.
She turned away sharply, almost as if she’d been slapped, and stumbled toward her car, pausing just once to glance back. Bill and Grant were the only ones left at the grave site now, and the minister had his arm around Grant’s shoulders. Grant’s head was bowed, and his hand rested on the coffin. He nodded at something Bill said, then the minister turned away, leaving Grant alone with his pain.
Morgan’s heart contracted, and she felt an unexpected, overpowering urge to go to him, to touch him, to ease his sense of loss, to let him know he wasn’t alone. But that wasn’t within her power. Nor was it her place.
So she turned away, leaving him to his final, private moment of wrenching grief. And as she got into her car, it occurred to her how very lucky Christine had been to be loved by a man like Grant. Maybe he wasn’t successful in the worldly sense. Maybe he didn’t have a high-powered job and make an executive’s salary. But as she’d learned in the past few days, he had other compensations in his life. Like love. And family. And faith.
And she’d learned something else, as well. Grant Kincaid was a kind, decent, faithful man who had deeply loved his wife and lived the vows he’d taken on his wedding day long after most would have collapsed under the burden and relinquished their responsibilities.
As strange as it seemed, Morgan found herself envying a dead woman. Because even though Christine’s life with Grant had been brief, it was clear that
it had been full and happy, based on a profound, abiding love that transcended even death.
The kind of love Morgan had never known.
And all at once her eyes flooded with tears.
For Grant’s loss.
And for her own.
“Morgan, there’s a Grant Kincaid out front for you. He doesn’t have an appointment, but he’s a hottie! I figured I’d check with you before I told him to get lost.”
Startled, Morgan looked up at the receptionist, the ad layouts strewn on her desk forgotten. After the funeral, Morgan hadn’t expected to see Grant again until the Good Shepherd board meeting in Portland in January. What had brought him to Boston? And, more specifically, to her office?
“Go ahead and send him back, Lauren,” Morgan said.
“Sure thing. Let me know if you need me to take notes or anything,” she said with a wink.
When Grant appeared in her office door a couple of minutes later, Morgan had to agree with Lauren. Despite the weariness in his face, and the sadness that lurked in the depths of his eyes, Grant Kincaid was a man who could make women’s heads turn.
He was dressed in a sheepskin-lined jacket and worn jeans that hugged his lean hips. His hair was a bit wind-blown and his eyes were an intense blue in the midday sun that streamed in her large office window, which offered a panoramic view of the Boston skyline. Her gaze dropped to the hands that had mesmerized her on Christmas before she forced it back to his face.
She stood and held out her hand. “Good morning, Grant. Come in.”
He returned her greeting, his grip sure and firm. “Sorry for the unexpected visit, but I had to come to Boston to take some measurements for a new commission and I thought I’d drop off some additional Good Shepherd material. I planned to give it to you when we met after Christmas, but…” A shaft of pain ricocheted through his eyes, and he cleared his throat. “Anyway, I was in the neighborhood, and with the board meeting coming up, I figured I’d just deliver it in person.” He held out a large manila envelope.