by Leslie Gould
“And how are you feeling about things?” Fern’s eyes were full of concern.
“Okay.”
“James?”
“Honestly?” He smiled. When the boys were little, he and Fern used to have “couch time” when they got home from work before they started cooking dinner. The boys would spend the time in their room, playing, while Fern and James talked about their days and planned out the evening and the next day. If either had a grievance with the other, they would voice it. If either was unsettled about something, they would talk it through. At first, the boys would fight and try to get their attention, but they’d stood firm. They needed a little time each day to open up and talk. They both credited that time together as the foundation of their marriage.
“James?” Fern prodded.
But for the last few years, since Fern had been diagnosed, James had shared less and less about how he felt, not wanting to burden her.
“How are you really doing?” she asked.
James smiled a little and then began to talk. “I won’t even have a part-time job in another week, probably. I haven’t heard from Cody yet about the house, and I’m afraid even if it doesn’t sell right now, we still won’t be able to buy it and we’ll have to move again sometime. I worry about college for Gideon.”
Fern reached for his hand and stroked his long fingers, one at a time as he spoke.
“But.” He paused, not sure how to explain. He forged on. “I feel peace, like God wants me to trust Him with this, to lean on Him.”
Fern nodded and then said, “I feel so bad that all of this falls on you.”
James wrapped his hand around hers. “There are times when I let it all fall on me, and that’s wrong because I couldn’t do this without your support and without the help of the boys. And I’d be a mess if I didn’t know God was with us each step of the way.” He thought of Gary Morris. It really didn’t take much for a person to end up in a personal hell on earth.
James rested his head against the back of the couch and closed his eyes. He still hadn’t recovered from picking up the night shift Sunday.
“What’s going on this evening?” Fern asked.
“Scouts,” James muttered. “The meeting should have been last night, but we rescheduled because the church needed the meeting space. But maybe I won’t go. I’ll get one of the other dads to cover for me.”
“Nelson said there was going to be a surprise.”
James opened his eyes and lifted his head. “I haven’t heard anything about that.”
Fern’s eyes twinkled. “If you’re at all up to it, I think you should go. More than one young man will be disappointed if you don’t.”
Elena waited until Izzy had changed into her play clothes to tell her she’d picked up her glasses earlier in the afternoon. She pulled the case from her purse and handed it to her granddaughter. “Can you tell me what we said about you taking good care of your glasses?”
Izzy held the case in her open palm. “Always put them in the case when I’m not wearing them. Always put the case in my backpack so I can take the glasses back and forth to school with me. And…” She thought for a moment and then continued, “don’t ever put the glasses’ lenses down on my desk or a table at school or home.”
“Good,” Elena said. “Let’s go into the living room, and you can put them on and read to me.”
Izzy smiled and took the glasses out of the case, which she slipped into her backpack. “May I put them on now?” she asked.
Elena said yes, and Izzy carefully slipped the mauve plastic frames onto her face, grinning as she did so.
“They look marvelous,” Elena said. “You did such a good job choosing them.”
“Daddy helped me,” Izzy said. “They’re not as fancy as my dollar glasses or as Aunt Anabelle’s, but I like them.” She took off skipping into the living room, and Elena decided she would take a photo of Izzy in both pairs of glasses to show Anabelle. Her friend would get a kick out of Izzy’s stylish ways.
They settled down together on the couch and Izzy picked up Goodnight Moon again, turning to the first page. “In the”—she began sounding out each letter—“g-r-e-a-t. Great.” She turned her head up to Elena and grinned.
“Great reading!” Elena said, squeezing Izzy’s shoulder.
“Green…room…” She didn’t know every word but she figured out most of them as she made her way through the book. After the last page, she said, “The glasses make the letters stay still. They were all swimmy before, even with the red pair.”
Elena leaned back against the couch, relieved, as Izzy reached for a Madeline book.
“One more, and then I need to start dinner,” Elena said. And then go to the advisory committee meeting. She took out her phone. “Let me take a photo of you before you start—and one with your other glasses too.”
“For Mommy?”
“You bet.”
“And Aunt Anabelle too?”
Elena nodded and then clicked the photo. Maybe it would help lighten up the meeting.
Chapter Twenty-Two
ANABELLE LAUGHED AT THE PHOTOS ON ELENA’S smartphone as the advisory committee members gathered in the hospital boardroom. “Izzy certainly is a little girl with style,” Anabelle said, removing her own glasses, “and personality.”
Elena slipped her phone back into her purse, and Anabelle sat down at the other side of the table and pulled her notebook from her purse. Heath, Candace, and another man, whom she assumed to be Skip Mullen, came in the back of the room laughing. The man was tall and solid, had a head full of sandy hair, and blue eyes. He had an open face and an easy smile.
Albert Varner followed the trio, his face still pinched and worried.
Skip approached the table and introduced himself to Anabelle and Elena. His handshake was firm and pleasant. When he found out they were both nurses, he said, “My mom was a nurse. I always admired her work as a child, but it wasn’t until I got into this business that I realized all she did. You are my heroes.”
Anabelle couldn’t help but smile. From some men, the comment might sound like flattery, but from Skip Mullen it sounded sincere. He had a natural charisma, but it seemed genuine and down-to-earth. He took a chair beside Elena, and Heath and Candace sat down across the table. Varner and McGarry sat at one end of the table and Dr. Hamilton sat at the other. The good doctor had obviously met Skip earlier in the day, when the two had discussed the hospital and Dr. Hamilton’s concerns.
“I’ve asked Skip to tell us, as a group, what his priorities would be as CIO of Hope Haven,” Varner said.
Anabelle focused on the man, wondering how he could possibly consider taking the CIO position at Hope Haven when the pay would have to be minimal—if the board would even approve the position at all. He was Heath’s age—in his late thirties. He wasn’t ready to be put out to pasture. How can Hope Haven possibly compare with his previous work experiences? she thought.
Skip looked around the table as he greeted the group, making eye contact with each individual. Anabelle remembered she needed to be taking notes and turned her attention back to writing as Skip spoke.
“First, it’s essential to tap into government grants for funding. What you have has worked for the last few years, but as a nation we need…” He spent a few minutes talking about national e-charting requirements. Obviously, he knew what he was talking about and had advised other small hospitals on how to obtain funding. “The government wants small hospitals to survive. They are essential to the economy of small-town America. We can’t afford to let them die.” He recited a few statistics about hospitals that had obtained government grants, instigated new informatics programs, and then turned their finances around.
He paused for a moment and then spoke slowly, saying the money in the grants he was certain he could secure would more than cover not only his salary, but the needed changes to the electronic charting, and would help supplement other programs.
McGarry leaned forward in his chair and said to Skip, �
��We can’t begin to match your current salary, not even by a fraction.”
“And you would be foolish to,” Skip answered. “Your money is better spent on other things.”
“Just how much salary would you be expecting?” McGarry gripped his pen tightly in his hand.
“I’ve seen your administrator’s pay scale,” Skip answered, “and I can live with that.”
“Surely it wouldn’t support the lifestyle you and your family are used to,” Varner interjected.
Skip looked offended for half a second and then explained, “We’re actually quite frugal. My wife and I are determined to raise our children in a simple environment where they’ll learn the value of hard work. Plus, I’ll be honest, I’ve invested through the years, and our financial future is secure.”
When no one responded to his comment, he cleared his throat and said, “Let’s get back to discussing what’s most important here. The future of Hope Haven. It’s essential to maintain all the departments the hospital already has. Hope Haven must keep a strong and vital obstetrics program. The Holistic Cardiac Program needs to be continued. With an aging population, it will bring in more money than it will lose, if we take a look past the five-year mark.”
Anabelle glanced up, but Varner was poker-faced, and Dr. Hamilton was busy taking his own notes. Skip shared a few more of his ideas and then asked if anyone had questions. The discussion continued for another half hour, and then Dr. Hamilton thanked Skip for all of the information and his time.
Skip offered his thanks to the entire group.
Varner took out his smartphone. “Zane and I will talk some more and then meet with the board next Tuesday evening, a week from tonight. We’ll give you a call after that.”
Skip nodded. “I’ll look forward to it.”
Anabelle jotted down the exchange between the two men, and then Dr. Hamilton asked if anyone else had anything they wanted to discuss. No one did, and he adjourned the meeting at eight thirty, the earliest any of the advisory committee meetings had ended so far.
After all of the other members had left, Candace, Heath, and Skip talked for a few more minutes in the parking lot of Hope Haven. The night was clear and warm. “Tell Margie it’s always this nice here,” Heath joked. “No rain. No wind. No cold. No snow.”
“Oh, she’s looking forward to the snow,” Skip interjected.
“Remember, she’s from Indiana,” Candace added. “Winters might be a shock after living in California for years though.”
“How has the house-hunt gone?” Candace asked, wondering if he’d actually seen the Bells’ house that morning as planned.
“There’s a house here that might work. And a couple of places in Princeton. The commute would be a fraction of what I do in LA.” It was only seven miles—and had hardly any traffic.
Skip said good-bye and hugged Heath with a good old-fashioned bear hug, then gave Candace a tender hug, and thanked them both. “I’ll be in touch soon,” he said, adding, “I can’t wait to see what God has planned for all of us.”
As Heath gave Candace a ride home, she hoped Skip Mullen would take the job at Hope Haven, whether he and his family decided to live in Princeton or Deerford—though she prayed James and Fern got to keep their house too. She couldn’t imagine anyone in a better position to help the hospital move forward and reach financial stability than Skip.
When they arrived at her house, Candace invited Heath in for a cup of coffee. He readily agreed. With mugs of decaf in hand, they sat on the couch talking over the events of the last few days. Janet had already put Howie to bed by the time they arrived, and Brooke was supposed to be doing her homework in her bedroom.
She appeared in the doorway to the living room. “Have you seen the colored pencils?” She had a large sheet of white paper in her hand for her science assignment.
“Did you check the desk drawer?” Candace responded.
“Oh yeah,” Brooke said, as if she suddenly remembered that was where they’d been kept for the last five years.
Brooke took off up the stairs, and Howie appeared wearing his Buzz Lightyear pajamas. “I’m thirsty,” he said, his eyes dancing.
Candace told him to go get a drink of water and go back to bed. He knew he would be allowed only one. As he headed back past the living room, he dawdled in the doorway, smiling.
“Howie,” Candace said. “I’ll come check on you before I go to bed, but Grammy already tucked you in. Don’t come out again.”
He kept smiling, his face toward them, as he ambled on toward the staircase.
Before Candace could say another word to Heath, Brooke was back, asking for an explanation of photosynthesis. As Heath finished answering her question, Howie began yelling from his bedroom.
Heath began to laugh. “I think I should get going,” he said.
Candace shook her head. “They’re not usually this busy at bedtime.”
“They’re probably curious, wondering what we’re up to.” He winked as he stood.
Candace walked Heath out to his Jeep. He put his hands on either side of her face and kissed her tenderly and then said good night. As she turned to walk back to the house, the curtain in Brooke’s window fluttered, and Candace was pretty sure she saw two faces behind it. She smiled as she hurried on toward the front door.
James yawned and glanced at his watch. It was almost nine o’clock, and as Nelson wrapped up the meeting, James wondered why Fern had encouraged him to come. The boys had planned another service project, talked about a camping trip in the summer, played a game of sardines, ate a bag of chips, and passed around a two-liter bottle of cola that one of the boys happened to have in his backpack.
James was about to encourage Nelson to wrap things up when he heard someone at the door to the foyer of the church. He stood, assuming it was one of the dads arriving to take his son home—probably just what was needed to break the meeting up. He peered into the darkness on the other side of the glass door, not recognizing the person at first.
Suddenly it registered. Gary—and with him was Joel, sitting patiently in his wheelchair.
James pushed the door open and welcomed them in, confused as to why they were at the church.
“Nelson invited us to come so the Scouts could all meet Joel,” Gary explained.
“Sorry we’re late,” Joel said, as Gary wheeled him through the door. “I started to chicken out, but Dad said I needed to face my fears.”
James turned his attention to the father, and Gary shrugged his shoulders. “I figured if I’m trying to face mine, he should face his.”
James reached out and shook Gary’s hand and then Joel’s. “Thank you for coming, both of you. This is going to mean a lot to the boys. And it means a lot to me,” he said, thankful Fern had talked him into coming to the meeting. “An awful lot.”
As James led the way down the hall, Nelson came out of the meeting room. “Joel,” he said, quickening his steps. “Thanks so much for coming. I was beginning to think—”
“That I wouldn’t show? No way. I need to make up for hiding the day your troop came out to help my folks.” Joel extended his right hand and Nelson shook it and then everyone followed the boy back into the meeting.
“We have a special visitor,” Nelson said, as everyone filed into the room. “Joel Morris. He’s going to talk with us about his experience in the army.”
James and Gary sat down in the last row of chairs as the boys milled around Joel.
“Why’d you join up?” Shane asked.
Joel began telling them his story, starting with deciding to enlist his senior year of high school. The boys listened intently. It was the same story Joel had told James in bits and pieces over the last few weeks, but with more humility and less anger. The boys all listened eagerly, soaking in every word. There was nothing like a true story to make war real.
Afterward, as the boys gathered around Joel, Gary turned toward James. “Joel and I talked things through. Both Melanie and I are going to take him to his doctor’s a
ppointment.”
James nodded.
“But thank you for being willing to take him. Thanks for being a friend to him and to all of us.” As Gary spoke, his eyes were on his son as the young man showed the Scouts the scars on his arm.
Chapter Twenty-Three
ON FRIDAY MORNING, JAMES FOUND HIMSELF singing “Trust and Obey” as he drove to the Morris home. It had been a good week so far for the Morris family. Joel had been much more settled, cooperating with both James and Polly. His parents, who were each attending support meetings every day, were more peaceful too.
Yesterday, both of Joel’s parents had taken him to Springfield for his doctor’s appointment, and James was looking forward to finding out what they had learned.
He parked behind Gary’s SUV, and he heard music playing as he approached the house. He couldn’t remember ever hearing any tunes in the home. When he’d asked Joel if he could turn some music on several different times, the young man had emphatically declined.
Gary opened the door for James and then turned the music down. “Can’t stand this stuff,” the man said, shooting a playful look at Joel, who had his feet over the edge of the hospital bed, ready to get going for the day.
Joel smiled and said, “You won’t have to listen to it for long.”
Gary headed into the kitchen and James positioned Joel’s wheelchair, asking, “How did the doctor’s appointment go?”
“He said I’m good to go for rehab.”
“That’s great,” James said, and he meant it, even though it meant he was out of a job.
“And he said I won’t need anyone with me in Texas, so neither Mom nor Dad is going. They can stay home and work on their own stuff.”
James didn’t comment, but silently he agreed that that was probably best for all of them, including Joel.
“But,” Joel said, as James helped him transfer into the chair, “the biggest news is that Brooke Army Medical Center has an opening for me on Monday.”