by Judith Rolfs
Lenora’s warm voice echoed clearly in my head. My eyes blurred with tears, but I forced myself to concentrate on Kirk. “Where’s your ex-wife now?”
“She died in a car accident six months ago.” Kirk pronounced each word slowly like it was a knife cut. “Wouldn’t have been in that car if it weren’t for me. Woulda been home where she belonged.”
“I’m so sorry. You can’t blame yourself for what happened to your wife.” I dropped my pencil and bent to retrieve it to hide the image flooding my face. I hope you’re not responsible for what happened to Lenora either.
“I realize now how much she mattered to me. I’d give my right arm to have her back.” Kirk pulled out a handkerchief and blew his nose. “I ended up in prison soon after Angie left me. They treated me like scum in there because I’d raped a woman once when I was drunk. Nobody’d talk to me.”
“When did you run into Lenora?”
“Inside the joint my last time.” Kirk shifted his legs toward the left side of his chair.
Guilty reaction? The words popped into my brain.
He studied his hands. “Is she doing any better?”
“Still touch and go.” I swallowed hard and rubbed my palm across my forehead, hating that my vibrant friend was connected to a mechanical breath-maker. “Tell me about your sessions.”
“She’d listen to me rant. Eventually Lenora linked me up with a guy from Prison Fellowship. He told me about this Jewish carpenter named Jesus who loved sinners of all types, no exceptions, and already died to serve my sentence for everything I did wrong. Weird, huh?”
“And wonderful.” I fingered the cross I wore around my neck.
“The guy gave me a Bible. I read it cover to cover, several times actually. First book I ever finished. The words of Christ got through to me, and I became a Christian. Lenora helped me understand what I read. She kept telling me, ‘You’re a human being created in the image of God; you’re worth something. It’s time to start acting that way.’”
A thrill swept down my spine. “Absolutely.”
“Yeah, so look what became of her. Check out the two women in my life who tried to help me. One’s dead; the other’s in a coma. I feel like I should wear a warning sign. Contact with Kirk Corsini is dangerous.” He patted his breast pocket where a pack of cigarettes was sticking out. “Is smoking okay in here?”
“I’d rather you didn’t, if you don’t mind.”
He folded his hands in his lap. “I need to quit anyway. You should know helping me, something bad might happen to you. You better be careful.”
His words startled me. Was that a warning or a show of concern? “I’ll take my chances. Regardless, my welfare is not your responsibility. You do need to take charge of yourself, though.”
“Sure haven’t done a good job of that, have I? The police are itching to pin Lenora’s shooting on me and put me away for life.”
“If you’re innocent, you can fight and win, Kirk.”
“What chance do I have?”
“With God, there’s always hope.”
He sighed. “You sound like her. Lotta times Lenora told me ‘You’ve always got a prayer.’ Now she’s on her deathbed. What kinda God would allow that?”
An answer popped into my head, but I chose not to say it aloud. One who sacrificed His own Son for you. Instead I asked, “Kirk, is there anything else I should know about your life story?”
“That’s it. Not much of a story.”
I smiled. “Bad choice of words. Let’s talk about the evening of Lenora’s shooting.” I looked down, scanning the file in my hands for his arrival hour at Lenora’s.
“All I know is I was set-up. I just got out of prison a couple weeks before.”
“Who might have been aware ahead of time you were going to be at Lenora’s the night she was shot?”
He shrugged. “Nobody I know. Had to be someone from the foundation.”
“Anybody hold a grievance against Lenora? Did she help any convict who then turned on her?”
Kirk twisted in his chair. “I been thinking ’bout that. Most people I know liked her, ’cept maybe one. Russell might have held a grudge. She wouldn’t give him a small business loan. Said the foundation wasn’t set up that way. He got pretty mad. Truth is I didn’t blame him.”
“She’d have wanted ex-cons to learn personal financial responsibility. Giving money doesn’t foster that.” I jotted down Russell’s name.
Kirk saw me writing. “I doubt he’d hurt her though,” he added hastily. Kirk’s hands began to tremble. “Lenora’s gotta make it out of that hospital. If she dies, I’m a goner.” He cleared his throat. “She’s gotta recover and tell who really shot her. I don’t mean to sound as if I don’t care about her. It’s not like that.”
“I bet there’s a lot of things you don’t mean. It’s good to be aware of what you say and how people interpret things, Kirk.”
“People like Lenora shouldn’t get hurt when they’re so good to others. Forget about me trying to forgive the guy who shot her.”
“Why are you sure it’s a guy? Do you know more than you’re telling me?”
“Would a lady do something like that?”
I tilted my head. “I don’t see why not.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The next morning, I called the hospital first thing. Tucker had added me to the list of people who could receive updates on Lenora. To my delight she could have visitors for brief visits even though still on a ventilator and heavily medicated. Maybe my presence in itself could cheer her, plus I wanted to pray for her in person.
With the van windows rolled down, I inhaled the fragrant autumn leaves. Nick’s favorite season is fall. Mine is summer, full bloom, and total life. Fall reminds me of change and death. But signifies new life to come, God nudged into my thoughts.
I passed a girl in a farm field, probably six or seven, picking poppies. Around her age I’d plucked poppies from our garden and twisted them into necklaces. Flashy red fire gems I wore with my shoulders back, head high and haughtiness worthy of the Hope Diamond. I’d also stuff a handful of stems into my fist and hold them like a bride’s bouquet, thinking they were more exquisite than any in the florists’ windows. Having alcoholic parents meant I spent a lot of time alone with my imagination.
The present thudded back as I approached the medical center. The hospital was undergoing expansion. Construction trucks were everywhere. Finding a spot in the visitor’s lot took twenty minutes.
I’d already sent a flowering plant to Lenora’s room but didn’t want to visit without bringing another reminder of life. The sweet clerk inside the hospital gift shop appeared to be at least eighty. Her powdery skin was smooth like chalk, and her hair the color of honey. She greeted me with a warm smile. Permanent smile lines around her eyes etched a history of good humor.
Her ID tag read, Alda, Hospital Volunteer. She finished cleaning her eyeglasses, straightened to full height, smoothed her pink smock, and stepped from behind the cash register.
I smiled at her. This is what I wanted for Lenora and myself, too. To grow old while still serving people.
“May I help you?” Alda leaned forward to be of service.
“I’d like to take you home to be my grandmother.”
She laughed in a voice smooth as exquisite silk. I asked her recommendation for a bouquet of their freshest flowers.
“You’re in luck. We got a shipment of roses this morning.” With fluttery hands, she opened the cooler behind her and pulled out a bumpy pea green vase filled with delicate peach roses circled by baby’s breath.
“What a perfect arrangement. I’ll take it.” I rubbed my fingertips across a smooth rose petal.
Alda counted my change twice. “Sorry for the wait. I don’t want to have any errors in the gift shop cash register during my shift.”
“No problem.” I savored the peaceful interlude of a few moments to transition myself mentally for my visit.
At the hospital information desk, an
elderly gentleman with a congenial air directed me toward the elevator row at the end of the hallway.
The silver doors opened when I approached. I pressed eight and held my breath until the steel cables reached my floor. At what age had riding in an elevator stopped being a thrill?
Following the maze of arrows, I found the ICU wing. A curly headed blonde ward clerk pointed me toward Lenora’s location and gave me permission for a ten-minute visit.
A sense of dread dropped over me, and my chest tightened. I mustered my willpower to tiptoe into the eerie maze of electronics maintaining Lenora’s life. One machine’s control panel looked intricate enough to fly a plane. It rhythmically inflated her lungs like balloons being pumped for a children’s party. I forced myself not to cry. Lenora’s face appeared twenty years older than when I’d last seen her.
I couldn’t hug her with the apparatus attached but planted a light kiss on her cheek. Her skin was hot and lifeless. I cringed.
A tan vinyl and chrome lounger beckoned me from the corner. The sooner I got into a sitting position the better.
Lord, let her live. Lenora’s dying wouldn’t be right. Only a full lifespan was acceptable for my friend. Yet God’s idea of what’s best often differed from mine. I didn’t pretend to understand the timing of death. Life on earth with no aging was my preference and then entering heaven all at once with those I loved.
Wishful thinking. God was in charge. The fact that He lengthened ancient Hezekiah’s life fifteen years as a result of prayer inspired me, so I always prayed for more life. I sensed a hovering dark presence in the room. With authority I said, “Death, you cannot have her. Get out.”
A teardrop formed in the corner of Lenora’s eye. Did I imagine it? I called for the nurse.
A ruddy-complexioned woman in white slacks and yellow sweater appeared. “Was that you buzzing?”
“She’s crying. See.” I pointed. “Does that mean my friend’s coming out of her coma?”
“She’s heavily sedated to keep from struggling against the machine. The tear must be an autonomic response.”
“I don’t think so.” My voice sounded loud and frantic. “How long must she be on it?”
“I’m sorry. You’ll have to ask her doctor.” The nurse gave me a sympathetic smile. “Are you aware you can only stay ten minutes at a time?”
I nodded.
She approached Lenora’s bed to straighten the sheets and reposition the pillows, making her more comfortable before leaving the room. Reports of people emerging from a comatose state who said they’d heard every word spoken around them popped into my mind. Was there a tiny chance Lenora could hear me and understand? I ignored her physical state, forgot my emotions, and spoke normally.
I stroked Lenora’s arm and in fact chattered like a Chatty Kathy doll, first about the Second Chance Prison Foundation and then work. I wished she could turn my way, instead of being immobile, confined by mechanics. Resting my hand on Lenora’s, I prayed, “Lord, make every cell in Lenora’s body as healthy as it was the day of her birth.”
Silence settled into the air. I sensed the presence of the Holy Spirit with Lenora and me like a third friend. I relaxed in a chair, closed my eyes, and sought comfort and healing for Lenora in this frightening place.
I lost track of time. Too soon the nurse returned. “Time’s up.” She smiled.
A heavy weight descended on my shoulders. “Couldn’t I remain a bit longer?”
“If you wait fifty minutes, you can visit for another ten.”
I checked my watch. The paperwork in my briefcase could be done here as well as at the office. Now that I was finally with my friend, I wanted all the time I could get.
“The waiting room is just off telemetry.” The nurse spoke kindly and gestured toward a door down the hall on the left.
“Fine. I’ll be in there.”
The eight-by-ten room, mercifully empty, would serve well as my office for an hour. I sat on a comfortable tufted chair, clicked on Fox News for the murmur of background noise, and pulled out paperwork to review.
I began to read but soon the page blurred in front of me. My head drooped toward it, and I jerked upright. As I floated in and out of sleep, eventually I stuck my work back into my case and leaned back. The strain of this visit had been greater than anticipated.
Almost an hour passed before a nurse slipped in. “Excuse me, Ms. Trevor. You can return to Ms. Lawrence now.”
I shook my head groggily to clear my mental fog. “Thanks.” I stood, stretched, and took a deep breath before following her to Lenora’s room. This time the hulking ventilator seemed less intimidating. Was it possible to get used to things like this?
“Not to worry, Lenora,” I said when we were alone. “You’re going to be fine. Tucker is holding the fort until you return. The sooner the better.”
Lenora’s eyes were open, focused on the ceiling. If she understood, she gave no indication. I chattered on anyway. “You’ll be off this contraption soon. Modern medicine is phenomenal; you’re getting excellent care here.” I searched my mind for other phrases to encourage her. “Tucker is holding up well but is very concerned about you.”
I stared at her glass-like eyes for any glimmer of recognition.
Nothing.
“The foundation needs you. I’m making myself available for your clients, but I know they’d prefer you…” I paused. “Squeeze my finger if you understand any of this.”
The beeper on Lenora’s IV pole went off, startling me. Still she didn’t squeeze my finger.
The nurse hurried in and switched bags of IV fluid. As she adjusted the flow, she explained to Lenora what she was doing. Nurses were expected to speak to comatose patients as if they were alert. I’d been doing the same thing, so it didn’t surprise me. “Lenora, your brother called to check on you. He sends his love.”
I stared at the nurse, my mouth agape.
Focused on her patient, the nurse continued. “He wanted a report on your condition.” She turned on her rubber soles, brushed past me and out the door.
I jumped up following her into the hall.
“Lenora doesn’t have a brother,” I stammered. “She always jokes about being an only child.”
“That’s weird. Musta been some kind of mistake.”
“Did this man leave his name?”
“No. Said he’d call back later…”
“Please listen carefully. This is very important. The caller could be the sniper checking on her physical status. Tell your supervisor to contact the police. They need to get a guard here immediately. Now that this person has confirmed her location, Lenora may be in danger.”
The stunned woman hurried off with bulging eyes. I returned to Lenora’s room.
“Lenora, dear.” I kissed her on the forehead. “You keep fighting. My time is up, but I’ll come again. We need you with us. I love you.”
My lips quivered. Why had I never told my friend I loved her, when I truly did?
Trudging down the corridor toward the exit, I passed several other glassed-in telemetry rooms, each with a mechanical arsenal fighting the hovering enemy of death.
Family members moved in clusters in and out of loved one’s rooms, startling at every beep of the IV.
I felt guilty for all the times I let minor troubles bother me in relationships with people I loved. At every moment, day or night, beloved people in hospitals were fighting for life.
Lord, except for Your grace, how could we endure such emotional and physical pain? How horrible to be suspended between life and death as Lenora is. Heal her, please. Dying isn’t a bad thing; I expect heaven to be wonderful, just not yet for Lenora, Lord, not like this.
A client’s wife had shared with me that her husband raised his hand before dying to reach out to someone invisible, saying, “At last you’ve come…” Then he smiled and died.
I tossed my head. No more thoughts of death, Jennifer.
* * *
Once in my van, I whipped out my cell and called
Tucker. He didn’t pick up so I left a voicemail message warning him to be on the lookout for a phantom brother.
When I reached my office, I called the hospital to make sure a guard would be located outside Lenora’s room. The ward clerk told me that wasn’t going to happen.
“Why not? What about the phony brother’s call?” I explained how serious the threat was.
“Please calm down, Dr. Trevor. The head nurse concluded the nurse on duty must have misunderstood or there was a mix-up of patients’ names. The brother’s call was probably for another patient. We have a Laura on the floor, too, who does have a brother.” The ward clerk failed to convince me.
I set my phone down.
No way did I believe Lenora was safe. Was I being paranoid or wise?
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“One of the ex-convicts goes by the name Russell.”
My assistant Ellen looked up from reading a G. K. Chesterton mystery while sipping Diet Coke during a break in our tiny staff room. “He may know something about Lenora’s shooting.”
I grabbed a Grannie Smith apple and bit into it. “I need to connect with him. Kirk mentioned a Russell as a possible suspect.”
Ellen was instantly alert.
I scanned the other names on the five-page report I held in my hand. It listed the ex-convicts the foundation had been involved with the past two years. “Five women and nine men had finished serving terms of various lengths.”
Ellen’s eyes glistened, eager as a beagle’s. She leapt into her self-chosen role as the female Watson to my Sherlock Holmes, but she wasn’t him, and Sherlock I was not.
“Ellen, please set up a meeting with Russell ASAP.” I gave her a thumbs-up before tossing my apple core across the room into the wastebasket, a la the amazing Michael Jordan’s slam-dunk.
I headed back to my office. As my desk phone rang, I picked up my pace. “I’ll get it,” I called back in the direction of Ellen.
“Hello. This is Chris Lepsell. Is Jennifer Trevor in?” Her words were quick and clipped.