The Patient One

by Shelley Shepard Gray

  He hadn’t followed her to the cafeteria in order for her to have to comfort him.

  Ezra turned to look at him directly. “Did you hear that Mary Jane’s hands and face are all cut up? I heard she had to get over fifty stitches and even had to be given a pint of blood.” His voice was strained.

  Danny shook his head. “When I walked in the downstairs lobby I saw a couple of people who we used to go to school with. They told me that she was cut up bad but I didn’t know it was as dire as that. I wonder if we should donate blood.”

  Ezra blinked. “I hadn’t thought about that. Can we?”

  “I think so. I mean, I can. You can donate when you turn sixteen.”

  Molly’s eyes were wide. “I feel sorry for them. Even though they did something terrible, I wouldn’t wish them to be so hurt.” Looking embarrassed, she said, “Do you think that’s wrong?”

  “Nee. You have a good heart, Molly. I’d be surprised if you didn’t feel sorry for them.”

  “I don’t feel that sorry for them,” Ezra said. “All of them had been drinking, and that means one of them was driving drunk. I feel sorry for all of them and, of course, never wanted anything to happen to Evan. But both Marie and John were hurt bad.”

  Molly’s eyes filled with tears.

  Seeing them, Danny rushed to try to make her feel better.

  “There’s nothing wrong with not knowing how to feel right now,” he said gently. “You can be mad or upset. There ain’t a right way to act.”

  “Maybe so. I don’t know.”

  She looked torn, and sounded so lost. “Molly, did you happen to notice all the people in the waiting room? No matter what we find out, we won’t be alone. That’s something, jah?”

  When Molly gazed at him again, there was a new trust shining in her eyes. He’d done that. He’d helped her feel better. It made him feel ten feet tall. Almost invincible. Looking around the vast cafeteria, he wished they were someplace else. Someplace warmer, more private. Then he would maybe even be brave enough to share something else—that he wanted to be there for her.

  Ezra got to his feet. “Mamm’s kaffi is getting cold. We need to go back upstairs, Molly.”

  “Oh. All right.”

  Noticing that she didn’t seem eager to go back upstairs either, Danny said, “If you want to wait another ten minutes I’ll stay with you.”

  “I think I do.” She turned to Ezra. “Tell Mamm and Daed that I’ll be upstairs in ten minutes.”

  Ezra hesitated. “I don’t know if you should do that.”

  Before Danny could interject and assure Ezra that he would look out for her, Molly spoke. “I’m not a child, Ezra. I don’t need anyone to stay with me or escort me anywhere.”

  “So you want me to tell Mamm and Daed that you are choosing to stay here alone with Danny?”

  She lifted her chin. “Jah. Even though I don’t think they’ll be caring too much about where I’m sitting, you can tell them that if you really want to.”

  After casting a withering look in Danny’s direction, Ezra stood up and walked to the elevator banks on the far side of the room.

  After he was out of sight, Danny grinned. “I’m starting to get the idea he doesn’t want me spending time with you.”

  Molly looked at him sharply before smiling. “Gee, I don’t know where you ever got that idea.”

  “Is it because I’m hanging around you? Or is he just upset that John is in the hospital?” He wanted to also ask if he was being so protective because Molly was in a wheelchair, but he didn’t dare. He was pretty sure no fourteen-year-old boy was going to be so protective toward an older sister unless he felt like he had a good reason.

  She sighed. “It’s because everyone is used to looking after me when we’re out in public, and I’ve let them. What’s embarrassing is that I thought I was looking out for myself pretty good already. I even thought I did a gut job of looking after Ezra. Now it seems like I’ve just been fooling myself. Even Ezra thinks I need constant help.”

  “Maybe they aren’t being just overprotective. Maybe they simply care about you.”

  “I’m glad they do.” Sounding exasperated, she added, “However, I would still rather they try to care from more of a distance.”

  “How about this? Even though you don’t actually need my help, we could pretend I like looking after you.”

  “Pretend?”

  “I meant the looking-after part.” Figuring it was time to be a little more direct, he murmured, “You know I like being with you, Molly.”

  Some of the cloudiness that had been in her eyes dissipated. And in its place?

  Well, it was something that looked a lot like what had been lurking inside of him—a knowledge that whatever was between them was good. Too good to ignore.

  “I like being with you, too,” she said softly.

  That was all he needed to know. Smiling, he talked with her for a few more minutes, changing the conversation to her job at the library and his job at Newman’s Farm. When he told her a story about a few rambunctious goats scaring off a lady and her mastiff dog, she laughed.

  Which made him feel like he’d done something pretty important.

  After another five minutes passed, he stood up. “Are you done with your soda? We should probably go upstairs and see if there’s any news.”

  “I’m done.” After a second’s pause, she handed him her empty cup. “Would you mind throwing this out for me?”

  “Nope.” Grabbing her cup with his own, he walked over to the trash can. Realizing all the while that she trusted him now.

  All he had to do was continue to make sure that she didn’t regret that trust.

  EIGHTEEN

  “Hey,” Marie called out. “I didn’t mean to slip. It was just really muddy.”

  “You have a concussion, multiple bruises and contusions on your face and arms, and a broken rib,” the doctor told Marie.

  Lying in the hospital bed with both of her parents perched on the edges of two chairs by the window, the emergency room doctor standing by her side, and a nurse holding a chart, Marie tried to make light of the situation. “That’s all?”

  He blinked as concern etched his features. “Why? Were you expecting something worse?”

  “Since my body feels like it was hit by a freight train, I have to admit I thought it might be possible.”

  “Marie, this isn’t the time to joke,” her father called out.

  “I wasn’t making a joke, Dad,” Marie protested as she looked back at the doctor and waved one bandaged hand. “Don’t get me wrong, though. I’m glad that’s the worst of it. That’s enough.”

  “I’d say so,” the doctor said with a smile. Looking over at her parents, he said, “And for the record, we encourage jokes around here. Every bit of levity always helps.”

  The doctor really was a nice man. So were all the nurses and physicians’ assistants who’d helped her in the emergency room, as well as the many people who’d been taking care of her in this private room.

  However, the whole place was noisy and too bright and smelled like disinfectant. More than anything, she wanted out of there. She wanted to go home.

  Shifting on the uncomfortable mattress, she looked up at the doctor. “When can I get out of here?”

  “Oh, Marie,” her mother chided. “Your body has been through a terrible ordeal. Don’t be so impatient.”

  “I’m trying not to be, Mom.” Looking at the doctor again, she asked hopefully, “No offense, but can I go home soon?”

  “Absolutely.” The doctor smiled, though the amusement didn’t really meet his eyes. “And, believe me, we’re all thrilled that you feel well enough to want to get out of here. As long as you have a good night, you can leave first thing in the morning.”

  “In the morning?” She didn’t even try to hide her dismay.

  “We want to monitor you a little longer, Marie. Concussions aren’t anything to mess with.” His kindly voice lowered. “Plus, I have a feeling once your body relax
es a little bit more, you’re going to be in a great deal of pain.”

  “I understand. Thank you.”

  “I wrote out some prescriptions for pain meds as well as some antibiotics, and the nursing staff will go over the guidelines for what to expect. Like I said, they’ll go over all of this in the morning.”

  “Thank you, Doctor,” her mother said as she stepped forward and shook his hand.

  “Yes, thank you so much,” Dad said. “We appreciate your time. I know you and the rest of the staff must be exhausted.”

  Sharing a look with the nurse, the doctor waved a hand. “It’s our job, but I wouldn’t mind a far quieter night than last night.”

  After the doctor and nurse left, Marie turned to her parents. It had been a few hours since she’d asked about the other survivors. She said, “How is everyone else? How is John?”

  “John is in another room, but he’s already been released,” Dad said. “I think he’s waiting to see you.”

  “So he really is okay?” she asked anxiously.

  “He’s okay. A little banged up and sore, of course,” Dad replied as he walked to her side and gently smoothed back her hair from her forehead. “He’s better than you, princess.”

  “Tell me what happened. All I remember is driving and noticing a car in front of us coming the wrong way.”

  Her parents exchanged looks before her father spoke. “I spoke with the police. The other vehicle was driven by a drunk driver.”

  That news felt like a crushing blow. “I hate that. They could have killed us!”

  “Believe me, the same thought has crossed my mind,” Dad said. “I’m hoping the police will arrest the driver as soon as she gets released.”

  “Released?” And hoping? Since when did drunk drivers get any leeway at all? “Dad, what is going on? Why would there be any question about what is going to happen?”

  Her parents exchanged worried looks again just as John knocked on the door and peeked inside. He sported a few bandages on his face and neck, and he had a good-size bruise on his cheekbone. His shirt also was stained, with blood on the collar and on one of the cuffs.

  “Marie,” he murmured. “You’re looking better, thank the Lord.” As if remembering that he couldn’t just barge in, he stood next to the door. “Is it okay if I step inside?”

  To Marie’s surprise, her mother walked over and gave him a quick hug. “Of course. We were just telling Marie that you have already been released.”

  Bemused, Marie watched John hug her mother back and shake her father’s hand before walking to her side. “I’ve been so worried about you,” he said quietly. “I can’t tell you how gut it is to see you sitting up like this.”

  She could practically feel the tension and worry floating off of him. “Don’t worry, John. I’m going to be all right. Come sit down.”

  Ignoring the chair, he perched on the edge of her mattress and ran a hand along her cheek. “You’re a little worse for wear, but you still look like your usual pretty self.”

  Well aware that her parents were still in the room, though suspiciously not seeming all that surprised to see him touching her face, she said, “I know you were released, but it looks like you got banged up, too.”

  He looked over his shoulder and smiled at them before taking her hand. “I only have a few bumps and scrapes. Nothing to worry over. I’m practically as good as new.”

  She wouldn’t go that far. “I’m glad you’re okay. I’m so sorry, John.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Sorry? For what?”

  “I . . .” She looked over at her parents. “I’m sorry. But . . . but could I speak to John on my own for a few minutes?”

  “Of course,” Mom said right away. “We’ll, uh, go say hello to John’s family. Are they still out in the waiting room, John?”

  “Most of them are. My parents, definitely.”

  “We’ll be back in a little while,” Dad told Marie before he escorted her mother out of the room.

  When the door closed behind them, Marie sat up and stared at the closed door. “What is going on with my parents? They are never this agreeable.”

  “Truly? They’ve always been kind to me.”

  “That’s different. Did you notice that neither of them said a word when you sat down right next to me on this bed?”

  Obviously stifling a laugh, John bent down and pressed his lips to her temple. “Calm down, Marie. You don’t want to get yourself too worked up.”

  “But—”

  “They are fine. All that matters is that you will be, too.”

  That reminded her of what she’d intended to tell him in the first place. “John, I am so sorry. I don’t know what to say about that accident.”

  “That’s because there ain’t anything to say. None of this was your fault.”

  “Of course it was.” She tried to remember the exact moment of impact, but it was all a hazy blob in her head. “I don’t remember exactly what happened, but I know I tried to get out of the way.”

  “You did everything you could. Hush now.”

  Images flashed in her head. “I remember that car was swerving. It was, right?”

  “It was, and you swerved so we wouldn’t hit the other vehicle head-on. If you hadn’t done that, things could have been much worse for you.”

  Remembering more details now, she recalled the way she’d turned the wheel sharply and sent the SUV into the deep ditch on the side of the road. “I still wish I could have handled everything better.”

  He shook his head as he gently ran a finger along her forearm. “Don’t think like that. All you’ll do is make yourself more upset. There was nothing you could do. Nothing at all. It’s a miracle more people didn’t die.”

  Everything inside her seized up. “More?”

  John’s jaw clenched as he looked away.

  “John, what happened? Who died?” she whispered.

  “What do you know?” His expression was guarded.

  “My parents told me that a drunk driver hit us and that they hoped they would bring charges against her. But I guess she’s hurt?” She didn’t even try to withhold the disdain in her voice.

  John released her hand and bent his head. She felt a new tension between them, much like what had been drifting from her parents.

  “What is wrong? What am I missing?”

  He cleared his throat. “The driver was a young girl of sixteen.”

  “Was she drunk?”

  “It would seem so.” Pure regret filled his voice.

  She felt sorry for the girl, as well as for the poor girl’s family. But even though Marie felt terrible for her, there was also a part of her that felt angry. The drunk driver could have killed John. Could have killed both of them. “Well, I’m sorry, but that’s even worse. She shouldn’t have been drinking in the first place. Especially not these days. Even out in Walnut Creek, it’s possible to call for an Uber.”

  “They wouldn’t have known about Uber,” he said quietly. “You see, all the passengers in the car were Amish.”

  “What?” She heard the words, but it was hard to believe.

  “They were Amish. In the middle of their rumspringa.”

  Growing up in Walnut Creek, she was very familiar with the passage of time when some Amish teenagers experimented with the outside world. But she also had grown up as part of the Eight. None of the Amish kids she’d known—John included—had ever done anything like that. “Do you know them? Did you know the girl who was driving?”

  John nodded. After taking a deep breath, he swallowed like every word was difficult for him to vocalize. “They all went to school with my sister Molly.”

  Her expression turned stricken. “Was she in the car with them?”

  “Molly? Oh, nee,” he replied, shaking his head. “She was still at the corn maze with that Danny Eberly and then she went home with Amanda and Anton.”

  “That’s a blessing.”

  He nodded. “It is, but she wouldn’t have been hanging out with thos
e kids anyway.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Jah. They, well, of late, they’ve been earning a bit of a wild reputation. Molly has never been that way.”

  “It’s too bad she knew the kids who were in the car, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Walnut Creek is a pretty tight-knit community.”

  “Jah. Especially the Amish one. But, I have to be honest with ya. Their involvement has shaken all of us up.”

  Her brain felt fuzzy but her heart seemed to know what to say. “Of course it has. All accidents catch people off guard.”

  John bent his head down. “The driver is going to have a hard road to hoe. We’re all going to have to pray for them.”

  Pray for the drunk driver who could have killed her and John? The idea was so painful, it was almost difficult to grasp. “Ah, John, no offense, but I don’t understand why you sound so sorry for the driver.”

  His head snapped up. “Because the driver was Amish, of course.”

  “But she was driving a car without a license and driving recklessly. She was also drunk.” Didn’t he remember how terrifying it had been to see that car barreling toward them?

  “I’ve heard it was Mary Jane.”

  For some reason, John naming the driver made it even more difficult for Marie to understand his sympathy.

  Feeling her head pounding harder as her emotions got the best of her, she added, “This Mary Jane did something bad, John. She killed someone. She hurt you and me. I mean, you haven’t forgotten that we’re having this conversation in the hospital, have you?”

  “Marie, don’t be sarcastic.”

  “Then stop pretending that her actions and choices don’t have serious consequences or that she isn’t at fault.”

  His eyes widened in surprise. “I haven’t said that at all.”

  “That’s what it’s sounding like.”

  “Don’t twist my words,” he said gruffly. “All I’m saying is that Mary Jane is going to have to live with the consequences of her actions for the rest of her life. Even after we forgive her, she’s going to bear that burden.”