I lowered my hands to my sides and slowly walked toward his bed, chewing my bottom lip to keep from bawling. Reaching out, I pushed the curtain back and looked down at Jackson. Part of me wanted to run away and flee from this awful nightmare. But the other part of me wanted to lean down and embrace him.
As I stood at his bedside clenching the cold metal rail, my eyes flooded with tears, and my entire body trembled at the sight. Jackson’s head was wrapped in layers of bandages. Wires stretched across his chest and arms. A large tube taped in his mouth concealed some of the scratches on his face, but it didn’t hide the swelling and bruising. All the machines hooked up to monitor Jackson’s vitals beeped and blinked, making it evident his condition was serious. My breathing quickened as tears rolled down my cheeks and dripped from my chin, landing on Jackson’s hand.
I bit my lip harder, then reached down and touched the back of his hand. His icy flesh felt coarse and rigid. I rubbed his hand softly, drying the tears, then slowly ran my fingertips up his arm. Cuts covered his skin like a roadmap. I winced, imagining the horrible accident and how scared Jackson and the others must’ve been. I leaned in closer, wanting so badly to comfort him, as another tear fell from my face and landed on the front of his hospital gown.
Suddenly, the room began to spin, and I couldn’t feel my legs. Momma called my name, but her voice was muffled. Then everything turned bright white. Moments later, I felt a cold cloth on my forehead and a gentle wind on my face. Pulling my eyes open, I realized it was my mom and Mrs. Strickland.
“Are you okay, sweetie?” Momma said, rubbing my neck with the damp cloth. “Take some deep breaths. You got a little woozy on us.”
I did as she said but the air burned my lungs. Finally, the room stopped spinning, and my vision cleared. I sat up straighter and noticed Mrs. Ruby sitting in a chair in the corner across the room from me. Daddy and Timmy were standing on either side of her, their faces stricken with worry. I moved my gaze to Jackson, and tears spilled over my lids.
“I don’t want Jackson to die, Momma.”
“He’s not gonna die, baby.” She gave me the gentlest smile. “His body just needs time to heal. And he needs you to be strong for him. Okay?”
I wiped my face and nodded. “I can be strong for him,” I whispered.
Mrs. Strickland had one hand on my shoulder while the other continued to fan me. I offered up a sad smile, as it was all I could manage. Dried tears stained her red, swollen face, but there was a calmness about her.
“Jackson will pull through this, Rebecca,” she said.
I gazed up at her, wanting so badly to believe her.
“You know how strong and determined he is,” Mrs. Strickland continued. “He’s always been that way. Even before… Even before he was born.”
I noticed the hesitation in her voice and watched as her brow furrowed. She pulled her hand away from my shoulder and walked over to the window. Following her with my eyes, I wondered what she was thinking. Was she keeping something from us? Had the doctors given her some unfavorable news before we arrived? I glanced at Jackson and swallowed thickly.
“What’s gonna happen to Jackson, Mrs. Strickland?” I asked with a strong, more settled voice.
She turned to face me but paused for several seconds before responding. “The doctor met with us as soon as we arrived. He said Jackson suffered a traumatic brain injury, and these first twenty-four hours would determine a lot.”
“Traumatic brain injury?” I repeated as Momma stood behind me and rested her hands on my shoulders. “What does that mean?” I whimpered, my voice no longer settled.
Mrs. Strickland walked over to the foot of Jackson’s bed. “What that means is his brain’s bruised from being jarred around in his skull during the accident. But the greatest damage was done at the point of impact when he actually hit his head. That is most likely what put him in the coma.” Her tone was now flat, without emotion, as if she were reading from a script. “The doctor said the good news is Jackson’s scans showed there were no abnormalities in cerebral blood flow and no hemorrhaging in the brain.”
I felt my heart begin to race again. “But the bad news?”
“The bad news is the MRI showed Jackson’s frontal lobe was damaged.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, praying he’d be okay, but fearful he wouldn’t.
“What does that mean?” Momma asked.
“Frontal lobe injuries affect memory, mood, social behavior, intelligence, and speech, among other things. We won’t know how severe Jackson’s symptoms are for a while.”
I opened my eyes and stared at Jackson, playing Mrs. Strickland’s words back in my head. She was certainly holding herself together. Part of me admired her composure, and part of me wanted to lash out at her. Even though she was a medical professional, I knew her background was only partially responsible. By nature, Mrs. Strickland was not overly sensitive, nor had she ever been the most conscientious of mothers, in my opinion. Parents are supposed to be involved in their child’s life. It’s their job to be present. And Mrs. Strickland, well, she wasn’t. I remember I’d once asked her why she had never supported her son. She responded very bitterly, saying she and her husband did the best they could, and it wasn’t my place to question how or when they supported Jackson. I expected she secretly begrudged me after that. At least she had never tried to keep me and Jackson apart. Maybe she knew there was no use.
I brushed those thoughts aside and considered Jackson’s current condition. He could be in a coma for months, or he could wake up tomorrow. He could have mild side effects from the injury and go on living a normal life. Or he could be a completely different person, with physical and mental disabilities, and not even recognize me. Would we even have a chance to love each other? My body began to grow numb again as tears streamed down my face.
A light knock signaled a nurse entering the room. She quietly walked over to check Jackson’s vitals and adjust his IV. After she wrote something down on her clipboard, she informed us we could only stay a few more minutes. Then she offered us a compassionate smile and pulled the door closed behind her.
Daddy helped Mrs. Ruby stand. I could see the torment in her eyes. Her heart was clearly broken in two. She took Mrs. Strickland by the hand, and together they approached Jackson’s side.
“My angel, you are so precious to me. I love you more than anything.” Mrs. Ruby’s voice cracked as she gently rubbed Jackson’s arm. She bent to kiss him on the cheek, then pulled at his covers to tuck him in. “You rest now, baby, but don’t quit fightin’, and I won’t quit prayin’.”
Mrs. Strickland stepped closer and patted Jackson on the leg. “I love you, son,” she whispered. Then she took Mrs. Ruby by the arm and helped her out the door.
I knew how much Mrs. Ruby loved Jackson. She told him all the time. But until then, I’d never heard his mom say it. I couldn’t help but wonder if it was the first time she’d ever told Jackson she loved him. What if it was and he missed hearing it? My lip trembled at the thought.
My parents and Timmy took their turn next. Momma bent to kiss Jackson on the forehead, then whispered a prayer over him before they backed away. Each had tightened jaws and tears in their eyes. Momma brushed my shoulder and told me they would be waiting for me in the hall. Then everyone quietly left, giving me a moment alone with Jackson.
Except for the blinking and beeping of the machines, a sad stillness filled the room. I swallowed hard and let out a slow breath, battling my emotions as they threatened to overwhelm me. I leaned over Jackson’s bed and covered his hand with mine.
“I love you, Jackson,” I whispered, trying so hard to be strong. “Please open your eyes for me. You have to wake up. You have to come back to me. We have to finish what we started.”
Tears rolled off my chin and landed on his shoulder as I silently wept. I lowered my head to nuzzle my face against his neck, longing to take in every ounce of his scent, but it was barely there. I clutched his blanket in desperation and began to send up sile
nt prayers as muffled sobs wracked against my chest. Dear Lord in heaven, please bring Jackson back to me. I don’t wanna lose him. I can’t lose him. Lord, please make him wake up.
I lifted my head, hoping to find Jackson’s eyes opened, but there was no change, no response, not even a twitch. As grief spilled from my eyes, the heartache seemed unbearable. My whole body shook as emotions burst from the deepest part of my soul. I buried my face in Jackson’s pillow and wept as silently as I could. My prayers, violent whispers.
“Oh, God! Please! Please heal Jackson. Heal his brain, God. Give him his life back.” My hands opened and closed, clenching at the blanket that covered him. “I just want him better. Please, God, make him better. I don’t want him to change or lose his memory. And I especially don’t want him to forget me.” My shoulders heaved as the shuddering whispered prayers tore from my throat into the pillow. “Please, just make him wake up. Bring my Jackson back to me, God. Please. I love him so much.”
I squeezed Jackson’s shoulder, hugging him the best I could until my crying subsided. My face was a mess from bawling, and his pillow was soaked with my tears. I rested my head against him as my prayers lingered in the stillness. Somehow, bearing my heart and soul had brought me enormous peace.
I reached for Jackson’s hand and breathed my final prayer. “You’re here, God, I know it. I need a miracle.” A warmth came over me like someone had draped a blanket across my shoulders. It was as if I could hear Jackson saying, “It’s gonna be all right, Rebecca. God’s got me.”
No doubt, Jackson was strong. No doubt, God could heal him. He had a reputation for working miracles. I needed to give Jackson time to heal, and I needed to give God time to work a miracle. I sat up, still holding Jackson’s hand, and pressed my lips against the corner of his mouth. In spite of the tube, I kissed him ever so gently on the lips.
“Jackson, I know you can hear me. I know you heard my prayers.” I licked my salty lips and swallowed the lump in my throat. “I love you with all my heart. I’ve always loved you.” My voice was barely above a whisper. “Please hurry and heal so we can be together. I’ll wait for you, Jackson, for as long as it takes. I promise you, I’ll stay right here, and I’ll wait.”
A moment later, I heard a light knock. The nurse cracked the door and motioned for me. It was time. I brushed my lips against Jackson’s once more. “Our love is forever,” I whispered. Then I squeezed his hand to let him know I meant every word before I tearfully and reluctantly left his bedside.
Part II
Chapter Eighteen
Rebecca
Thursday, June 1, 2000 ~ When You Least Expect It
“Good afternoon, ladies, and welcome to The Boathouse. My name is Phil, and I’ll be your waituh.” The striking, dark-haired, brown-eyed young man smiled as he handed us our menus. I didn’t know which was more surprising, his sweet Southern drawl or his beautiful, perfect face. “Can I interest you in a cocktail? Or maybe a soda? How ‘bout some sweet tea or a glass of lemon watuh?”
He was dressed in all black right down to his shoes. With his toned physique, chiseled jaw, and neatly combed hair, he could’ve been a Calvin Klein model. And his perfectly manicured eyebrows? They put mine to shame. Katie’s, not so much. Her weekly standing appointment at the Ritz-Carlton Spa took care of that, among other things.
“I’ll have water with lemon, please,” Katie said, taking the menu without making eye contact.
“Me too. With lots of ice, please.” I smiled.
“Of course, sweetheart!” Phil winked at me. “How ‘bout a delicious appetizuh to start you girls off? Calamari? Lobster-stuffed mushrooms? Or may I suggest my personal favorite, the crab claws? We have the largest in town.” Phil held up jazz hands and closed his eyes for emphasis. “They ah to die for!”
“No, thanks,” Katie snapped without looking up from her menu.
I blushed a little and offered Phil an apologetic smile. “Sorry. We don’t have much of an appetite today.”
Phil sucked his teeth in objection. “That’s too bad.” Then he put his hands on his hips. “Well, I’ll just give you two some time to look over those menus while I go get drinks.”
“Thank you,” I said and watched him spin around on his heels and walk away.
Oh boy, things have certainly changed here over the past ten years. I cannot believe I’m actually back in my hometown again. And to attend my high school reunion. What was I thinking?
I looked across the table at my best friend as she studied the menu. Katie, known professionally as Kate, was the reason. She was my dearest, oldest, and bestest friend. God, it was great to see her. We’d done a good job staying in touch over the years, through email, mostly. But we also talked on the phone at least once a week. Actually, almost every day. And we took vacations together too. But it had been about eight months since our last trip. We had flown down to Miami and stayed in her condo for a week. The weather was gorgeous, and the beach was nice. But what could I say? It ain’t the Emerald Coast. Yeah, I’m a Florida girl, but things are just different in Miami. A little too fast for me.
“I‘m considering the grilled shrimp salad,” Katie said. “What about you?”
I glanced over the enormous menu, focusing on the pictures. Nothing looked appealing, so I gave a lazy sigh. “Me, too.”
“I thought you’d get the grilled mahi. Wasn’t that your favorite here?”
“It was.” I used to have a lot of favorites here a long time ago… But things are different now.
Located next to the Okaloosa Island Fishing Pier and overlooking the beautiful Gulf of Mexico, The Boathouse had been around for over sixty years. Passed down for three generations, the iconic family-owned restaurant survived numerous tropical storms and major hurricanes. Structurally, the building was sound and, thanks to the many repairs and reconstruction efforts over the last four decades, The Boathouse was not only better prepared to weather future storms, but it was also one of the most attractive restaurants on the beach.
The natural wood exterior was dressed up with white trim, red shutters, and a teal tin roof. Rustic wooden beams decorated the ceiling and staircases that lead to the upper deck and out to the boardwalk. Nautical themed paintings, fishing paraphernalia, and fishermen’s sea-life trophies adorned the walls. Guests dined indoors or outdoors on either of the restaurant’s two levels. Both provided amazing ocean views, but the tables outside also allowed guests to smell the salty air, enjoy the ocean breeze, and listen to the sound of the waves as they dined. Specializing in the very best fresh local seafood, The Boathouse stayed busy year-round. It was only closed on Christmas day and Easter, and it busted at the seams from Spring Break to Labor Day. Needless to say, business was good.
I laid down the menu and looked out the window at the beach, the one thing I could count on to never change. The sugar-white sand, the emerald-green water, and the salty sea breeze were breathtaking. As I watched the waves crash against the shore, just as they’d done a gazillion times before, I felt myself relax. There was nothing like it. From the peaceful rest and rejuvenation it offered the body, to the calming effect it provided the soul, the Emerald Coast was nothing short of magical. It was my own personal paradise. It was my home.
Katie reached across the table and clasped my hands. Her gold bangles jingled, snapping me out of my daydream. “I know you had no desire to come back here,” she sighed, “and the only reason you did was because I guilted you into it.”
I didn’t want her to believe that was why I’d come back. It wasn’t simply guilt. It was her fifteen emails, twenty-two phone calls, and eighty-seven text messages over the last six weeks that had given me no choice. She was my oldest and dearest friend. And though I didn’t understand why she wanted to attend our high school reunion, the fact was, she did. And she wouldn’t go without me. True, I didn’t want to come back. There were certain memories that tormented me day and night. Actually, the whole town was a reminder of pain, grief, and heartache. From the opportunities lost
, chances not taken, and true love denied, to the dreams that were shattered, families destroyed, and precious lives cut short. Why would I want to come back and celebrate anything? I had nothing to celebrate. And honestly, no desire to see any of my classmates, either. Well, except for one... But he had no desire to see me.
“You didn’t guilt me into it,” I lied. Because that’s what best friends do. When being kind and empathetic is more important than being honest, we choose tact over truth. “I needed to come home and see the family,” I continued to lie.
“Here ya go, girls,” Phil sang, interrupting us just in time. He placed our drinks on the table, along with an extra glass of ice and a small bowl of lemon wedges. He must’ve just cut them because their fresh citrusy fragrance filled the air. “This is in case you need more lemon for your refills.” He took a step back, put his hands on his hips, and raised those fabulous eyebrows. “So, do we know what we ah hungry for today?”
Katie handed him our menus. “We’ll both have the grilled shrimp salad.”
Phil widened his eyes, lowered his chin, and puckered those brilliant lips in approval. “With our signature dressing, shuga?”
“Yes, please,” Katie said as I smiled and nodded in agreement.
“Nice choice, ladies.” Phil shifted his weight, inadvertently sticking his hip out. “May I also bring out some fresh honey-glazed rolls?”
I’d forgotten about the rolls. “Oh! Yes, please.” I grinned at Katie. “I love the rolls here.”
Katie scratched behind her ear and snickered. “By all means, bring the rolls.”
Phil flipped the menus around and stuck them under his arm. “On the double, shuga!” He snapped his finger high in the air, then twirled around and strutted back to the kitchen.
As soon as he was out of sight, I busted out laughing. “What a diva!” I shook my head in amazement. “Our waiter is freaking hilarious.”
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