Читать книгу A Fragile Hope - Cynthia Ruchti - Страница 9

Sometimes all hope needs is a little oxygen.

~ Seedlings & Sentiments

from the “Hope” collection

Karin’s parents hadn’t let him surrender his top-of-the-hour slot, despite his having snoozed through the last one. So he stood at her lifeless side. No change. No movement. Not even an eye twitch or a grimace. Josiah didn’t want to know how they had surgically relieved the pressure building in her brain. The bulky bandage on the right half of her head gave a hint.

Seismologists in San Francisco could have measured the shift in his heart. Confusion and anger gave way to the breakdown he’d resisted for hours. He muffled his sobs with first one hand then the other, shudders racing through his body, unearthly moans rising and receding only to return stronger than the last wave. What if she didn’t make it? How was he supposed to go on? She’s the only woman he’d ever loved like that. Seeing her so utterly shattered erased all the questions. Nothing mattered. Nothing except keeping her alive.

Karin’s battle lay in the physical realm. Josiah stared at the floor tiles at his feet as if he’d stepped onto a battleground full of mental and emotional landmines. One wrong step—

“Water?”

Blurred eyes saw a Styrofoam cup of ice water near his hands. He murmured his thanks and drank a sip before looking up. One of the nurses he’d seen before in the room. Her distinct Latin heritage made her memorable. “Thank you. And I apologize for that”—he gestured with one hand—“that scene.”

She smiled. “Mr. Chamberlain, you call that a scene? This is a place where that would be considered not only normal, expected, but pretty healthy. And just so you know, it probably won’t be your last.” She handed him a cool, wet washcloth. “This might help. Or not. But it can’t hurt.”

He used the cloth to soothe his swollen eyes. No all-nighter for a tight deadline had done this kind of number on his eyes. Or the ligaments in his throat. Or the bands across his gut.

“You timed that well,” the nurse said as she pushed a button to stop an alarm on one of the IV pumps. “I hate to be sticky about the ten minute rule, but—”

Josiah stood from the chair he hadn’t remembered finding. “No. I understand.”

“If you’re nervous about finding a spot to kiss her, you can kiss her hand. Some people think that doesn’t register in a patient’s brain in cases like this. I disagree.”

Nothing in the raw, lifeless shell that he once knew as his wife, knew intimately he thought, gave any clue that it would make a difference. But he bent over her, lifted her untethered hand, and pressed his lips lightly onto her too-cool skin. “See you later, hon.”

He should say more. Something more. The one who wrestled with words for a living—and usually won—had none.

A spot of warm. And I’m so cold. So cold. Bring it back. Please.

Bring that kiss of warmth back. Comfortable. No.

Comforting.

That’s the word. Can you hear me?

“I insist, Catherine. You and Dad take this next visit. I can wait.” He’d detoured to the restroom before joining Karin’s parents, but their looks told him he hadn’t done a good job of masking his grief.

His mother-in-law linked her hands and pressed the tangle of fingers into her middle. “Josiah.”

“Only two at a time at the most. Rules.” He motioned toward the Visitor Guidelines posters hung around the waiting room.

Catherine looked at her husband, her troubled face a mirror of his. “No, we couldn’t take your place.”

Take Josiah’s place? Someone already had.

Stepped on a mine. Boom. Debris flying everywhere.

Where was he, The Betrayer? He didn’t deserve attention. But could Josiah call himself a God-follower, a devotee of the Guy Who Invented Compassion, and not wonder if Slick had survived the crash? The word justice flashed through his mind. Could justice and mercy cohabitate?

“. . . dear?”

“What? I’m sorry, Mom. What did you say?”

Stan’s hand felt solid and strong on Josiah’s shoulder. “Son, we’ll get through this. Gum?”

Gum? Stan’s answer? Your life is falling apart? Here. Have a piece of gum. “No thanks.”

“Take it.” Stan pressed a stick of spearmint into Josiah’s hand. “Please.”

Ah. Sparked by the lack of a toothbrush as opposed to a cure-all for misery. Josiah peeled back the protective paper. “Got anything in a manly deodorant?”

“Son, you should go home for a bit.” Catherine’s words floated on a current of grace, as always.

“I should shower. And check the mail.”

“No need,” Stan said with characteristic minimalism. “It’s Sunday.”

The Lord’s Day. Good timing, Karin.

Stan cleared his throat. “Let me clarify. No mail today, but a shower? Great idea.”

These people loved him enough to point out his halitosis and body odor. They loved him. Had Karin told them about Slick? Had she told anyone?

The geometric design on the plum couches and chairs animated. The lines and angles swam, their gold threads snaking through his visual field.

He’d lost his focus. He couldn’t follow a conversation, stick to his personal drama’s main plotline, finish a thought.

“You two go in at the top of the hour. I’ll go home and—” What? He’d do what? “I’ll pull a few things together.”

“Take your time, Josiah,” Catherine said, her eyes pale sequins of pain. “You probably need to breathe some fresh air, no matter how cold it is. We’ll be here.”

And they would. Dependable as the phases of the moon. Rock solid. Was Karin’s unfaithfulness a greater offense against him, her imperfect husband, or against them?

The maze of hospital corridors held him captive. Clutching a limp list of what he might have at one time thought essentials, Josiah maneuvered the labyrinth like a blind person without a guide dog.

Dog.

Sandi! How long since he’d let Sandi out? Had he remembered to do so before he left for the hospital? Josiah glanced at his feet. He didn’t remember having stopped for shoes. But there they were.

He slid his cell phone from his pocket. Who could he call to check on Sandi? Sure, he was headed home, but in the time it took him to drive there, she could get pretty miserable. Or relieved. He had no heart to clean up after her.

What time was it? Most of their friends were at church, singing their hearts out, nodding and amening. Let them. He’d have to call someone not in church. How many heathens did he know? Only Morris. Doubtful he’d hop a plane to do a favor for his favorite client.

A lit sign marked Exit called to him.

Exit. Good idea.

“How is she?”

“What? Oh, Leah. What are you doing here?” Everything was off axis. He hadn’t told anyone about the accident except Karin’s parents and that quick voice mail to Morris. How did Leah find out? “I’m sorry.” It might work in the movies, but shaking his head did nothing to clear his thoughts. “She’s in intensive care. Hey, thanks for coming, but only family can visit. I’ll let you know when she’s well enough to—”

“You pompous—!” Leah freed one hand from the load she carried and punched Josiah’s shoulder so hard he stumbled backward.

Was she insane? “Get a grip, Leah. My wife’s fighting for her life!”

“My husband lost his. And it’s Karin’s fault. Or yours.” She blinked back tears and fought to stop the quiver in her chin.

“What are you saying? Wade’s dead?”

“You’re as naive as you are pompous, Josiah. Who do you think was driving your wife’s car?” Her words sounded more difficult to squeeze out than the last smear of toothpaste. “With an unsent text on his phone. ‘Josiah, I’m taking Karin—’ And her suitcase in the backseat.”

“You’re not making any sense. Where would they have been going?” Josiah caught sight of a hospital security officer approaching from behind Leah and lowered his voice. “Leah, I’m so sorry for your loss. But I don’t understand what Karin—”

“You tell me where they were headed. He wasn’t taking her home.” Her anger seemed spent. It faded as disbelief and grief swallowed them both.

Josiah lifted his chin toward the security officer and put his arm around Leah. She didn’t resist. The officer halted his approach and stepped to the desk but didn’t stop watching. “This is such a mess,” Josiah said, gesturing toward a conversation area not far from the exit that had seemed so appealing moments earlier. “I can’t make sense of any of it. What do you mean that Wade wasn’t bringing Karin home?”

She pulled back, a look of incredulity in her red-rimmed eyes. “You really don’t know anything?”

“No one’s talked to me except Karin’s surgeon.”

“Privacy Act.” She sniffed and lowered herself into one of the chairs, her grip on the bundle in her arms as tight as ever.

Josiah reached for her bundle, intent on putting it in the third chair in the grouping. She clung to it, eyes pinched shut. Oh. Wade’s belongings. Josiah was an idiot on so many levels he’d lost count. “Wade wasn’t bringing Karin home? How do you know—?”

“The accident happened on Route 80. Six miles from here.”

Not possible. “Why would they be heading this way?” But that would explain why the ambulance chose Woodlands. His thoughts stuttered as badly as the words he tried to spit out. Did Leah know more? Did she know about Karin’s child? Karin and Wade’s—? No. Impossible. Josiah wasn’t going to be the one to tell Leah that her man was a slimeball. The woman had just lost her husband. Had Karin ever talked about Wade with anything more than friendship? What had he missed?

“Airport.” She sighed into the plastic wrapped bundle. “It’s the only thing I can think of. He wasn’t taking her shopping at the mall, that’s for sure.” The sarcasm hung like stale smoke from a thousand cheap cigars.

“They were getting on a flight?”

“Not them, Josiah.” She looked at him as if he’d lost all of his senses, not just the few he knew about. “Karin was leaving. I don’t know how she talked Wade into taking her or why he wouldn’t have let me know. I don’t know why Karin didn’t tell me she’d finally had enough.”

“Enough?”

“Of you!”

The word-fists landed harder than her physical punch. She was delirious. Wracked with grief. Shock, maybe. Or completely delusional. They’d both been betrayed.

He wasn’t alone in this. Was he?