Читать книгу The Heart's Choice - Joyce Livingston - Страница 11

Beck hated this stretch of road. The grade at this point through the Rockies was exceptionally steep. He glanced at his watch. No trouble, he’d make his deadline in plenty of time.

Noticing an SUV in front of him, the fancy top-of-the-line kind with leather seats, big tires and a little pickup bed in the back, he smiled. Instead of numbers, the license tag read Adams-Toy. Pretty expensive toy, I’d say! He eased down on the brake.

But nothing happened.

What’s wrong, Baby? The dependable truck he’d been driving for the past three years didn’t respond. A feeling of panic crept through him and he hit the brakes again. Not too hard. From his years of experience, he knew if he pressed them too suddenly they might lock and that could spell disaster. Ignoring his efforts, the truck continued to move forward as if it had a mind of its own, its immense weight propelling it onward faster and faster as it descended the hill. His heart quickened with fear and trepidation as a cold sweat dampened his forehead. God, do something! Please do something!

The sudden blaring of the truck’s air horn caused all eyes to turn in its direction.

“I think the guy’s lost his brakes!” Adam gasped, his grip tightening on the steering wheel.

Terror seized Tavia’s heart as she watched the on-coming truck through the rear window. “He’s going to hit us! I know he is!”

“Adam! Pull off the road and let him by!” Jewel’s shrill voice echoed through the inside of the truck.

“I’m trying!” Adam screamed back, “but the embankment is too steep! We’ll flip over!”

Tavia wanted to watch, to make sure Adam would be able to get off the road in time, but she couldn’t. Her eyes were fixed on the rapidly approaching truck, sure they were all going to die.

Beck geared down, but the truck continued to barrel forward, ever closer to the SUV.

He’d lost control.

Forty tons of steel hurtled forward of its own volition like a heat-seeking missile, and there was nothing he could do about it but watch and pray.

Beck stared through the windshield at the fancy SUV just seconds ahead of him on the road. I sounded my horn. Why doesn’t the guy pull over? Try to get out of my way? He has to see me!

He sounded the horn again then glanced at the radio. What good would calling for help do? No one could help him now. He was all alone in the cab with a full load, careening totally out of control. He knew there’d be an emergency turn-off ramp down the road a couple of miles. He’d seen it hundreds of times. If it wasn’t for that SUV in front of him, he might be able to make it there.

“Get out of the way! Move it!” he screamed out at the top of his lungs as he gave a long, loud blare of his horn and waved one arm frantically across the windshield. “Dear Lord! Don’t let those innocent people die because of me! Help me!” he shouted out.

It’s too late! The realization struck him like a sucker punch as they rounded a curve. “If I hit these people, they won’t have a chance!”

He watched in horror as the distance between the two vehicles lessened, feeling helpless to do anything now but continue to hope and pray—no more in control than a mere spectator.

The brakes still weren’t taking hold.

Even the Jake brake wasn’t helping.

“Move it!” Beck yelled as he flailed his hand wildly across the windshield again. “Go left! Cross the road! Take the ditch! Take the ditch!”

The SUV made a slight move to the left, then a wild swing to the right, as if the driver was out of control and trying to compensate, then left again, but it was too late.

Much too late.

Beck white-knuckled the steering wheel as the truck rammed into the back of the vehicle, shoving it along as if it were a mere toy. He wanted to close his eyes, to pretend it wasn’t happening, but it was and he had a front row seat. Within seconds, his bumper was crushing the SUV’s rear end as easily as if it were a paper cup. The ugly sounds of the screeching Jake brake and crunching metal were deafening to his ears.

Beck clutched the steering wheel, holding on for dear life as his huge bumper pushed the mass of twisted metal down the road ahead of him, unable to do anything but ride it out and blame himself for going ahead and driving the truck after he’d suspected a problem. Although he could no longer see the passengers, he knew they must be in total panic.

The SUV continued to veer to the right, coming closer and closer to the edge of the road and the guardrail that edged itself along the deep gorge, the truck’s heavy bumper twisting the vehicle’s rear end around to the front like a bump-em car at a carnival. Beck maintained his death-grip hold on the steering wheel as if just by squeezing it he could regain some sense of domination.

But it didn’t work.

He gulped in a breath of air and released one hand long enough to wipe the sweat from his eyes. That guardrail would never hold!

While casting a hurried glance into the rearview mirror, Beck felt the cab begin to shift. Just as he’d suspected, the deadweight of the loaded trailer began to drift sideways, pulling him with it. “Oh, God, no! Don’t let it jackknife!” he yelled out, knowing nothing short of a miracle from God Himself would keep this from happening. The SUV was in the truck’s clutches, going wherever the eighteen-wheeler wanted to take it.

“Oh, Lord, if they go over the side, they won’t have a chance! Don’t let it happen! Please! Don’t let it happen!”

A shower of sparks shot into the air as high as Beck’s windshield as the SUV smashed sideways into the guardrail, still being scooted along at breakneck speed by the cab’s massive bumper.

Beck gasped in horror as the passenger in the back seat was hurled through a window into the air, tossed along the edge of the guardrail like a rag doll being discarded by an uninterested child.

He felt bile rise in his throat and thought he was going to vomit. “No! No! This can’t be happening!” If only he could do something!

Watching in what felt like slow motion, what he’d feared the most happened.

The guardrail gave way.

With nothing to stop it, the battered and beaten SUV straddled the rocky ledge for only a few feet, then plummeted into the deep canyon below.

Though nearly out of his mind with grief and guilt, and taking time for only a quick glance over the canyon’s rim, Beck continued to fight the truck as it rapidly cascaded down the descending road toward the turnout.

Then, as if it had taken on a mind of its own, the truck made a sudden swerve to the left, crossed the road and headed for the rocky embankment. That was the last thing Beck remembered.

Tavia couldn’t breathe. Something was filling her mouth and nostrils. She felt herself drifting in a swirling pit of darkness. Where am I? Why can’t I breathe? My head is pounding. Black. Everything black. Am I dead? Am I in hell?

Slowly, she tried to open her eyes, but the intense pain made it impossible, so she lay motionless instead, trying to put things together, staring at the blackness and the wisps of light that seemed to come and go in fleeting, erratic shafts.

“I think she’s coming around,” a female voice said. “I’m almost certain she blinked.”

“I hope so. They’ve been so worried about her,” another answered.

She felt a hand on her arm, shaking her gently. Hurt. I hurt.

“Can you hear me? If you can hear me, try to open your eyes.”

Can’t open them. They hurt. My head hurts. My chest hurts. Arm.

“She’s got to be all right,” a man’s voice interjected. “I’m not sure that woman would make it if they lost her, too.”

I hear you, I hear you. Tavia wanted to shout out the words, but they wouldn’t come. Only darkness and those weird streaks of light. I hear you, she said within herself as she drifted off into the shadowy abyss of her mind and everything slowly faded away.

Beck checked the clock on the Boulder Community Hospital wall for the fifth time in the past five minutes. 8:30 p.m. He stared at his breakfast. He’d asked the nurse to leave his tray. He knew he ought to eat. His body would heal better with proper nutrition, but he wasn’t hungry. His every thought was centered on the woman on the third floor. When he’d asked the nurse to check on her, she had told him she was in a coma. What a tragedy. If only he could have avoided the accident. He’d never be able to forget her face. He’d even dreamt about it. Dreamt about those big, round blue eyes staring up at him through the rear window of that oversize SUV. Would he have that same dream every night for the rest of his life?

He’d lain awake for hours after that dream, reliving every second, wondering if he could have done anything differently to avoid that accident. But he’d been trained for situations like that. He’d done everything by the book. No one could have done more than he had. But if that were true, why was he carrying so much guilt?

He had to go to her room, to see for himself if she had awakened from the coma. After persuading one of the nurses to get him a wheelchair, Beck headed for the third floor.

He rolled his chair up beside her bed and sat staring at the small portion of the woman’s face that wasn’t covered by a bandage. Just seeing her arm secured by a removable cast, a tube going down her throat, and listening to the incessant beep, beep, beeping of the machines, made his heart fill with agony. Lord, spare this woman’s life. Don’t take her from these people who love her. They’ve already lost their son. Don’t take his fiancée, too! And, please, God, I need Your touch. Not for my broken leg or the cut on my head. Those will heal in time. I need You to take away this terrible feeling of guilt. I know Dr. and Mrs. Flint don’t hold me responsible for the death of their son—I did all I could—but, because of me and the failure of the brakes on my truck, their son is dead and this young woman is lying here in a coma!

“You’d better get back to your room,” the nurse on duty told him a half hour later as she entered the room and adjusted the drip on the IV. “You’ve been here longer than you should have, considering your own condition.”

He inched his chair closer to the bed, his eyes still riveted on its still occupant. “Just a few more minutes? Please?”

The nurse placed her hand on her hip, her voice showing concern. “You’ve been through a traumatic ordeal yourself, and you’ve still got quite a knot on that head. How is the leg doing?”

“I’m okay.” He gestured toward the bed. “It’s her I’m worried about.”

She gave him a frown. “We’re all worried about her.”

The woman lying in the bed suddenly let out a stifled cough, then seemed to gag. Beck lunged forward, not sure what he could do to help. Was she coming out of the coma?

The nurse put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “It’s all right. Folks do that sometimes when they’re in a coma. It’s nothing to worry about.”

He leaned back in the chair and rubbed at his forehead, for a moment nearly forgetting about the swelling and the stitches. “It’s a miracle she’s alive. If you’d seen that—”

She waggled a finger at him. “You have to try to put that out of your mind, Mr. Brewster. It’s not good for you to dwell on it. You need to concentrate on getting well.”

“Please, let me stay a little longer.” He shifted in the chair, his leg muscles reminding him of the excessive amount of stress and strain he’d put on them, pressing the pedal and trying to get the brakes to take hold.

She tilted her head with a scowl. “I shouldn’t let you stay.”

“I know, but she might wake up, so I want to be here.”

After a glance at her watch, she shrugged. “Oh, all right. Fifteen minutes more, but that’s it. Her family is down in the cafeteria. They’ll be back any time now. The doctor said only two visitors in the room at a time. No more.”

“I’ll leave when they get here.” Beck gave her a nod and a smile of thanks before turning his interest back to the still form of the injured woman. Gazing at what little of her face was showing, he wondered what she really looked like. It was hard to tell with all the bandages and that tube. He could barely see the color of her hair. Was she young? Old? Short? Tall? He’d caught only a brief glimpse of her as she’d stared up at him out that back window. All he could remember about her was the terror he’d seen in her eyes.

“Wake up. Please, wake up,” he pleaded as he reached out and carefully touched her arm. “If I could, I’d gladly trade places with you.”

Except for the constant beeping of the machines, the room remained silent.

He gently stroked her swollen hand. “I’m—I’m so sorry. If it weren’t for me—”

“You can’t blame yourself, Beck.”

Startled, he pulled his hand away and turned toward the voice. “Hello, Dr. Flint. H—how’s your wife doing?”

The man raised a hand to his brow, his forehead creasing with concern. “Not so good. She’s not in good health anyway, and this whole thing hit her pretty hard. Both of us. She’ll be here in a minute. She stopped at the ladies’ room to freshen up.”

The quiver in the man’s voice went straight to Beck’s heart.

Dr. Flint moved to the opposite side of the bed and, through misty eyes, stared quietly at the bandaged face.

“If it weren’t for me, your son—”

James Flint put a cautioning finger to his lips, then said in a low whisper, “Shh. We have to be careful what we say around her. The doctor said sometimes, even though people are in a coma, they claim later they could hear what was being said in the room. We don’t want her to know about him until the doctor says she’s ready and can handle it. I’ve already warned Annie to be careful about what she says.”

Beck nodded.

The two men moved to the foot of the bed and continued their conversation in hushed tones. “You can’t go on blaming yourself, Beck. It wasn’t your fault. Both my wife and I realize that. From what the sheriff told us of his ongoing investigation, you did the best you could to get that truck stopped. In fact, the sheriff said it looked as if the accident could have been a whole lot worse if you hadn’t maneuvered that truck to the side of the road like you did. I’m just glad you remembered Adam’s license plate so they could trace it and let us know what happened. I’d bought that SUV for him as an early graduation present, so it was still registered in my name. I’d even had those silly words, Adam’s toy, put on that plate.”

Beck stared at the motionless figure in the bed. He had done all he could, but it hadn’t been enough. A young man in the prime of his life had died, and a woman lay badly injured and in a coma. He almost felt embarrassed to be alive. Why God had spared his sorry life and taken theirs he’d never understand. At least, not until he met his Savior face-to-face and could ask Him. He tried to speak, but his throat tightened and held his words captive.

Dr. Flint placed his hand on Beck’s shoulder, pausing as if to get control of his emotions before going on. “From what the sheriff said about the looks of that truck of yours, I’d say you were lucky to get out of it alive.” He gestured toward the woman in the bed. “Good thing she wasn’t wearing her seatbelt. If she’d had it on, she might not have been thrown out the window and ended up in that—”

“I’m concerned about your wife, Dr. Flint.” Beck blinked hard, his own emotions about to get the better of him, too.

“Annie hasn’t slept a wink since—well, you know. Her cardiologist checked her over this morning before we came to the hospital. Her heart is as weak as ever, and he’s worried about the strain all of this has put on her. We have to keep a close watch on her and protect her as much as possible.” He motioned toward Tavia. “I think all that’s kept Annie going is the sweet little girl lying in that bed. The two of us can’t understand why God would take our Adam, but we’re so thankful He didn’t take Adam’s fiancée, too.”

Beck gazed at the woman, trying to imagine what her face would look like without the contortions of fear he’d seen on it. “I’ll bet she’s as pretty as her name.”

“I—I don’t know.” The man frowned as he gazed at the bandaged face. “Our son thought she was the most beautiful woman in the world, but my wife and I have never met her.”

Beck stared up at him, confused by his words. “You’ve never met her?”

“No, she and Adam had recently become engaged, but we hadn’t had a chance to meet her yet. That’s why he was bringing her home. I couldn’t even tell the hospital if she had insurance, but once I told them I’d be responsible for her bills if she didn’t, and signed a few papers, they were appeased.”

Beck let out a deep sigh. “Seems sad that a hospital would be concerned about getting their money when someone is injured.”

“I know, but as a doctor, I understand. Hospital care is expensive. Someone has to pay the bill.”

“You have seen pictures of your son’s fiancée, haven’t you?”

Dr. Flint shook his head. “Actually, no, I haven’t. I just hope her face—” The man stopped midsentence, his eyes once again gazing at the still figure. “I’m sure she’ll be fine. The CAT scan showed no brain damage. That’s a good sign. The doctor said they’re evaluating her neuro status every couple of hours. She’s responding to stimulation. Her pupils are equal and reactive to light. We have to keep trusting God to answer our prayers.”

“It scared me when she sort of gagged and coughed, but the nurse said that’s okay.”

“Yes, that’s normal. I guess if I had a tube going down my throat, I’d gag, too.”

A trim, haggard-looking woman in her late fifties moved slowly into the room, her face showing evidence of the many tears she’d shed. Though she offered him a weak smile, Beck could tell it was with great effort. He knew, first-hand, there hadn’t been anything in her life the past twenty-four hours that would cause a genuine smile. “Hello, Mrs. Flint.”

James Flint leaned close to his wife and whispered, “Remember, we have to watch what we say around her. She may be able to hear us.”

She nodded. “How are you doing, Beck?”

“I’m okay, Mrs. Flint.”

Annie Flint’s husband’s arms circled her and pulled her close. “I was just telling Beck that Adam and Jewel were engaged.”

Annie leaned into her husband, her eyes overflowing with fresh tears. “They were so happy.”

The tremor in her voice tore at Beck, pulling at his heart and bringing back his penitent feelings of responsibility.

James shrugged and pulled her even closer, his whisper cracking with emotion, “I’m just thankful Jewel was spared.”

Annie pulled away from her husband and moved to the bed, touching her almost-daughter-in-law’s arm. “She has to be special. Our Adam loved her enough to want to spend the rest of his life with her.” She whirled around quickly and pressed her face into her husband’s chest as deep, uncontrolled sobs racked at her body. “Oh, J-James! This is so hard! Why would God take our son?”

A shrill beeping sent the room’s occupants into sudden panic.