A Christmas Peril (The Teacup Novellas - Book Five) (10 page)

I waited for the answer that
didn’t come. “Anyway, let’s see. Where did we leave off? Oh
‌—‌here we go. I’ll pick up
the last paragraph before we got interrupted.”

Even
now as I write about what happened, it still seems like a
nightmare . . . as though I’m totally disconnected from reality,
though I have only to look up to see Gary lying in that hospital bed to know
the nightmare is real. We’ve been here a week now and nothing has changed. The
doctors keep telling us to give it time, to hold on, to not lose
faith . . . but each hour that passes fills my heart with so
much sadness, I can hardly breathe at times.

Whoa. The hairs on the back
of my neck just prickled. Talk about creepy. I’m reading Lucille’s description
of how she felt
‌—‌using
many of the
exact words
I’ve thought myself, day after day since we’ve
been here. I’m not sure anyone else could understand these emotions except for
my Aunt Lucille. Strange. Unbelievably strange.

I glanced at Mark then found
my place again.

Gary
’s parents come every day, of course. I’ve
grown to love them both so much. They seem truly grateful that I’m willing to
stay with
Gary
around the clock. I’m so glad this
hospital allows loved ones to stay with patients as long as they like. It’s a
good thing because I would have fought them on the matter.

Mother
comes every morning. She leaves Jack with our neighbor, Mrs. Trussell, so she tries
to stay no more than half an hour. I suspect she keeps it short so she doesn’t
impose on the Reynolds’ time with
Gary
. In a peculiar way, my parents and
Gary’s have gotten to know each other fairly well over the past week. He’d be
so happy to know they genuinely like each other.

I want
so desperately to tell them about
Gary
’s proposal the night before all this
happened. But I can’t do it until he comes around
‌—‌
I mean, WHEN he comes
around. I don’t want to share such special news without him.

A
nurse reminded me today that Christmas is the day after tomorrow. I was
absolutely stunned. Time has stood still since that morning at the train
station. It’s strange
‌—‌
the
way I felt when she told me. I remembered the beautifully decorated windows at
Marshall Field’s, and how we shopped that day so
Gary
could leave presents for his family when
he left. I remembered the tree in the corner of the Reynolds’ living room, the
lovely lights and garlands of cranberries and popcorn.

I’ve
always loved Christmas. It’s my favorite holiday. And yet, when the nurse asked
about my plans for Christmas, I wanted to slap that starched cap right off her
head! I didn’t, of course. I tried to keep a kind tone in my voice when I told
her we’d be spending Christmas at
Gary
’s bedside. She stopped and looked at me,
her eyes moist with tears, then reached for my hand and squeezed it, asking me
to forgive her for saying something so insensitive. I thought that was sweet of
her.

Still,
I can’t shake the added gloom of knowing Christmas may come and go without
Gary
coming around. I smile, remembering his
constant medley of Christmas songs in the days we spent together. He can be
such a ham at times! Oh, how I miss those carefree days of Christmas carols and
dancing and laughing so hard, our sides ached.

But
those happy memories last only a few moments before the gravity of all this sneaks
back under my skin. I look at his face, hardly recognizing it without his
contagious smile and those sparkling blue eyes. Oh
Gary
,
please
come back to me.

Mother
prayed with me this morning before she left. We stood by
Gary
’s bed, our hands covering his. Mother
prayed for God’s healing hand to reach down and touch
Gary
. She prayed for his doctors and nurses
and those who bathe him each morning and keep his room clean. I never would
have thought to pray for those people. How I wish I had my mother’s faith.

And
then she prayed for me, asking God to keep me safe in His care. Asking Him to
calm my spirit and help me learn to trust Him completely. When her voice
failed, she squeezed my hand, urging me to continue her prayer. Instead, I
turned and wept on her shoulder.

I’m so
blessed to have a mother who loves the Lord with all her heart. I only wish I
had half the faith she does.

Chapter 10

Later—

The
strangest thing happened this afternoon. The hospital visiting hours began at
2:00 p.m.
Around
2:45
,
someone knocked on the door to
Gary
’s room. A man I’d never seen before opened
the door and asked if he and his mother could come in. Of course I said yes,
and when he stepped aside, I recognized her immediately
‌—‌
the woman Gary had
tried to rescue in the parking lot at the train station. Her face was filled
with such unmasked sorrow.

“My
mother doesn’t speak English, but she has been most anxious to find out about
‍—‍
” he paused, glancing over
at
Gary
then back at his mother
‍—‌
“to find out about the
man who saved her life. We have tried for days to find him. Only today would
the police tell us his name, and that he was here, brought to this hospital. My
mother has been
‌—‌
uh, most, uh
‌—‌
anxious
to know how Mr. Gary Reynolds is.” He nodded as if to assure himself he’d said
it right. I recognized his heavy accent as Italian.

“Please
come in,” I said, extending my hand to her and then to her son. “I’m Lucille.”

“Yes,
please. Nice to meet you. I am Marco Bertolucci, and this is my mother, Abelina
Bertolucci.”

Mrs.
Bertolucci mumbled something to her son.

“She
said she remembers you from that day. You are Mrs. Reynolds?”

“No,
I’m not
‌—‌
I
mean, he’s not my
‌—‌
well, we’re engaged, but no one knows
about that yet. I’m his fiancée.”

“Ah,”
he said with a hint of a smile that quickly faded. “I am sorry for your, uh,
for his injuries. Is he going to be . . . okay?”

I
started to say something but couldn’t find my voice. I motioned for them to
join me closer to
Gary
’s bed.

“Oh
‍—‍
” Marco held his index
finger to his lips and whispered, “He is sleeping. We do not wish to disturb
him. We will go
‍—‍
”

“It’s all
right,” I said. “I admit, I prefer to think that he’s just resting, but the
doctors tell us he’s actually in a coma.”

Marco
translated for his mother. “Co-ma?” she asked, looking between us.

“Coma,
yes. Think of it as a deep, deep sleep.”

He
translated again, then his mother asked a question through her son. “She wishes
to know if he will wake up.”

I
blinked away the tears stinging my eyes. “Yes, we hope so. Soon.”

After
Marco translated, Mrs. Bertolucci lifted her gnarled hands toward me, cupping
my face in her palms. She uttered something barely over a whisper, her brows
arched in sympathy as she spoke.

Marco continued.
“My mother wishes you to know that God will take care of this man, her hero,
who saved her that day. She knows this because God told her to make him her famous
Christmas Cannoli Siciliani. And God would not tell her to do so if Mr.
Reynolds were
‌—‌
uh,
if he was not able to, uh . . . eat.”

I felt
my lips quivering as I tried to smile. “That’s so sweet, and I know
Gary
will love them.”

Mrs.
Bertolucci reached into the large bag over Marco’s shoulder and lifted out a
silver tin with a red and white checked bow tied around it. She handed it to me
with such care, as though they were the crowned jewels instead of pastry.

“Thank
you, Mrs. Bertolucci. This is
‍—‍
”

Another
exchange. “She wishes for you to call her Abelina.”

“Abelina.
Thank you.”

We
couldn’t communicate with words, but I hoped she could see the joy she’d given
me reflected in my face. “Abelina, I will look forward to sharing these with
Gary
. And when he wakes up, I want him to
meet you. Promise me you’ll come back.” I nodded toward Marco, anxious for him
to tell her.

A
broad smile creased her face as she chuckled, mumbling again as she clutched my
hand.

“My
mother says she would like that very much. Very much.”

“As
would
I.
Marco, could you write down your
telephone number so I can call you when that happens?”

As Marco
jotted his number on a scrap of paper, Abelina motioned for me to join her
beside
Gary
’s bed. She held my hand and placed her
other hand on
Gary
’s. I smiled, remembering how my mother
had done the same thing just a few hours ago. Abelina smiled at me then closed
her eyes. In her native tongue, I could tell she was praying. Marco joined us,
quietly sharing her prayer with me.

Moments
later, they left. I returned to
Gary
’s bedside and took his hand in mine. I felt
it immediately
‌—‌
the
heaviness that had shrouded me seemed to have lifted. And for the first time I
let myself hope
‌—‌
truly
hope. I glanced over at the
tin of cannoli and smiled.

“
Gary
, Mrs. Bertolucci said God told her to
make those cannoli for you. And she said He wouldn’t have told her to make them
if you couldn’t eat them. Isn’t that something?”

I
kissed his hand and set it back down. I made my way over to the tin, curious to
take a peek. But as I started to untie the homespun ribbon, I stopped and
peeked back at
Gary
.

“Okay,
okay. I’ll save them for you. But just so you know, it’s a tremendous act of
sacrifice on my part. I’ll bet you those cannoli are absolutely divine.”

As I
sat back down, an idea started to form in my mind. Why stop with Mrs. Bertolucci’s
Christmas cannoli? What if we celebrated Christmas here
‌—‌
right here in
Gary
’s room? I looked around, my mind suddenly
racing with ideas. I dug a small notepad out of my pocketbook and started
listing them all.

I
finished half an hour later just as Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds arrived.

I
practically jumped up to see them. “I’m so glad you’re here! Wait until you
hear my plan!”

“Hey,
Sis? What in the world are you smiling about?”

I
snickered out loud as I threaded the satin ribbon to mark my place in the
diary. “Hi,
Chad
. Just lost in Lucille’s world for a
while. She’s come up with some kind of plan to have Christmas right there in
Gary
’s hospital room. Crazy, huh?”

Chad
dropped his coat on the other chair and
sat on the edge of Mark’s bed. “I don’t know. Sounds kind of fun. We could do
that.”

“What?”

“Well,
face it, Lucy
‌—‌Christmas
is just a few days away. And unless your Sleeping Beauty here decides to snap
out of it tonight or tomorrow, I think Lucille might just be on to something.”

I
stared at him, my mind already bouncing back and forth between a 1944 hospital
room filled with Christmas decorations and brightly wrapped gifts and the room
I was now sitting in. A row of floral arrangements lined the window sill,
including some wilted purple mums I didn’t have the heart to toss out. I’d
taped all the get-well cards Mark had received on the wall opposite his bed.
Otherwise, the room looked like every other hospital room I’d ever seen. Plain
and dull, and terribly depressing.

I
looked back at my brother. “Y’know, I think you’re right. We could
totally
do this.”

“Sure
we could.” He plopped his size-13 Nike on his other knee. “School’s out now so
I can be your gopher. Just tell me what you want.”

I
stood up and stretched, realizing I hadn’t been out of my chair in a couple of
hours. “Good grief. I think my body has started molding itself to this lovely mauve
vinyl.”

“Why
don’t you go home for a while? I can stay as long as you need me to. Go take
another soak in your tub.”

“Thanks,
but I’m okay.” I wandered over to the window, looking out into the darkness. I
shivered, watching the trees bend sideways in the blustery wind. “Looks frigid
out there.”

“Coldest
December on record. They’re saying we might actually have a white Christmas
this year.”

“Seriously?
I can’t even remember the last time that happened.”

“I
think you were still in diapers, if I recall.”

“Diapers,
huh?” I pinched that tender spot between his neck and his shoulder. It was my
favorite sibling target zone.

“Ouch!”

“Wait
‍—‍” I stopped and looked
back out the window. “If it snows, how would we get everyone here to the
hospital on Christmas? You know what happens when it snows in this town. People
freak out and completely forget how to drive.”

Chad
leaned back against Mark’s legs. “We’ll
just have to work it out. I can borrow Pete’s van and haul everybody up here.
But we probably ought to get a move on it with the planning. You thinking food?
Tree? Decorations?”

My
head started spinning. “Whoa, buddy. You’ve got the cart
waaay
before
the horse. I haven’t even had a chance to find out what Aunt Lucille pulled off
in Uncle Gary’s room.”

“So
why not start there?”

He
blinked at me with those incredibly adorable eyes. It was an old trick he used
to play back when we were kids. I’d get mad about something, he’d tilt his head
just so and blink rapidly, pinning me with that look of his. I fell for it
every time
‌—‌well,
not
every
time. There was that whole mess with the charcoal fluid in
Dad’s shed. No need to bring that up now.

I
shook my head. “Start where?”

He
got up, grabbed Lucille’s diary and handed it to me. “Let’s see what dear ol’
Aunt Lucille had up her sleeve.”

“You
want me to read to you?”

“You
read to Mark, don’t you? At least I’m lucid.” He leaned over to whisper in
Mark’s ear. “No offense, big guy.”

Chad
pulled the other chair over and took a
seat. He stretched out his legs and folded his arms across his chest. “Fire
away, little sister. I’m all ears.”

I
rolled my eyes for effect and opened the book. “Okay, the last thing we read
before you so
rudely
interrupted us
‍—‍”

“My
bad.”

“
‍—‍was when Lucille finished
her list of things to do just as
Gary
’s parents walked in.” I looked up at my
brother. “I don’t remember ever hearing much about Uncle Gary’s parents, do
you?”

“Lucy,
they were dinosaurs by the time we came along.”

“Hey
‍—‍have a little respect,
will you? They played a pivotal role in Lucille and Gary’s courtship. Not to
mention the heartache they must have experienced through all this. Think about
it. Their younger son is overseas flying bombing missions over
Europe
. Their oldest son comes home on leave, falls in love, then tries
to help an old lady in distress, and ends up comatose in the hospital.” I
shivered. “
Chad
, every time I think about the
similarities of what happened to them and what’s happened now with Mark, I
still can’t believe it. I mean, what are the chances?”

“I’ll
admit it’s bizarre. Especially when you factor in Steve sending you Aunt
Lucille’s diary
‍—‍”

“
‍—‍so that I received it just
a day after Mark landed in a hospital in a coma.” I shivered again. “If this were
a book I was writing, the reviewers would nail me for it‌—‌‘Ridiculous!’”
I fingered air-quotes. “‘Too convenient to be plausible!’ ‘Absurd!’ Oh, they’d
have a field day with it. I’d be lucky to get anything above a one-star rating
on Amazon.”