Angels Walking (24 page)

Tyler closed his eyes and held onto just that much. Sami had always believed in him, had always known he could do anything. What she said was true. Their senior year of high school she had breathed confidence into him every time they talked. His dad would harp on him for not being focused. The man constantly pulled him aside to give him pointers. How to throw faster, cleaner, more accurately.

Not Sami.

He pictured warming up before his last home game at Jackson High. As soon as Sami parked her car she ran toward him, practically bursting with excitement. The game had been about to start, but he waved at her. From a proper distance she smiled at him, her eyes shining. “You’re the best pitcher ever, Tyler Ames,” she spoke loud enough so he could hear her over the sound of the infield chatter. “Go win it!”

That’s exactly what he had done. He’d gone out and dominated a team that had the same win-loss record as Jackson.
Later, his coach would say that game was a turning point, the reason Tyler was awarded Mr. Baseball. The reason Jackson went on to be state champ.

All because Sami Dawson believed in him.

He remembered all of it. And now, no matter what the rest of the message said, he had what he needed. Confirmation. His letter to her had been the right decision. He opened his eyes and kept reading.

I heard about your injury. I guess you must be on the mend now, working toward the Big Leagues again, like you said. You’ll get there. Anyway, I had to write back. Life is good and I’m happy. Most of the time—haha. I think of you every so often, too. Usually I picture you where I’ll always picture you: sitting under the stars on a roof with your arm around me. Feels like a million years ago, right?

Well . . . take care. Good hearing from you. Sami.

He read the letter again, and a third time. Out of every wonderful thing she said, one line made his heart break.
Most of the time?
She was happy most of the time? So it was just like he’d feared. Her grandparents had convinced her to fall in line: Sensible job. Sensible boyfriend. But what did Sami think about when Tyler’s name came up? He read her words one more time, let them soothe the emptiness inside him.

She thought about sitting on the rooftop next to him.

The news wasn’t bad actually. His first love was still there in the lines of her message. She’d been honest at least—about being happy most of the time. And about her memory of him.
He stared at her profile picture, the eyes that had once been so familiar. Yes, she went by Samantha now, and yes, she seemed to have settled into the life her grandparents wanted for her. But the girl he knew was definitely still in there. He was sure for one reason.

She had signed her name
Sami
.

THE RESIDENTS WERE
finishing lunch when Tyler reported back to the gathering room. He had only twenty minutes, and he still needed to figure out how to play with one hand. What if he didn’t remember even the easiest chords?

A small, empty room sat just off the lobby. He took the guitar there, shut the door behind him, and sat on the first chair he came to. His knees and arms shook, and he felt sick to his stomach. He never should’ve promised Virginia anything. What would she think if he bombed? If he couldn’t carry a tune or remember how to play? Especially with one hand?

Calm down.
He closed his eyes for a long moment and willed the shaking to let up. Gradually he felt the slightest peace ease his anxiety. This wasn’t about him. It was about Virginia.
God, if You’re there, I need some help. Please.

His right hand still worked—but his shoulder hurt if he used it too much or too suddenly.
All right, Tyler, let’s do this.
He sat the guitar on his right knee and held the neck with his left hand. He strummed a few times and adjusted his hold, trying to find a natural position. One that didn’t kill his shoulder.

The C chord. That would be a good place to start. He found the finger positions with his left hand and once he had that he strummed the strings with his right. Pain burned from his shoulder to his neck and torso. He clenched his jaw and breathed in through locked teeth. Who was he kidding about giving up the Oxycodone? He needed it more than air.

The position hurt too much to play like this. He shifted, leaning further over the guitar. That way his shoulder didn’t have to support the weight of his hand. This time when he strummed there were no worsening sharp pains. But even still his body trembled and sweat dripped down the side of his face.

“Why are you doing this, Ames?” he whispered. “You can’t play. Virginia will know you’re a fraud.” He pictured the sweet old woman, her pleading face. Enough doubts. This wasn’t about him. Whatever happened, he would make good on his promise to his friend.

He worked five minutes to tune the strings, and then he ran through the chords, through “Jingle Bells” and “Happy Birthday”—two songs he still remembered.

He could only hope Virginia and her friends were hard of hearing.

TYLER TOOK HIS
spot on a metal stool at the front of the living room at Merrill Place. An open hymnal sat on the table in front of him and around the room only a few residents filled the chairs—two of them were sleeping. No telling whether
Virginia had ever made it to the lunchroom or if she’d simply forgotten about Tyler’s concert.

Still he wanted to be ready in case she remembered. He had found a few hymns he could sing, songs with simpler melodies and chords he could struggle through. Now if only he could survive the pain. He clutched his right elbow to his ribs. His body was demanding relief, desperate for the pills. Everything ached, and the slightest wrong movement sent knives through his shoulder and neck. Everything in him screamed for more Oxycodone.

This is for Virginia,
he thought.
I can do it for her.

At exactly one o’clock, Virginia shuffled into the living room pushing a walker and clearly looking for him. This was the first time Tyler had seen her out of her bed.

She spotted him right away. “Ben! You’re here!” She stopped and motioned back over her shoulder. Then she grinned at him. “Ethel and Roger are coming.” With slow shuffling steps she came closer, a smile stretched across her face. “I’ve been looking forward to this for days! Ever since the last time you played for me.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Tyler could feel sweat beading up on his forehead, dripping down his back. He ignored it. For her, his smile came easily.

Virginia put her hand on his good shoulder. “Sing for Jesus, Ben. God loves when we sing for Him.”

God again
. Tyler looked down and nodded—for her benefit only. So much of his troubled life was his own fault. What would God want with him now? He lifted his eyes to hers. “You have a favorite song?”

“Ben, you make me smile.” She shook her pretty white head. “We have the same favorite—you know that!” Peace filled her face as she lifted her eyes to the windows at the back of the room. “Always ‘Amazing Grace.’ ”

“That’s right.” Tyler set the guitar down and stood. “Come on, let’s get you a front row seat.” He moved to her right side and with his left hand he kept her steady as they walked to the closest chair, just a few feet from where Tyler would sing. “How about this?”

Virginia leaned into him as they walked and when they reached the chair she smiled up at him. “You are the most thoughtful boy. Your father and I are so proud.”

Tyler helped her into the seat and took his place on the metal stool again. He wondered if Virginia could see how badly he was shaking. He hadn’t hurt this bad in a long time. But even as he tried to find the least painful position, even as the other residents made their way in from the lunchroom, Tyler couldn’t get over what Virginia had said. Whoever Ben was and wherever he lived today, his parents were proud of him simply because he was thoughtful? Maybe he was a doctor curing diseases overseas, or a teacher or a businessman. Whatever his talents and dreams, it didn’t really matter. His parents were proud of him for just being himself.

Tyler had never imagined such a thing.

He felt a little angry at Ben. Whatever took up the man’s time, he needed to be here. At least once in a while. With a mother like Virginia, he was missing out. Tyler smiled at the dear woman.
Ben’s loss,
he told himself.
My gain.

Tyler positioned his guitar on his lap and leaned over. If
Virginia wanted him to sing this afternoon, God would have to give him a break on the pain. For thirty minutes, anyway.

“Your father is on his way.” She looked over her shoulder. “He should be here any time. Your sister, too.”

If only that were true. Tyler grinned at her. “I’m not much of a singer. You know that.”

“Not true! Everyone loves to hear you sing, Ben!”

A few stragglers had taken their seats. All eyes were on Tyler. He cleared his throat and looked down at the songbook. What in the world was he doing? Was this some crazy dream? He caught a few drops of sweat with his good shoulder. No. It wasn’t a dream. He was about to make a fool of himself if he didn’t pass out from the pain.

He caught Virginia smiling at him.

Yes, that’s why he was here. For her. He forced a smile. “I’ll start with ‘How Great Thou Art.’ ” He locked eyes with Virginia. “Is that okay?”

“Absolutely, dear!” She clapped a few times, her hands slow and weak. “That one’s always a hit.”

“Yes.” Tyler managed a soft chuckle. He loved the old woman’s zest for life, her enthusiasm. Her eyes remained on him as he found the first chord and began to play. “Oh Lord, my God, when I in awesome wonder . . . consider all the worlds Thy hands have made . . .”

The music flowed, and the words with it. Tyler was surprised. He hadn’t sung to the radio even since long before his injury. But somehow he didn’t sound half bad. He was on key or close to it, and around the room the residents turned their eyes his direction. A few of them mouthed the words.

Tyler reached the chorus. “Then sings my soul, my
Savior God, to Thee . . . How great Thou art . . . how great Thou art.”

Tears shone in Virginia’s eyes and gradually she began to sing along, nodding and smiling. Not until he reached the end of the song did Tyler realize he hadn’t once thought about the pain in his shoulder. He moved on to the next song—“Amazing Grace”—“Come Thou Fount” and “Be Thou My Vision.”

The room was filling up, more residents filing in. Line by line he sang, sharing the songs these people had clearly missed. Most of the folks knew every word. Especially Virginia. As Tyler sang and played, the old hymns came back to him, too. Songs he and his parents had loved when he was a kid.

Tyler’s shaking eased, his damp forehead grew dry. He kept singing. “Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it . . . prone to leave the God I love . . . Here’s my heart, Lord, take and seal it, seal it for Thy courts above.”

A few more lines and the song ended. Suddenly the ground beneath him seemed to shift. For the first time since this session began, the words connected at the center of his heart.
Prone to wander? Prone to leave God?
The words could’ve been written for him alone. He had never set out to make a mess of his life, but he had. He was prone to it, to wander from Virginia’s God.

She was clapping for him, encouraging those around her to do the same. “Ben . . . you’re not finished, are you?”

Tyler forced himself to focus. “No.” The guitar rested easy in his hands, the pain only a distant ache. “I forgot how much I like that old song.”

Virginia held up one frail hand. “I have a request.”

He loved her gentle spirit, her ever-present joy. “Whatever you want.”

“That’s my boy.” She looked at a man seated beside her, who looked to be in his nineties. “See that boy? He’s my son.”

“Very nice young man.” The man spoke slowly, nodding at Virginia. “I’d like to buy his album.”

“Me, too.” Virginia’s eyes sparkled. She turned back to Tyler. “ ‘Amazing Grace.’ Can you play it again? It’s our favorite.”

As he began to sing the familiar hymn once more, Tyler noticed a few visitors gathered at the edge of the room, and near them, Harrison Myers. Like the residents, these people mouthed the words, their voices too soft to hear. “Amazing grace, how sweet the sound . . . that saved a wretch like me . . .”