Capture the Wind for Me (40 page)

chapter 44

I
'd judged Daddy. I'd judged Katherine. Easy to do when you're sixteen and have yet to fall on your own face. Now would begin my own complicity. It would start in the smallest of ways—so small that I would not even recognize it. Isn't that often how it is. A choice here, a choice there, each one rationalized as worthy under the circumstances. Then before you know it, you're in over your head.

To visit Derek, I chose to wear a short-sleeved blouse that could hide Greg's ring around my neck. Nothing new in that, was there? I'd hidden the ring before, when the town was against Greg. Besides,
I
knew with whom my loyalties lay. But for Derek's sake, I simply could not envision myself leaning over to talk to him with that ring swinging between us. I buttoned up the blouse and slipped the ring inside.

Sometimes I still wonder—if I hadn't made that first small choice, if Greg's ring had been a visible reminder to Derek, and to me, of whom I'd pledged my heart to, would things have been different?

“Jackie.” Mr. King rose to greet me when I entered the now-familiar waiting room that Tuesday evening. He pressed my hand between his roughened palms. “Thank you for comin'. Derek's been askin' about you all day long.”

“Yes, Jackie, thank you,” his wife agreed. “I think he'll get better just seein' you.” Miss Connie looked like she'd aged ten years in the past few days. Her tired eyes held mine for a brief moment, unspoken words hanging between us. I knew then that she understood her son's feelings for me. No doubt Mr. King did too. Half the town probably knew. Suddenly I felt caught in a spotlight, as if I were supposed to
do
something. Self-consciousness made me turn away from Derek's mama.

I perched on the couch next to Katherine. She reached over and patted my knee. That small action shot straight to my heart. She knew what I was feeling. She
knew.
Katherine understood as no one else could, not only because she'd seen me with Greg, but because she was Katherine.

Without thinking, I laid my head on her shoulder, just as I might have done with Mama. Her fingers tightened on my knee.

Ten minutes later we all slipped in to see Derek.

“I'm not supposed to let you in there, you know,” a tall, no-nonsense nurse informed me.

“She's—”

“She's no sister, if that's what you're fixin' to tell me,” the nurse cut Katherine off. “But I'm lettin' you go in because Derek, weak as he is, threatened me within an inch of my life if I didn't.” She pressed her lips into a knowing little smile. “So go.”

I avoided Miss Connie's eyes as we shuffled past the nurse.

The intensive care unit was one huge sterile-smelling room, beds curtained off from each other. As sick as Mama had been, she had never spent time in intensive care. My chest tightened at the feeling in the room—everything solemn, weighted. Our shoes squeaked across the floor. I was not prepared for the sight of Derek. He lay in the second compartment, gray side rails up on his bed, surrounded by machines and blipping monitors displaying heart rate, oxygen saturation, and a dozen other functions I couldn't begin to understand. Lines ran from his body to the machines; thick cords plugged into the wall. One whole side of his hair had been shaved, apparently for the holes they'd drilled in his head.
Oh, Derek.
I pressed my fingers into my palms, hanging back while his family said hello.

“Look who's finally here, Derek.” His mama's voice lilted, over-bright. “Jackie.”

He moved his head the tiniest fraction, seeking me. Katherine nudged me to his bedside. Derek's face looked so bruised and battered, far worse than Greg's had ever been. Stitches ran across the right side of his forehead. Tears bit my eyes. “Hi, Derek.”

“Hey, Jackie.”

Even in the weakness of his voice, I could hear his pleasure. I laid a hand on his upper arm, feeling the soft cotton of the hospital gown. “I can't believe what you've gone and done to yourself.”

His lips curved. “Guess what,” he rasped.

“Hm.”

“Can't wear socks. But my feet are the same color.”

I laughed softly, holding back the tears. “If they look anything like your face, they're probably purple.”

He swallowed carefully. “I like purple.”

“Me, too, Derek.”

It seemed no time at all before the nurse stuck her head in, telling us we had to go. “Come back next hour?” Derek asked me.

I nodded. “Sure.”

Twice more that evening I saw Derek, crowding into the small space with Katherine and their parents. I promised him I would return the following night, which I did. Derek continued to improve amazingly, given his injuries, and he was talking better. By Thursday any lingering doubts about his pulling through were put to rest. Mr. King returned to work at the sawmill, and Katherine went back to the boutique. Miss Connie phoned from the hospital after 12:00 that day, saying she was exhausted and had to go home for a nap. Could I possibly visit with Derek that afternoon so he wouldn't be alone?

Good thing she called when she did, I thought. I'd just been sitting down to the computer to e-mail Greg, which would have tied up our phone line. “I'll see what I can do,” I told her.

Grandma Delham was not home. Grandma Westerdahl sounded all too happy to come over so I could visit Derek. In fact, she sounded downright pleased.

At the hospital, the day nurse gave me no trouble, apparently expecting me. I saw Derek five times that afternoon, about ten minutes each visit. Twice, when the nurse was preoccupied, we stretched it to more like fifteen. Derek had gained some strength in his voice. We gently teased one another, and talked about school, which would start the following week. I became used to the intensive care room, with all its scary equipment. And I had to admit, it was a lot less crowded in there without the Kings around.

“Jackie,” Derek said on our third visit, “when I get home, I'll be all bored to death. Long recovery. Will you come see me?”

“Of course, I'll come see you. I'll bring you your homework.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“You're welcome.”

He attempted a mischievous look. “Would you come even if I didn't have homework?”

“Yes, Derek, I'll come.”

On the fourth visit, I made another small choice, barely giving it conscious thought at the time. I reached over the side rail to lay my hand upon his.

He smiled. “How come you never did that before I near killed myself?”

I looked at our hands, almost startled. “I . . . don't know.”

“Mm. Will you stop if I get better?”

What a question. Suddenly I realized the boundary I'd crossed. Alison's voice echoed in my head—Watch what you do with Derek. But how to back out now? I didn't want to bring him down at a time like this. “Just get better, okay?” I managed. “Then we'll . . . talk about it.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

I told myself I would not make the same mistake again, but I'd hardly reached Derek's bedside on our fifth visit when he raised his hand from the covers, silently demanding mine. What to do but take it? I hesitated, then laced our fingers, trying to convince myself it really didn't mean anything. “This is our last time today, you know,” I told him. “I've got to get home and make supper for Daddy.”

“You've got people wanting you everywhere, don't you,” he said. I couldn't think of a response. Something told me he included Greg in that remark. For Derek's sake, I was glad Greg's ring once again lay beneath a blouse.

We soon fell back into our banter. But before I left, Derek turned serious. “Jackie.” He paused. I knew he fought with himself over something he wanted to say. A sigh escaped him. “I'm kinda tired.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “Will you come back tomorrow afternoon by yourself? We can talk. I'll tell Mama; she needs to rest anyway.”

I nodded. “Okay, Derek, I'll find a way.”

His fingers pressed against mine ever so slightly. “Don't ditch on me, now.”

That night I lay on my bed, looking at Greg's picture, sliding his ring back and forth across its chain. Remembering the concert, his kisses, his promise that he wouldn't leave me. My promise that I wouldn't leave
him.
Then I thought of Derek—his long road back to recovery, his obvious pleasure each time he saw me, his fingers in mine. I thought of the boundary we'd crossed that day, and that
I'd
taken the first step. Why had I done that? What's more, I'd promised to visit him at home, seeing him day after day. While Greg traveled far away from me, performing and surrounded by fans.

Watch what you do with Derek.

My parents want anything that makes Derek happy right now. And that happens to be you.

As the voices of Alison and Katherine swirled in my head, I wondered what on earth I'd gotten myself into and what I would do.

chapter 45

T
he following day I wore yet another blouse. I had to.

“I want to see Derek!” Clarissa complained just before Grandma The Delham arrived to take over baby-sitting. “Take me with you, Jackie.”

“You can't go, Clarissa.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

“Because why?”

“Just because, that's all!”

My sister stomped off. Robert watched her go, his face placid. He seemed to be the only one in our family that week who remained on even keel. Sometimes I wished I could be like Robert.

“Tell Derek I miss him,” my brother said. “Tell him I have a new computer game, and I can't wait to show it to him.”

I tousled his hair. “Okay.”

He regarded me silently, eyes falling to my blouse and the ring that he knew lay beneath it. Then he mushed his lips and focused out the window at nothing. Robert didn't miss much. I knew what he was thinking. I opened my mouth to try to explain. But I didn't know the explanation.

I sought shelter from my brother's eyes in my bedroom. I stood staring at Greg's picture, remembering the concert and being with him.

Alison, Millicent, Nicole, and other friends had phoned during the week, wanting to hear all about the concert. But I'd lost half my enthusiasm for describing it. Somehow it didn't seem right, talking about all the fun I'd had during the very same evening that one of Bradleyville's own had been so bruised and broken. Looking at Greg's face, I felt cheated that I couldn't enjoy those anticipated conversations with my friends. Then I thought of Derek and felt guilty for my selfishness.

In my daily e-mails to Greg I'd been giving him updates about Derek—no trying to hide the fact that I was visiting every day. Greg also called whenever he could. He understood about my seeing Derek. At least he claimed he did. It was good of me to be willing to spend so much time in a hospital, he'd said just the day before. Then came the call that Friday afternoon while I was in my bedroom, staring at his picture. Bad timing. I felt awkward—admitting to Greg that I was waiting for Grandma to come so I could go see Derek. I chided myself that I had nothing to hide. So why did I feel like I did?

“His parents are there too?” Greg asked casually—almost too casually. Had he heard a tone in my voice?

I hesitated. “Usually. But I don't think so this afternoon.”

“It is just you and Derek?”

“Uh-huh.” Lightness in my response, as if to say, So what?

A pause. “Yesterday they are there?”

A chill stole over me. How I wished I could hang up at that moment. “No, they couldn't be. But they'll be there tomorrow.”

“Ah.”

He said no more. He didn't have to. I could practically hear his worries tumbling through the phone line.

“I love you, Greg,” I said. “Your ring's around my neck.”

“I love you, Jackie. Don't forget.”

Grandma Delham arrived. I told Greg I had to go, hoping he would hear the reluctance in my voice.

She eyed me as my hand lingered on the phone. “You all right?”

“Fine. I'm just . . . it's been a hard week.”

“Yes. I know.” She patted me on the shoulder, making me wonder just how much she perceived things. “Give Derek our love,” she said. “Tell that boy the whole town is prayin' for him, so he best get better in a hurry.”

“I will.”

I drove to the hospital, forcing thoughts of Greg and Derek from my head. I had to admit I had another worry—Daddy and Katherine. Daddy had driven to the hospital in the evening for the past two nights to sit with Katherine and her parents, but they'd had no time alone. Which they badly needed, as far as I was concerned. In the back of my mind I couldn't help remembering what a good time Katherine had spent in Lexington, before and after the concert, and how she'd chattered like a jaybird about it on our way back to the hotel. I'd sensed tension between her and Daddy for the past few days. I wanted to believe it was due merely to Katherine's concern over Derek, but something told me it was more than that. Seemed to me she needed to get herself regrounded with Daddy and Bradleyville in general, and facing such tragedy in her family was hardly helpful. No time to work on any problems with Daddy in the midst of that.

No way around it—Derek had to get better soon. For the sake of a lot of people.

Miss Connie had already gone by the time I reached the hospital. I wandered into the waiting room with a few minutes' time before my first visit with Derek. An older man sat forward on the couch, head down and elbows on his knees, hands pressing the sides of his head. A woman—perhaps his daughter—sat next to him, arm around his shoulder. She and I nodded to one another. The sight of them unnerved me. They represented some recent tragedy, a new patient in the ICU. The three beds had all been occupied before. Where had the last one gone? To recovery—or not?

Thank you, Jesus, I prayed, for saving Derek's life. Thank you for healing him.