Rejoice (5 page)

Chapter Five

Ashley was back at work at Sunset Hills. The residents weren’t yet at the breakfast table, so she was going over the work schedule and praying for Hayley.

Always praying for Hayley.

Five days had passed since the child’s accident, and her doctors had declared her stable. But in this case, stable wasn’t entirely a good thing. She was breathing on her own, and she’d survived the dangerous period of potential brain swelling. But she was still in a coma, still hooked to feeding tubes and monitors. Ashley hadn’t wanted to ask, but her father had told the family anyway.

Hayley could stay in a coma forever. She could grow up in a nursing facility, breathing but never so much as opening her eyes.

Her father had kept the family informed. Ashley understood. It was his way of being strong, playing the role he’d always played, even at a time when he was as helpless as any of them to make a difference. With the situation stable and improvement hardly guaranteed, Luke had gone home the day before. He couldn’t do anything by staying in Bloomington, and Reagan and their baby son were waiting for him in New York.

Before he left, he pulled Ashley aside and hugged her for a long time. “After thinking about your situation, I decided to get tested.” He searched her face. “Lori was very, well . . . very active. I couldn’t marry Reagan without knowing.” He paused. “I’m fine, Ash, but if I weren’t, this wouldn’t be the time to tell the family.” He took her hand. “Don’t do it. Don’t tell anyone about your blood test. Wait until this is over.”

Ashley clung to him and shook her head against his chest. “I won’t. Go be with your baby, little brother.”

Since Saturday, she had spent most of her time either watching the children or visiting with Brooke and Kari and their mother at the hospital. So far the children hadn’t been allowed into the room. The situation was still too awful, too frightening for the little ones.

Besides, the tension between Peter and Brooke was unbearable. Brooke had told her how desperate things between them had become. “We only talk when we have to, when the doctor asks a question or when we have to decide what to do with Maddie.” Brooke’s eyes were more dead than alive. “We take turns with Hayley and pass each other in the hallway without saying a word.”

The picture Brooke painted was almost as sad as Hayley’s small figure beneath the hospital sheets.

“Brooke . . . you need each other.” Ashley had pulled her aside the day before. “Go to him . . . say something. Hug him so he knows you still love him.”

“I would—” Brooke had turned to the closest window—“but I’m not sure I do.”

Ashley had talked about the situation with Kari and Ryan, and the two of them were determined to help. Twice Pastor Mark had stopped by to pray. Both times he took Peter and Brooke aside and spoke to them, but not even that broke the silence between them.

Her father had returned to work by then, but Mom had set up camp in the waiting room, her job clear-cut. She would stay there, taking turns with whoever was in the waiting room, and praying constantly for Hayley to be healed. The stress was getting to her; Ashley could see it. Her eyes had dark circles beneath them; her shoulders hunched more often than not. Her clothes looked looser, too. As though she’d lost weight in places where she had no weight to lose.

This weekend, though Sam had to work, Erin was coming, the first chance she could get away from her classroom in Texas. The entire family was rallying behind Hayley, but still the situation felt as if it was falling apart.

Ashley tapped out a few more lines on the computer and studied the screen. The work schedule for Sunset Hills was finished, and she shifted her gaze to the phone on the desk. She should call Landon, give him an update and let him know how everyone was doing. Reagan had told him about the accident, but so far Ashley hadn’t spoken to him.

She was too afraid she’d break down and beg him to catch the next flight.

The phone practically screamed at her to make the call, but she turned away. Later. She’d call him later.

Breakfast had been served in the next room, and she needed time with the residents, time to connect again with Irvel and Edith and Helen and Bert. The new woman was failing quickly, but the others, her special friends, were still about the same. None of them seemed worse for their year or so of living with the Past-Present theory.

Helen still had times when she recognized Sue as her daughter, and Bert still spent hours each day shining the saddle in his room. Edith didn’t say much, but she hadn’t had a nightmare or screaming episode since they’d taken away her mirrors.

And Irvel . . . Irvel was still Ashley’s favorite. She was slower these days, less quick to come up with a social plan for the afternoon. But she was still sure Hank was out fishing, still convinced that come the end of the day he’d join her at the house and hold her close while she slept.

The pictures of Hank, the ones Ashley had hung on Irvel’s wall nearly a year ago, were still in place. Ashley dusted them now and then, so Irvel could see the sparkle in Hank’s eyes as clearly as she’d seen it all those years ago when they had been together. She talked about him more now, and once in a while she seemed to be talking
to
him. As if he were standing in the room with her.

“Why, Hank,” she’d say, “hello to you!” She’d pause, squinting at the empty space in front of her. “What’s that? A sixteen-inch trout?” A ripple of laughter would ring across the room. “Hank, you don’t need to impress me; I couldn’t love you more if I tried!”

The doctor had told them it wouldn’t be long for Irvel. Her heart was slowing down, her mind giving way to the incessant ravages of Alzheimer’s. But for now, she remained the brightest light at Sunset Hills. Ashley thanked God for her, certain that but for Irvel’s love for Hank, Ashley never would’ve connected with Landon.

And even though she’d chosen to let go of him, his love for her and the memory of their time together would last a lifetime. Enough so that one day, if she lived long enough to be Irvel’s age, she would no doubt have conversations with a tall, handsome firefighter who hadn’t been a part of her life for decades.

And she just might live that long.

She’d been researching HIV online, and the news was hopeful. Though she would always represent a risk to anyone who was intimate with her, research showed that the right treatment plan could keep AIDS at bay for decades.

Ah, Landon . . . if only I didn’t love you so much.

The thought lifted and danced in the breeze from the nearby window. Ashley looked out through the old, wood-framed window and stared at the blue sky. It was an Indian-summer morning, a day when fall still felt weeks away. She closed her eyes and let the sun shine against her face.

Keep him close to you, God. . . . Don’t let anything happen to him.

It was a prayer she lifted on Landon’s behalf every day. The easy part. She drew a slow breath and finished. The last part was so difficult it made her stomach ache.
And help him let go of me, of us. He needs to find someone in New York, someone who can give him a future without fear, someone healthy and whole. Please, God. And help me live without him.

For a moment her mind went still, and though this time she didn’t hear an answer from the Lord, she felt his presence. Felt his Spirit in the core of her being, his comfort as close as her heartbeat.

She opened her eyes and realized the familiar pain in her heart. Yes, God was with her, and yes, her prayer came from the most sincere part of her soul. But that didn’t make the praying any less painful.

In the distance she could hear the residents at the breakfast table. A smile lifted the corners of her mouth, and she willed herself to get on with the day despite the ache in her heart. She made her way down the hall to the dining-room table. Bert wasn’t there, probably eating in his room again. He didn’t get up as early as he used to, and his chart said that in the past few weeks he’d been joining the others only for dinner.

The moment Irvel saw her, she sat back in her chair and smiled. Her skin was more translucent now, almost clear. “Hello, dear . . . I don’t believe we’ve met.”

Ashley walked around the table and reached for Irvel’s fingers. The bones in the old woman’s hand were more defined than before. “Hello, Irvel. I’m Ashley. I’ll be with you this morning, okay?”

“Ashley.” Irvel studied her, and a flicker of recognition flashed in her eyes. “Yes, I remember you, dear. You have the most beautiful hair. Has anyone told you that?”

“Not today, Irvel.” She leaned close and gave the woman a careful hug. “Thank you for saying so.”

Every now and then Irvel remembered Ashley, and those days were the happiest of all. Days when Irvel was the best friend Ashley had.

“Hey, you!” Next to Irvel, Helen pointed at Ashley. Her voice was loud, and it knocked the moment on its side. “Tell me something, will you?”

“Hello, Helen.” Ashley worked her way around the table and patted Helen’s shoulder.

“Back up!” The woman jumped as if she’d been slapped. “That’s my sore arm!”

Ashley glanced at the daytime care worker, a kind young woman named Maria, who was still working in the kitchen. Ashley mouthed the words, “Sore arm?”

Maria grinned and shook her head. Her answer was too quiet for anyone but Ashley to hear. “She’s fine.”

Still, Ashley took a step back. “I’m sorry about your arm, Helen.”

“Yeah, well, no one checked it this morning. Spies got to it, I tell you. Spies run the place.”

Ashley changed the subject. “How’s your oatmeal, Helen?”

“Listen, I’m asking you a question.” Helen pounded her fist on the breakfast table.

Irvel clucked her tongue in Helen’s direction. “Now dear, that isn’t a very nice dinner bell.” She smoothed her hands over a wrinkle in the tablecloth. “We’re all friends here. No need to get violent. Besides—” she cast a quick smile at Edith, who was staring at her half-eaten oatmeal—“it’s not every day we can be together like this.”

“I said . . .” Helen spat the words in Irvel’s direction. “I have a question.” She pointed at Ashley again. “Are you gonna answer me or not?”

“Definitely.” Ashley bit the inside of her lip. “What’s your question, Helen?”

“Okay, then.” She banged her fist on the table once more and glared at Irvel. “Who’s this old bird beside me? Because I never invited her to the party and now she hasn’t been checked.”

“Excuse me.” Irvel made a polite tap of one finger on the table between her and Helen. “The old bird flew away an hour ago, and for the record it was a crow. And yes, dear, of course I’ve been checked.” She smiled at Ashley. “We all have, right?”

“Yes.” Ashley faced Irvel, but gave Helen a sideways glance. “We’ve all been checked.”

Helen jabbed her finger in Edith’s direction. “What about her? Why isn’t she cooking something?”

Edith brought her hands up onto the table and began fidgeting with her fingers. “Cooking? Cooking . . . cooking . . . cooking?”

Ashley moved around the table to Edith. “It’s okay, dear; you don’t have to cook today.”

“Not today?” Edith narrowed her eyes and stared at Ashley as though she were desperate for a moment of lucidity. “No cooking?”

“Not today.”

“Fine, then.” Helen made a loud moaning sound. “If she’s not the cook, it must be the old bird beside me.”

Irvel looked around as if Helen was perhaps thinking of someone who hadn’t yet been introduced to the group. When she realized Helen was talking to her, she made a polite bit of laughter. “No dear, my name isn’t Birdie; it’s Irvel. But sometimes when Hank brings the boys over, they call me Birdie.” Confusion clouded her eyes. “Or maybe it’s Irvie.” Her face broke into a smile. “Yes, that’s it. Irvie.”

“Well, Birdie, are you the cook or not?” Helen pointed at Irvel and then shifted her finger to Ashley. “Tell me that, will you?”

“Dear . . .” Irvel tapped again. “I’m not the cook; I’m the eater.” She dropped her voice to a whisper. “Maybe you’re the cook.”

“What?” Helen thought about that for a moment. “Listen . . .” She scowled again. “I don’t care if you’re the cook, but I have an announcement.” She punctuated each word with her fist against the table. “My . . . oatmeal . . . is . . . cold.”

“Well!” Irvel raised an eyebrow at Helen. “Excuse me.” She looked to Ashley for support. “Maybe this woman should go home. Hank doesn’t like me keeping company with violent people.”

Ashley was about to offer to warm up Helen’s oatmeal when the phone rang. She held up a finger to Helen and reached for the cordless receiver. “Hello?”

“Hi, honey; it’s Dad.” He sounded better than he had last time they talked. “I’ve got good news and bad news.”

The conversation at the breakfast table grew louder. Ashley moved into the next room and covered her ear. “What is it?” She held her breath.
Please, God, let the good news be about Hayley.
“Good news first, okay?”

“Okay. Hayley woke up about an hour ago.” Her father’s voice cracked. He cleared his throat and waited. “Sorry.” He breathed out. “It’s just . . . I wasn’t sure if she’d ever . . .”

“She’s awake?” Ashley paced toward the television and back to the dining-room entrance. They had all known Hayley might stay in the coma for weeks, months, even. Now, only five days after the accident, this was amazing news. “She’s out of her coma?”

“Yes.” Her father made a noise that was half laugh, half delirious relief. “Brooke wants us to visit her. The doctor says it’s important to surround her with familiar voices.”

“Why . . .” Ashley heard something change in her father’s tone. “Why familiar
voices?
What about familiar faces?”

For several seconds her father said nothing, and Ashley realized what was happening. He was too choked up to speak.

Ashley dropped to the nearest chair and anchored her elbows on her knees. “Dad?”

“Because of the bad news.” His voice was tight, racked with emotion. “They’ve worried about this from the beginning, but now they know for sure.”

“What?” Her heart beat harder than before.

“Honey . . . Hayley’s blind.”