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I answered: “I'll suggest this to Otto.”

I called Otto the next day. “Otto, I need to talk to you.”

That apparently did not hit Otto right.

For the next twenty minutes, I listened to Otto. He was condescending and downright rude at times. But I let him talk and simply listened. “Faith told me that this politician wants me to file a motion for reconsideration. That's just not appropriate, Deede. You just don't do things like this. I don't trust politicians. You know why?”

Like I don't trust you.
“No. Why, Otto?”

“Because all they're after are your votes. I don't trust ‘em. Faith needs this time of house arrest. If she'd gone to LA, she would have been out on the streets within three hours, hunting drugs. She's a junkie, Deede.”

I listened and absorbed the disrespect, my heart breaking a little that I'd allowed him to represent our daughter for this long. She deserved better.

Otto continued his discourse. “You went to these people whom you felt were influential and asked them to intervene for your little Faith. That's just not appropriate, Deede. I know you were ticked off when you called today. I could hear it in your voice, ‘I need to talk to you,
Otto.'” He mimicked. Then, immediately, he switched to gentleman-icon. “Tell you what, Deede. I love you and Dan, and I'd like to sit down and talk with you. Without Faith. Could we meet somewhere today and have coffee?”

“Not today. I can't.”
Not ever.

“I'll meet you anywhere. We need to talk. Without Faith.” And I realized anew just how much he disliked Faith. That was okay. But he had no business representing someone he could not even make himself like. I'd not paid him thousands of dollars for psychological counseling.

“No. Can't, Otto. Sorry. Let me get off the phone and absorb all you've said to me. I'll call you back.”

I clicked off, stunned at the range of his manipulation and rudeness.

I waited five minutes, then called him back. He didn't answer, which didn't surprise me. So I left him a message I was certain he would get.

“Tell you what, Otto, I think it would be best for all concerned if you were off this case. Faith needs a fresh start and a lawyer with a fresh perspective on her. I appreciate all you've done to help Faith during our long acquaintance. But it's time for a change.”

I rang off, feeling better than I'd felt in a long time.

Then I e-mailed Nathan. “I fired Otto today. Please feel free to file the motion for reconsideration.”

And suddenly, I felt the impact of what had happened.

I had prayed recently for mercy. For a lawyer who would help us free of charge. And for peace.

God had heard me.

And He wasn't through yet.

Dan's health steadily plunged downhill in those coming days. The added financial load of drug rehab and other monumental costs was the proverbial straw. On some level, I sensed it, but Dan had always kept on trucking no matter how tired or discouraged, regardless of what corner he found himself backed into. He'd always made a door where there wasn't an escape hatch or jumped out a window and landed on his feet.

That was his nature

At least, that's how I perceived him.

So when he woke me up at three a.m. a couple of days after Faith's sentencing, I thought it was a case of indigestion. “Here,” I handed him a Zantac and he swallowed it with some water. “It was probably that spicy chicken you had for lunch.”

But the antacid didn't help. “I — can't … breathe … good,” he gasped moments later.

“I'll call 911.” I jumped to get my cell phone

“No,” he reached to stay my hand as I shakily dialed. “Don't. I'll … be … okay.”

“Sit down, Dan, Relax, honey,” I ordered and then gave our address to the 911 operator.

Faith appeared, no doubt having insomnia again. “What's wrong?” she asked, peering anxiously at her dad, who by now sat doubled over, elbows on knees, his face nearly ashen.

“Daddy?” she wailed and ran to him, dropping to her knees and taking his limp hands in hers. “Are you all right, Daddy?”

“I'm … all … right, honey,” he murmured with difficulty.

“Is there anything I can do?” she asked him, tears gathering and pooling along her tired lids. Then she ran to the bathroom and grabbed the aspirin. She dumped
two into her hand and grabbed the nearby glass of water for Dan to take them with. As he did that, she wet a wash cloth and gently applied it to his forehead.

“You're gonna be okay, Daddy,” she crooned gently as she began to massage his cold hands.

I stood on the porch to signal the EMS as they arrived. Within minutes, they had checked Dan's vital signs and had him in the ambulance. Faith had tearfully hugged him as they started out with him on the stretcher. “Daddy, I love you,” she sobbed. “You're gonna be fine.”

Dan smiled weakly and patted her cheek. “I know, sweetie. Love you, too.”

Faith stood in the doorway, frantic because she could not accompany him to the hospital. Her house arrest tethered her to the house during those hours.

“Oh, Mama,” she moaned as tears coursed down her cheeks. “I love him so much. Why did all this have to happen now?”

I hugged her tightly, “I don't know, honey. But we can be sure that it's all going to work together. Remember Romans 8:28. So be praying.”

“I will. And Mama?”

I turned from my car, I was going to follow the ambulance to Spartanburg Regional. “What, darlin'?”

“I love you so much.”

I smiled. “I know.”

By the time Dan was wheeled into the ER, he was already hooked to oxygen. His vital signs were checked again. There, blood was drawn within minutes. And then an MRI was performed.

I sat beside Dan's bed, holding his hand. His eyes were closed, but when I moved, they would open and follow me. I could see confusion in them. Shock.

Dan had always been so indomitable.

I leaned to kiss him lightly on the lips. “You okay?”

He nodded.

“Scared?”

He shrugged then shook his head no.

“Good. You're gonna be fine, darlin'. And that's a promise.” Inside, I was terrified and desperately sought to tether myself to the assurance of divine intervention.

This time, it was critical.

He smiled then, reassured, and closed his eyes to rest for a few minutes. His breathing was loud, laborious. I closed my eyes and prayed.

Two hours later, Dr. Chorness, the cardiac specialist, appeared. “He has a large blood clot behind his heart,” he informed us gravely. “We're starting him on an anticoagulant to thin his blood and dissolve the clot.”

The whammy of it took my breath. I sucked in a furious lung full of air.

“I'll have more to tell you in the morning after we get more blood work. In the meantime, we'll admit him.”

“How long?” Dan murmured in true A-type style.

“At least eight days,” replied Dr. Chorness.

Dan groaned in protest.

“Mr. Stowe,” the physician said, not unkindly, “you are about to have a drastic lifestyle change.”

My cell phone vibrated against my side. I pulled my phone from my belt phone holder and clicked it on. It was Faith.

“We'll know more in the morning,” I told her.

“Are you spending the night?”

“Yes. I'll catch naps in the waiting area. Not comfy but I won't leave him until he's on more solid ground.”

“Mom?” her voice almost faded away and I heard, felt her panic. “Is he — ”

“He's going to be fine, darlin',” I said more heartily than I felt. “I suspect he's passing over the most critical time tonight. So far, so good. Don't you worry now.”

“I'm trying, Mama. I wish I could be there with you.” The bleakness of her spirit bled through her words.

“I know. But you ask your Sentinel officer to allow you a time window to visit Daddy here. I'm sure they have provisions for family emergencies.”

“I will. First thing in the morning. I love you, Mom.”

“Love you, too, honey.”

The next morning, Dr. Chorness came by mid-morning. “Mrs. Stowe, your husband has congestive heart failure.”

I groaned and tears flooded my eyes.

“But you got him here in time for us to help him.”

“But — I thought he would have had more warning than this. I mean, he was awfully
tired,
but then he works so hard — I thought that was why.”

“What he had last night was a light heart attack. This always precedes congestive heart disease. We already started him on Coumadin last night. This anticoagulant causes the blood to flow smoother and begins dissolving the clot lodged behind his heart. Of course, we'll want to keep him here until we get his blood thinned down to a safe level, say around 2.5. We'll want to be vigilant in the event of a crisis, which we don't expect.”

“Better safe than sorry,” I murmured in a trembling voice.

I looked at Dan, wondering how he was taking in all this change in health status.

“Do you have any questions, Mr. Stowe,” Dr. Chorness asked.

“How long before I can go home?” Dan rasped weakly.

Both the doctor and I burst into laughter. Dan was grinning, too. I was immensely relieved that he was taking it all in stride.

“About a week. In the meantime, rest. And leave all your problems behind. And that's an order.”

“Yessir,” Dan replied and stuck out his hand. Dr. Chorness gripped it warmly.

After he left, I leaned to hug Dan. He squeezed me firmly and murmured against my neck, “God, how I love you, Deede.”

“And I, you,” I whispered and kissed him soundly on the lips. “You are my rock.”

He snorted. “Not so solid right now, huh?” And then he teared up, surprising me.

“Ah, honey,” I hugged him again and sat down holding his hand. “You're gonna be as good as new. Just you wait and see.”

“Naw. Not this time.” He reined in his weepiness and looked at me soberly. “But that's okay. We'll get through this with the help of the good Lord, huh?”

“Got that right, Dan.”

And suddenly, I knew that we would.