Travelers Rest (22 page)

He held it up to her. She took it and read the title:
The Spiritual Lives of the Great Composers.

“I thought you might like it,” he said, “since you seem to know something about music.”

She opened the book and fanned through the pages. “Thank you, Jon-Paul. I was just sitting here wondering how to pass the time. How did you know?”

“I didn’t. I just . . . I figured you might need something, and I wanted to help.”

“Thank you,” she said again. “That was nice of you.”

Retrieving his cane, he stood to go. As he rose, Jane felt something spiral downward inside of her. The feeling was familiar, but it took her a moment to recognize what it was. The heaviness of disappointment.

She wished he wouldn’t leave her here alone.

“Are you having lunch with your sister?” she asked.

“Yes. But just Carolyn, thank heavens. No more blind dates.” He gave a small laugh and a nod. “Well, enjoy the book.”

“I’m sure I will.”

“And if Seth’s awake next time you go in, tell him if he’s not out of here by, oh, let’s say next Wednesday, he forfeits the game.”

Jane smiled. “All right. I’ll tell him.”

Jon-Paul stepped away. When his feet left the sullied carpet of the waiting room and touched the linoleum in the hall, he hesitated. Then he turned back. “Jane?”

“Yes?”

“Would you mind if I stopped by here tomorrow?”

The weight lifted. She took a deep refreshing breath. “I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

She saw the smallest hint of a smile form at the corners of his mouth. He tipped an imaginary hat. “Till then,” he said.

“Bye, Jon-Paul.” She listened as he tapped his way back down the hall, finding something oddly comforting in the measured rhythm of his cane.

32

S
he didn’t see Seth again that day. Jewel and Sid arrived from Troy in the late afternoon and spent some time with him. Only two visitors at a time in the ICU, the nurse reminded them, and after Jewel and Sid saw him, the nurse decided that was it for the day. Seth was too tired for any more visitors. Everyone would have to come back tomorrow.

When they returned to the waiting room after seeing Seth, Sid was uncommonly silent, even for him, and Jewel pale and tense. Jane put a hand on Jewel’s arm. “He’s going to be all right,” she said. “You’ll see. He’s going to get through this.”

Jewel nodded but said nothing. Her eyes glistened.

Sid put an arm around his wife. “We’re going to the hotel to get some rest, Jane. But we’ll see you tomorrow.”

“All right.”

I should go too.
But she didn’t. After the Ballantines left, Jane sat and turned again to the book Jon-Paul had given her. An hour passed, visitors to the ICU came and went, some lingering in the waiting room, others stopping only momentarily to talk among themselves in quiet tones. Jane scarcely looked up. After a time she realized she was hungry. She should go home and feed the dogs and eat supper herself.

She was about to bookmark her page when a familiar figure approached.

Jane smiled. “Hello, Truman.”

“You still here, Jane?”

“I was just thinking about going home and making supper. Seth can’t have any more visitors today.”

Truman eased himself down in the chair next to Jane’s. “How is he?”

“Tired. Otherwise about the same, I guess.”

Truman nodded. “His folks make it into town?”

“Yes. They were here a little bit ago. They’ve gone back to their hotel for the night, though.”

“Have you been here all afternoon?”

Jane glanced at her watch. “I guess I have. I’ve been reading. Listen to this, Truman.”

He leaned closer, expectantly.

“It’s something Beethoven said.” She smoothed the page of the book with an open palm and began to read. “‘It was not a fortuitous meeting of chordal atoms that made the world; if order and beauty are reflected in the constitution of the universe, then there is a God.’”

Truman lifted his eyes to her, cocked his head. “Yes. It seems so simple, doesn’t it? If only everyone could see it that way.”

“But . . . it’s the beauty. It’s . . .”

Truman nodded, waited for her to go on.

“It’s not enough,” she said.

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve always wanted it to be enough, but it isn’t. It just isn’t.”

Truman frowned, fidgeted in the chair. “I want to follow you, Jane, but I’m not sure I do.”

She shook her head, closed the book in her lap. “I don’t think I can explain. I’m not even sure what I’m trying to say.” She looked up at Truman, smiling shyly. “Maybe I’d better just call it a day and go on home.”

Truman reached over and patted her hand. “You go on. I’ll stand watch for a little while. I’ll call you if anything changes.”

“Thank you, Truman. I really don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Oh, you’d get by,” he said, patting her hand again.

When she got home, she went to the den and put on a CD, a collection of Beethoven. “Für Elise
.
” “Violin Sonata in C Minor.” “Symphony no. 9.” Surely Beethoven had loved beauty too, but he knew it wasn’t enough, knew it wasn’t the final thing. It was only a witness. Beauty sang of the One who created it, the One who pulled splendor out of His own breast and sowed it with open palms across the earth.

By the time “Ode to Joy” began to play
,
Jane thought perhaps she was beginning to understand.

33

J
ane?”

“You don’t have to try to talk, Seth. I just wanted to let you know I’m here.”

He turned his head ever so slightly toward her voice while trying to focus weary eyes on her face. “Mom and Dad?” he whispered.

“They’re here. They’ll be in to see you in a little while.”

“What day is it?”

“Monday. July fourth.”

“It’s the Fourth of July?”

“Yeah. I guess it is. I didn’t even think about that. But now that you mention it, there’s supposed to be a big fireworks display downtown tonight.”

“Wish I could take you.”

Jane smiled. “I wish you could too. Now, I mean it, Seth. You don’t have to talk. You need to save your strength. Jon-Paul says if you don’t get out of ICU by Wednesday, you forfeit the game.”

Seth tried to chuckle but ended up coughing. Jane lifted his oxygen mask and gave him a sip of water through a straw. When he could speak, he said, “Tell Jon-Paul I’ll be there. And tell him he’s a glutton for punishment.”

Jane smiled behind her mask. “All right. I’ll tell him. Are you going to stop talking now, or am I going to have to leave?”

“Don’t leave. But I want to tell you something.”

Because he spoke so softly, Jane leaned closer. “What is it?”

“I was dreaming. . . .”

“Yeah?”

“It seemed so real.”

“What was it?”

“Remember when we went to Folly Beach with Mom and Dad and we rented that place right on the water?”

Jane nodded. “Sure, I remember.”

“I was dreaming about being there. You and I were walking along the shore, just the way we did when we were there. And it seemed so real. I mean, I could feel the sand and the water whenever a wave came in. It was so cold. I felt the wind. Remember how sometimes the gusts were so strong they just about knocked us over?”

“Yes.” She laughed a little, though her throat felt tight. “But that was all right. You held me up.”

He shut his eyes slowly, opened them again. “I was holding your hand. In my dream, I could feel your hand, Jane. And I was happy.”

“That’s not just a dream, Seth. It’s a memory.”

“I guess it is. I guess I wanted to live it again. I’m glad it seemed so real.”

Jane lifted a hand to his face, stroked his cheek. “Me too.”

A nurse appeared in the doorway and looked at Jane. “Time for you to go,” she said.

Jane nodded toward the nurse. “All right.” The nurse slipped away. “I’d better go,” Jane said to Seth, “but I’ll be back later.”

“Jane?”

“Yes?”

A quieter whisper than before: “A part of me will always be holding you up, you know.”

Their eyes met. She stroked his cheek again. “I believe that, Seth. Now get some rest.”

When she reached the waiting room, Jon-Paul was there, dressed casually in a pair of jeans and a blue T-shirt. His attire reminded Jane that it was a holiday; his office would be closed.

She sat down in the chair beside him. “Seth says to tell you that you’re a glutton for punishment,” she said.

He arched his brows while smiling quizzically. “Oh? How so?”

“You’re coming back for a second game.”

He laughed. “I consider it a second chance, and I don’t intend to lose this time.” He took a deep breath and the smile faded. “So how is he?”

“He seems to be doing a little better.”

“Really? That’s great. I’ve been praying for him.”

Jane cocked her head. “Really?”

“Of course.”

She didn’t know how to respond. Finally she said, “Thank you. I appreciate that.”

He nodded. “I’ve decided he doesn’t have to forfeit the game if he’s not out of here by Wednesday. But don’t tell him I said that. We’ll let him sweat it out.”

“All right. It’ll be our little secret. Is the tournament still going on?”

“Oh yes. The guys on the floor are really into it. Truman’s clobbered a couple and is moving up on the chart.”

“Good for him. Maybe he’ll even win the kitty.”

“Maybe.”

“I wonder what he’d do with the money,” Jane said dreamily. “I think he ought to go on a cruise.”

“A cruise? With five hundred dollars? That would hardly get you a row boat out on Lake Lure.”

Jane laughed loudly. It felt good to laugh. Jon-Paul chuckled along with her. “Thanks, Jon-Paul,” she said.

He looked puzzled. “Thanks? For what?”

“For coming. For making me laugh.”

He smiled at that. “You’re welcome, Jane.”

They fell quiet as Jane looked away shyly. She didn’t want to have a lull in their conversation because he might make an excuse to leave, feeling that he’d been there long enough. She didn’t want him to leave. She blurted the first thing that came to mind. “Are you going to the fireworks tonight?”

“Well, no,” he said awkwardly. “I mean, I would, except I can’t see them.”

“Oh! I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean . . . it’s just that, most of the time, I forget.”

He sat up straighter at that. “Really? I’m glad. It’s nice to be more than just the blind guy.”

“To me, you’re not a blind guy at all. You’re, well . . . you’re just a really special person. I’m sure a lot of people think so.”

He sat back again, his face aglow. “I remember fireworks. I remember what they look like.” He drew circles in the air with his hands. “All those bright lights in the dark sky. It’s been a long time, though.”

“Actually, I can’t remember the last time I saw fireworks. We came to Asheville sometimes when I was a kid, but otherwise, we stopped having fireworks displays in Troy. It got to be too expensive for a small town.”

“Well, I wish we could go tonight. Maybe we can. Maybe you could tell me what it all looks like.” He stopped, looking suddenly pained. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean that to sound like I’m asking you to . . .”

“Don’t worry, it’s all right. I’d like to go.”

“Maybe Truman would like to go too. I bet he hasn’t gotten out of this place in ages.”

“That’s a great idea! We should ask him.”

Jon-Paul unclipped his cell phone from his belt buckle. “I’ve got him on speed dial now.” He pushed a number, put the phone to his ear. “Truman? Jon-Paul here. Jane and I are in the ICU . . . yeah, in the waiting room. Can you come down for a minute? No, nothing’s wrong. Just stop by if you can.” He closed the phone, put it back in its clip. “He’s on the way.”

In another few minutes, he was there. “What’s up?” Truman said.

“Jane and I are going downtown tonight to see the fireworks,” Jon-Paul explained. “You want to come?”

A wide smile spread across Truman’s face. “Sure,” he said. “I can’t remember the last time I saw fireworks.”

“So they’ll let you out of your cage long enough to go?” Jon-Paul said.

Truman laughed. “No problem there. I’m free to come and go as I please. I just haven’t been doing any going lately. It’ll be nice to get out. Thanks for asking.”

“Sure, Truman,” Jane said. She patted the chair next to her. “Why don’t you sit down for a while?”

“All right.” He eased himself into the chair. “How’s our man Seth doing?”

“I think he’s actually doing a little better,” Jane said.

Truman nodded. “Good, good. It’s a battle, but I thought once they got that IV going, he’d be all right.”

“He’s a fighter,” Jon-Paul commented.

“Yes, he is,” Jane said quietly. “I’ve been really worried, wondering whether . . . whether maybe he wouldn’t make it. I have to remind myself that even if he does make it—”

“Of course he will, Jane,” Jon-Paul interrupted.

“But even if he does . . .” She tried to go on, tried to say that even if he lived, she had lost him. They were no longer engaged. Everything had changed. She couldn’t bring herself to say the words.

Somehow, though, Truman knew. He understood. “It will be all right, Jane,” he said. “Everything will be all right. You’ll see.”

She nodded slowly. “I know, Truman. I just have to keep moving forward.”

Truman smiled. “That reminds me of something. Did I ever tell you what Maggie used to say?”

“I don’t think so.”

Truman leaned forward, rubbed his chin thoughtfully at the memory. “She’d say, ‘Life’s gearshift’s got no reverse, so you’ve got to just keep moving forward.’” He chuckled lightly, shook his head. “If she said it once, she said it a thousand times. ‘Life’s gearshift’s . . . ’ What’s the matter, Jane? You don’t look well. Did I say something wrong?”

34

J
ane laid a hand on Truman’s forearm and squeezed tightly. “Are you telling me that’s what
Maggie
used to say?”

“Yes. But why? What’s wrong?” Truman frowned, shook his head.

“Yeah? What’s the matter with that?” Jon-Paul echoed.

“She said ‘life’s gearshift’s got no reverse’?” Jane asked again.