Joy Express Page 6

  “I was afraid of him. Kevin’s father, I mean,” she said, as if she’d read my mind. “He beat me, too. I was too weak to do anything about it.”

  I didn’t know what to say.

  “It was a different time. I’d been raised to obey my husband. But one really bad time I threatened to turn him in. He beat me to a pulp that night, and I kept my promise. I went to the police. He was arrested, and died of a heart attack in jail that very night. Kevin was only twelve. They took him away from me for a while, but I got him back and we squirreled a life together. When he became an adult, he started showing the same anger, but he never laid a hand on me.” She looked at me with questioning eyes.

  “No, he never beat me, and I’m pretty sure he didn’t hurt my mother, not physically. He was just angry and distant. He left us and never helped us or even showed up until my wedding day. I didn’t even know about that. My husband kept it from me.”

  “I’m so sorry for what happened. He forbade me to even mention your name, or your mother’s name. I had no idea he’d try to get help from you. What made him think you could help him?”

  “I received a large insurance settlement when Pinewood Manor burned down. I’m sure he saw it on the news and thought I had money. But it’s all tied up in a missionary retreat we built and in a college scholarship.” I couldn’t even begin to find a place in my brain for the nagging thought that she had a granddaughter she’d never tried to see.

  Her tear-stained gaze darted from me to the floor and back. The same desperate, wild-eyed disappointment I saw in my father’s eyes told me that she’d hoped I could help Brenna. Her expression hardened, and a deep sigh culminated into a shudder. She slumped into the chair and dropped her head into her hands.

  “Mrs. Brown?” I can’t bear this.

  She shook her head and then looked up at me. Her eyes still seemed to plead, but her face softened. “You know, I raised her. Brenna, my little angel. Her mother left them early on. Brenna was only five. I’ve never been sure what happened, or why she’d leave her child. They seemed happy, but you never know what goes on behind closed doors. Maybe he was more like his father than I feared. When Brenna got sick, he came back and did everything he could. I secretly wondered if he was trying to make up for what he’d done to you and your mother.”

  He couldn’t make up for it. I’d gotten over the years of thinking that the breakup of their marriage was my fault. Typical of a child to think so, but the last time I saw him he was raging to my mother about me being a fat little kid. But I’d gotten peace. At least until this week. He’d ruined the dream of my childbirth experience, and left me with this nightmarish ache in my heart, just when I was supposed to be enjoying my babies.

  Brenna was only five when both her parents left her? I was only five when Daddy left me. She probably suffered the same rejection and low self-esteem. This is way, way too much.

  “You said ‘he came back.’ So he hasn’t been there all her life?” The old hurt had reared its ugly head, only worse now, and no daddy left to confront about it.

  “No. He couldn’t control that anger. He left a few months after her mother did, and left her for me to raise. Not that I’ve minded. She’s been the one bright spot in my life. But now I’m losing her, too.” The tears began again. “He came back last year when she got sick. He poured everything into trying to save her. Her only hope now is an experimental treatment that insurance won’t cover.”

  Thus the desperate move to get money. Too much sadness. I stood and walked toward her. Part of me wanted to embrace her, but as I approached her I realized I couldn’t take any more that day. I took both her hands and she stood facing me. “Thank you for coming. I’m sorry for your loss.” A dumb thing to say. I sounded like a person on the outside looking in. How I wished that were true. I put my arm around her and led her away, feeling horrible about it, but I needed her out of my sight. We stopped at the door.

  “So, there’s nothing you can do to help Brenna?” The profound pain in her eyes tore me to pieces.

  “I…I don’t know.” Please, lady, please just go.

  Her whole body seemed to slump with disappointment. She reached up and steadied herself, holding on to my arm. “I’m sorry. Mothers will do anything for their loved ones. I better get back up to Brenna’s floor.”

  “Get back to her? You don’t mean…,” I said, my heart pounding.

  “Well, honey, didn’t they tell you? She’s here in this very hospital. She was transferred here a few weeks ago. Marshall is closer to our cabin than Dallas.” She turned and walked out the door without another word.

  Scott walked in just then, and I collapsed into his arms.

  13

  “I don’t think you’re ready to go home yet,” Scott said as he walked me over to the bed. “You’re as white as a ghost.” He gingerly leaned me against the bed, and then pushed the call button.

  “Yes?” The nurse answered over the speaker.

  “Could you send someone in here to take a look? I don’t think she’s feeling well.” Scott sat down on the bed and then pulled me next to him.

  “I’m definitely ready to go home. I just had a very stressful visit from Kevin Brown’s mother. I’ll be fine. Please just take me home.” I wanted my own bed in the worst way, and I wanted my babies next to me.

  “Really? What happened?” He held my hand.

  “Did you know Brenna was here?” I couldn’t look at him. He was just protecting me, knowing that the news would be too much. Still, what did I need to do with that information?

  “I’m sorry, Sweetie, I just thought it might be overwhelming. I guess I can’t talk you out of going to see her?”

  I wondered if I could take it. Anger rose again and made my head hurt. I wanted to put this all aside and hold my babies. Why couldn’t I just revel in the joy of my twins? “I don’t know.”

  Mom walked in just then. “What’s the matter, Bailey, are you OK?”

  “Just feel worn out after a visit from Lana Brown. It wasn’t pleasant.”

  “I’m sorry. I’d imagine she’s pretty upset. What did she say?”

  “She came in here making excuses for him. Although it sounded awful, his childhood, I mean. I don’t even know what to do with that information. I’m angry that I have this all mixed up with the birth of our first children. It’s not supposed to be like this.” I leaned my head onto Scott’s shoulder and let the tears come.

  Mom sat down beside me.

  “She told me that Brenna is here. I have to see her.”

  “Bailey, I don’t think that’s a good idea. Not just for you. She doesn’t know about you, or that her father is dead. A visit from you might be too confusing.”

  “How do you know? Were you able to get information from the hospital staff?” My heart beat faster.

  “I met Mrs. Brown for coffee in the cafeteria. But I think we should get you home and the little ones settled. We’ll discuss it after you’ve had some rest.”

  Selfish. That’s what kind of person I was. I’d only been thinking of myself, not that poor girl. Of course I shouldn’t see her now. But I wondered if I could get a glimpse of her without her knowing. A thought occurred to me. “Mom, this has to be hard on you too. I mean, you were married to him.” I shifted my head from Scott’s shoulder to hers.

  “I’m sad for him, but I’m mostly concerned about you. The news about Brenna Brown must be really weighing on you.” She patted my knee.

  “I don’t want to, but I can’t stop thinking about it. It’s just almost too much. Did you know about her, Mom?” I lifted my head and looked into her eyes.

  “No, I didn’t. I didn’t know he’d remarried, either. It’s as I told you before. He left and I never heard from him again. You have to believe that I’d have told you if I’d known. At least I think I would have. Knowing her would have meant involvement with your father. I don’t know if I would have wanted that. Honey, I just don’t know.” She sighed.

  “Am I supposed to go to her
? To help her? It would be the Christian thing to do, but my heart is so torn up just now. It’s not like I can take my time to think about it. She’s dying.”

  “Tell you what,” Scott said. “We can’t do anything without praying first. I’m taking that off your shoulders just for today. I’ll call everyone and we’ll start a serious prayer effort. Today you just get to go home, sleep in your own bed, and play with the little ones.”

  “But, there’s not time. I mean, how long does she have?” A headache pulsed between my eyes.

  “How many times did you fuss at me for not letting people help? Now you need rest, and we will take care of everything. We’ll find out what the girl needs, what the doctors say, and we’ll give you a report. We’ll all pray and then you’ll be boosted up for a decision.” He rubbed my shoulders.

  The tension began to ease. “All right. Let’s go home.”

  “Not for another hour. We’re checking your vitals again, and making sure you are truly ready to go home. You are so pale,” Mom said, stroking my forehead. “I’ll go for a cart and be right back.”

  Scott continued to massage my neck and shoulders. I closed my eyes and attempted to transfer my worries to him. I knew he’d do what he’d promised. I should be putting all of it into God’s hands, but I felt I didn’t know God anymore. I couldn’t feel him. This bothered me more than anything.

  “You sit tight and wait for the nurse. I’ll see if the babies are ready to go home,” Scott said.

  The room spun in circles as I sat alone. With everything going on in my brain, I was surprised at the sudden leading in my heart. I walked out, slowly, my incision still hurting.

  No one was in the hall.

  A lone nurse sat at her computer at the nurse’s station.

  Cancer patients were on the seventh floor.

  The nurse never looked up.

  I slipped inside the elevator, pushed level seven, and leaned against the wall. Walking proved more difficult than I’d imagined, so the momentary rest helped. I felt pulled beyond my control, yet in full coherence of what I was doing.

  The elevator doors opened with a ding. I let them close again. What was I doing? When they opened again, I walked out and stood in the hallway, looking right and left. There seemed to be more noise and activity to my right, so I headed that way. Sure enough, I found the main nurses station for that floor. I leaned over the desk. “Brenna Brown?” The words felt foreign on my tongue, like a dreaded medicine that must be swallowed.

  The nurse nodded her head to the right. Four rooms lined up across from the nurses’ station, all with large glass windows. A large, structural column stood between the second and third rooms.

  “She’s in 703, the third one there. Are they expecting you?” She stood, clutching a clipboard.

  “Oh, no. Don’t want to disturb. I just wondered where she was. I’ll check on her later.”

  “Family or friend,” she asked.

  My blouse seemed to strangle me at the neck. Heat rushed to my face and the pressure at my cesarean incision became painful. “Yes, well, thank you,” I said and turned for the elevator.

  She nodded, her eyes squinting in confusion.

  I turned back as I got to the elevator door and noticed she’d stepped away from her desk. I walked back and stood by the column in front of Brenna’s room, peeking around like a sneaky little girl.

  Lana Brown sat reading in a guest chair on the far side of the hospital bed. The young girl laid limp, face covered with an oxygen mask, IV line on her right arm, her head tilted toward the window, her eyes closed. So pale. White, like a pearl. The dark rings around her eyes contrasted the bloodless skin. How long has she been like this? When was she diagnosed?

  Even from the eight or so feet distance, I could see her long eyelashes. I supposed I expected to see a bald cancer patient, but her molasses brown hair ribboned down the side of her face. Her chest rose and fell with steady breaths. I couldn’t take my eyes off her.

  She opened her eyes and looked right at me.

  I felt my face expand in surprise.

  But she smiled. Those brown eyes exuded hope.

  A hope that depended on me? We held eye contact. I raised a hand and offered a little wave.

  She lifted a languid finger in return.

  Lana Brown never looked up.

  What am I doing? She didn’t know anything about me, at least I didn’t think so. The tragedy of it all assaulted my heart and I looked down. Scott was probably looking for me. I turned and walked away without a backward glance. Thankful no one was in the elevator, I leaned against the wall and let the emotion wash over me. This was more than I could take. God, how could You allow this? I found my room and sat on the bed again. My thoughts jumbled together behind a headache that increased by the minute. I had to get control of my raging emotions. I would go home with my babies today. Motherhood was a full-time job and these little ones needed my full attention. Yet my heart was torn between nightmares and possibilities. I’m in over my head, and God You are so distant.

  11

  The ride from the hospital gave me time to think, but I discovered that thinking was not something I wanted to do. The tree canopied Washout Express exit used to hold so much peace for my heart. The turmoil I felt the first time I took this drive could not hold a candle to the tortured heart that plagued me now.

  I glanced up to the front seat where Scott drove in silence. I’d sat in a wheelchair at the hospital watching him install two car seats, and then buckle Paul and Helen with care. Pride glowed from his eyes, until he looked at me, then they clouded with worry. I slipped in the back seat beside the babies, my incision stinging with the exertion of the trip up to the seventh floor.

  “You all right back there?” Scott peered at me through his rear-view mirror.

  “Just tired.” I glanced over at the sleeping twins.

  “Almost there,” he said. “I love you.”

  The emotion in his voice warmed my heart. If anyone was ever meant to be a father, it was Scott.

  “Daddy’s driving really carefully, gonna get you home safe and sound,” he whispered. He had to break suddenly as a reckless driver pulled in front of him. “Oops, Daddy’s sorry, twinsies.”

  Daddy’s sorry, tell Brenna Daddy’s sorry.

  The words echoed in my head and then the sound of the gunshot.

  “No!” I gripped the top of Scott’s seat. “No!”

  Paul and Helen both woke and started crying.

  Scott pulled to the side of the road, turned off the car and jumped out. He yanked open the backseat door. “What’s the matter? What happened?” He reached across and tried to comfort the twins by patting the tops of their heads.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know. The memory. The gunshot.” I hid my face in my hands. A tsunami welled up in my throat and choked me. My chest heaved but breaths wouldn’t come. My eyes burned with tears that wouldn’t flow.

  Warm arms enveloped me. “Breathe with me, just try and breathe with me.”

  I closed my eyes and willed my breathing to mimic Scott’s. That giant lump in my chest was anger, I knew it. The babies crying subsided, and I needed to nurse. If I let that anger come, it could hurt them, hurt all of us.

  Maybe if Scott would hold me tighter, it would push back down. I reached both my arms around him and pulled him even closer.

  “I think we should go back to the hospital. You really aren’t ready to come home,” he said, lifting one arm to cradle my face.

  “Home is where I need to be. I don’t know what happened. The memory takes over and I’m constantly in the place just before it happens. As if I could stop it or something.” A chilly breeze wafted into the back seat.

  Scott used both hands to cradle my face, put our foreheads together and whispered a prayer for me.

  I inhaled the cold air and it sobered me. The knot in my chest subsided.

  “All right,” he said. He opened his mouth to say more but pressed his lips together. Most likely thinking h
e’d call my mom as soon as we got home. I knew he wouldn’t let this outburst go. He grasped both my shoulders and set me back against the seat, and then got back behind the wheel.

  Scott switched on the radio, and Christmas carols filled the car. I noticed a fragrance card hanging from the rear-view mirror shaped like a Christmas tree. He’d never have thought of that for himself. He did it for me. Christmas. Time, the holidays, everything kept moving forward. Everything, except me.

  I pushed the window button and let it down an inch, breathing in the cool autumn air. I closed my eyes and reached out to my babies. The softness of their skin calmed me. I’d had difficulty nursing in the hospital. Mom assured me that it would go better when I got relaxed at home. They must have gotten some nourishment in the nursery to be able to sleep so soundly. The easy whiffling of their breath caught my heart. So sweet and pure.

  But their mother was in a very dark place.

  12

  We drove past the diner, the parking lot full of cars. I was afraid Scott might want to stop there and show off the babies. I just didn’t feel like it. But he drove on past and soon we turned into the driveway of the inn. The porch rails and columns were festooned with pink and blue balloons and ribbons. A banner across the front door read, “Welcome Home, Paul, Helen, and Bailey!” Ah, to be so loved. Surely I’d get over my inner torture with this kind of loving care.

  Someone, probably Tracy, had put a Christmas wreath on my front door. Poinsettias and ivy. Everyone was doing all the things that I should have been doing.

  “You sit here. I’ll take them in one at a time, and then I’ll come and get you. Tracy’s here,” he said, just as the girl stepped out on the front porch, clapping and jumping up and down.

  She ran to the car, poked her head in, kissed me on the cheek, and then leaned over to get a look at the babies.

  “Adorable, oh, my gosh, the cutest things ever,” she said, in a loud whisper, which made me laugh.

  On the other side of the car, Scott unlatched the seat belt from Paul. He carried him in the house and Tracy skipped along behind. Soon he came out and carried Helen in.