A Beautiful Fall (23 page)

“Oh, thank goodness. I thought there was a chance you wouldn’t be able to get here in time.”

Jim hugged Samantha as she lay in the bed, excited and scared. “I’m here. How are you doing?”

“They just put in the epidural for pain, but I don’t think this is going to take that long.”

Jim smiled, putting his arm around Samantha’s neck in support. “You’re going to be a mama again.”

“Jim, there’s so much going on.”

“Shhh, just focus on this,” he told her. “There’s enough going on right here.”

Samantha leaned her head on Jim’s shoulder, staring at the second hand on the wall clock above the door. She worked her breathing—short puffs, in and out. “Jim, I love you.”

They squeezed each other’s hands. For twenty-two years they’d been each other’s best friends, they’d been everything to each other. Samantha couldn’t imagine her world without Jim in it.

“I love you, too,” he told her.

Despite the suddenness of the contractions and the fears floating up from the fourth floor, the mood inside the room seemed sacred, shaped into something rare and godly by the devotion of a committed partnership and the sanctity of welcoming a newly created life.

Jim’s cell phone chirped, the sound it made when one of the kids called him on the two-way pager. He answered the cell.

“Yeah.”

“Hey, Dad, I’m at the hospital. Where are you guys?”

“Noel, we’re up on the fifth floor.”

“Do we have a new brother yet?”

“Not yet. Here, your mom wants to talk to you.”

Jim handed the phone to Samantha.

“Noel, honey. Have you found Christina? She and Emma should be somewhere … oh!” Samantha felt a strong contraction. She gave Jim the phone and he stepped out into the hallway.

“Listen, Noel. If you find them, call me back on the cell, not the two-way radio, okay? I’ll have it on vibrate. Your mom’s got a lot on her hands and I don’t want her to feel overwhelmed by any news you may have.”

“Sure, no problem. I’ll call you if I find out anything.”

“Thanks.”

o o o

Noel shut off his phone, walking into the lobby at Wellman. He stepped into the first floor elevator and pushed the lighted circle with the black number four. Noel was comfortable in hospitals. He had interned one summer at Hope Community Church during high school. That internship included lots of hospital visitations at Wellman, and before long he knew the floors as well as the doctors.

He found Michael, Emma, and Christina in the fourth floor waiting room, saw them through the glass wall as he came down the hallway, his shoes squeaking on the polished floor. When he entered the doorway, he gave the hushed group a quick tip of his straw hat. He looked like a cowboy who’d just rode in from rescuing a lost calf.

“What’s the latest?”

Emma gave him the facts in a way that didn’t come off as either too positive or unduly hopeless.

“He’s in surgery. They’ve taken X-rays. They’re checking for broken bones and other things. We’re really just waiting for updates.”

Emma didn’t say what she felt everyone might be thinking—that Bo was in critical condition and they could get word any minute that he’d died.

Christina sat motionless in a chair next to Emma, on her face she wore a nearly catatonic expression. Noel walked up to her.

“Christina,” he said, believing that words could be like medicine. “I called the church about Bo and asked them to contact everybody on the prayer chain. I think some of the pastors are getting together in Brian’s office to pray right now.”

Christina’s eyes continued to stare, unblinking, into the dull brown carpet. Her head nodded in the smallest, almost undetectable, way.

“I also called a group of guys at Clemson from my fraternity. I told them what was going on and asked them to pull together some of the guys there to pray. I hope that’s all right.”

Her eyes made contact with Noel’s. He continued.

“And I remembered you telling me about Southwind Christian Fellowship in Raleigh, and how you’d spoken there once and you said they’d just really connected with you. I called them too. Do you know a Jeannie Harmon?”

“Yes,” Christina said in a dry whisper, tears welling up in puddles.

“She’s e-mailing or calling all the women you spoke to and she’s organizing them for prayer at this very minute.”

Two tears streamed down Christina’s face from her watery blue eyes. It was the first sign of life they’d seen in an hour.

Christina coughed, clearing her throat.

“Thank you. Excuse me,” she said, getting up from her chair to leave the room.

Emma looked at him. “Noel, I can’t believe you did all that. That’s amazing.”

“When my mom told me the news, I knew we needed prayer. I think God just put some of those people in my mind to call.”

In the small restroom down the hall, Christina wept and prayed.

“Father, thank You for the prayers. Thank You for Noel Connor. Thank You that You supply hope in the midst of the storm.”

When Christina reentered the waiting room her eyes were red from crying, but she looked alive again.

“Can I ask you all something?” she said. “Can we just pray for a minute?”

Michael sat up taller, nodding. Christina knew Noel hadn’t ceased praying for the last hour. She smiled when Emma agreed. Yes, of course they’d pray.

They joined hands in a circle, closed their eyes, and bowed their heads, huddling together in the quiet, nearly empty waiting room.

Christina prayed.

“Our heavenly Father … we come before You now in great humility. Our dear friend Bo has fallen. Father, whatever Your will is, that he should live or go on to be with You, I surrender myself, my feelings, to Your greater will trusting that You only have the best in mind for us.”

Emma opened her eyes and looked at Christina as she continued.

“Father, as Your child, I ask You with every ounce of energy I have for You to heal Bo. You know I love him. But, Father, not my will, but Your will be done.”

If the world could be seen from the perspective of heaven, and prayers were like candles lit by vibrant faith, the landscape of Juneberry, even greater South Carolina, would have appeared like a forest of Christmas trees strung with strands of white lights.

The four waited in silence, praying for the miraculous, while surrendering themselves to the will of God.

~ Eighteen ~

When you figure out love is all that matters after all
It sure makes everything else seem so small.

—C
ARRIE
U
NDERWOOD

“So Small”

“Okay, Samantha—push!” Abbey Kellogg, the midwife who’d assisted Samantha throughout her pregnancy, coached her now during delivery. Samantha took two short breaths and pushed.

“Ohhhhh …”

“That’s good. You’re doing fine. I can see the baby’s head. I just need you to bear down on your next contraction, okay?”

Samantha nodded, gripping Jim’s hand and squeezing it with all her might.

“Come on, hon. One more good push.”

“Ohhhhh …”

“Bear down, Samantha. You’re doing great. Keep pushing …”

One final push and Abbey lifted the Connors’ newborn baby boy for his awestruck parents to see. Jim cut the umbilical cord, and in what seemed like less than a minute, the birthing team had cleaned and tested the wrapped-in-a-blue-blanket baby before handing him to his mother.

“Oh my, he’s so beautiful.”

Samantha’s eyes began to tear up.

“Have you named him yet?” Abbey asked.

“Yes,” Samantha said. “His name is James Connor. We’ll call him Jimmy.”

They hadn’t decided on a name yet, not until that moment. Samantha wanted to send a message to her husband in a language only the two of them would understand. Jim smiled with pride. He kissed his wife on the forehead, and they wiped the tears from their eyes.

Jim called Beth at home and reached Noel on his cell phone with the good news. The Connor family had a new member.

o o o

Valerie Sala, the OR nurse, reentered the fourth-floor waiting room and waved for Christina to join her outside. Three hours had passed, one painful second after another, since Christina and Emma had joined Michael.

The long surgery only confirmed what they already suspected: Bo’s situation was desperate. The wait was agonizing, but it meant at least Bo was still alive. Secretly, they thanked God no one from the OR had come out—until now.

Christina rose from her chair, her legs stiff and weak from long hours of sitting. She walked to where Valerie waited, expressionless, in the hallway. Christina had already thought about every possible outcome—that he would die, or be crippled, or vegetative, or that God would spare him, or that he was already dead and they just hadn’t told her yet. The only conclusion she’d arrived at was how unprepared she was for any of them.

Emma, Michael, and Noel watched from their seats, trying to read each woman’s body language. Valerie was no help. Only her lips moved with the occasional slight tremor of her head. Christina was a mirror of Valerie. Her red, puffy eyes blinked now and then. Christina listened until Valerie finished speaking, nodding to convey she understood. Whatever the news was, Christina had heard it.

Christina came into the room and stood wobbly before the group. She shaped words on her trembling lips, but rejected each of them as fast as she thought of them. Christina looked like a woman surrendered to events completely outside her control, like someone who’d lost her best friend.

“What is it, Christina?” Emma asked.

She struggled getting out the words.

“Bo’s alive. He’s out of surgery. He’s going to live.”

A surge of pent-up emotions befell Christina. Her body buckled, a cry of fear escaped her lips—the kind that comes after the scare is over. Michael and Noel rose from their chairs to catch Christina and helped her sit down.

“I just praise God,” she cried, shaking her head from side to side. “She said they almost lost him a couple of times. I think it was the prayers. I don’t know what else to think. I’m just so glad God spared him.”

Emma wrapped her arms around Christina, but as soon as she did, Christina shot up from her seat in realization.

“She said I can go see him,” she blurted.

“Do you want me to go with you?” Emma asked.

“No, but I don’t know where I’m going and I don’t know if I can walk … so, Noel … could you …?”

Noel stood and escorted her out of the waiting room. When they’d gone, Emma turned to Michael and wrapped her arms around him.

“I’m so glad Bo’s going to be all right, and I hurt so badly for Christina, but …”

Emma pulled back from Michael’s embrace and looked into his eyes.

“It crossed my mind while we sat here today that it could have been you.”

“Hey, it’s all right. Everybody’s all right,” he said, brushing a strand of brown hair away from her eyes.

“I don’t know what’s in store for the rest of the night, Michael. I’ll probably stay close to Christina, but I’d like to spend some time with you … if you’re okay with that. Can we find some time just to talk?”

“Sure,” Michael said. “But for now, let’s just go find Bo.”

o o o

Noel and Christina found their way to room number 312. “Do you want me to go in with you?” Noel asked.

Christina didn’t answer. The door was open and she walked through. Bo Wilson lay unconscious in bed, bandaged, swollen, but alive. His surgeon, Dr. Timbrook, stood next to Bo, looking ragged like he’d just been through a battle.

“Are you Christina?” he asked her.

“Yes … Christina Herry.”

“Come on in,” he said. Dr. Timbrook finished jotting a note in Bo’s chart, pushed up his glasses, then set the chart on a tray table. “We had a close call today. He’s been unconscious for quite a while, but Bo told me about you before we put him under the anesthetic.”

“He was awake after his fall?” Christina asked.

Dr. Timbrook smiled a tired smile. “Not for long, but he told me that I should tell you he loved you.”

Christina moved closer and reached for Bo’s hand.

“Our main concern beyond broken bones and concussion was the possibility of internal bleeding. Bo’s X-rays showed a broken femur in his left leg. It’s a severe break that required wire cables and screws. His left ankle was also shattered. He’s suffered neck, back, and leg injuries, fractures in one wrist, and he sustained some blood loss.”

Christina examined the white plaster cast on his leg. It was elevated in a sling suspended by hospital rigging.

“He’s going to spend a couple days with us so we can watch for blood clots and infection. Then Bo will need some significant recovery time, somewhere in the vicinity of six to eight months. Does he have family? Someone who can help with that process?”

“I will,” Christina said.

“He’ll have to wear this cast for eight weeks, and then he’ll have to undergo physical therapy for another eight weeks to regain muscle loss due to atrophy.”

“Dr. Timbrook, when will the anesthesia wear off?”

“Probably some time in the next hour or so.”

Dr. Timbrook started toward the door. He stopped and turned to Christina.

“Do you have any more questions?”

Christina stepped toward Dr. Timbrook, wrapping her arms around him and squeezing him. She let go without saying a word.

“You’re welcome,” he said, and exited the room.

Michael and Emma came by Bo’s room a few minutes later.

“Do you want some company tonight?” Emma asked.

“I’m going to stay with him,” Christina said, conviction running through her voice like a steel rod.

“Can we bring you some dinner? What can we do?”

Christina hugged Emma, who reacted with less shock than Dr. Timbrook.

“Thanks,” she said. “Noel’s already volunteered. You can just let me say thanks. It’s been a long day.”

Emma looked at Noel. He smiled, keeping his secret that he was some sort of angel. Not the kind with wings, but a twenty-two-year-old man who had given up his life for something, no, Someone, bigger than himself.
What better way to chill than to hang out here? It’s quiet, and I’ve got a good book out in the truck.