A Christmas Peril (The Teacup Novellas - Book Five) (13 page)

So why was I so angry? Why
did I feel like biting somebody’s head off?

I took a deep breath and blew
it out, shaking my head. Stupid, stupid questions. I knew
exactly
why I
was angry
‌—‌I’d been
reading a story knowing all along how it would end. As if I’d skipped to the
last page in the book and sneaked a peek at the ending. These reading sessions
merely filled in the blanks. They simply told me “the rest of the story.”

And deep in my heart, I knew
that Lucille and
Gary
’s happily-ever-after didn’t guarantee
the same for Mark and me.

I plucked some tissues from the
nearest box of Kleenex and wiped at my relentless tears. I was sick of them.
Sick of the emotional roller coaster. Sick of losing control at the slightest
bump in the road. Sick of all of it.

I stood there staring out at
the snowfall for the longest time. Silly, but I didn’t want Mark to see me like
this. These are the mind games one plays with a coma boyfriend. But in spite of
all I’d learned, this was one story I had no desire to write.
Ever.
Lucille
and
Gary
’s story would fill the pages of my
novella, but I would surgically detach myself from what was happening to Mark
and me. I would type every word from Lucille’s perspective and leave it at that.

The serenity of the gentle
snow falling outside my window slowly began to drain the angst inside me. I
made a conscious effort to breathe in, then breathe out. Over and over, I let
the calming breaths do their job. And as they did, I caught the sweet words of
the familiar carol drifting through the room. How long had I stood here, tuning
out the music playing on the radio? The age-old lyrics tugged at my heart,
beckoning me to a
Bethlehem
stable two thousand years ago.

Silent night, holy night.

All is calm, all is
bright.

Round yon virgin, mother
and child.

Holy infant so tender and
mild.

Sleep in heavenly peace
‌—‌

My heart stopped even as the
reverence of the beloved carol continued.

Sleep in heavenly peace.

I looked over my shoulder at
Mark and watched his chest slowly rise and fall, just as it had for the last couple
of weeks. He looked so serene. So peaceful. And yet his peace had delivered
unspeakable fear to those of us who loved him. Was it possible for us
‌—‌for
me
‌—‌to
experience such peace in the midst of such a horrific nightmare?

Again, I knew the answer to
my own question. I’d memorized the verses long ago as a child.

And the peace of God,

which transcends all
understanding,

will guard your hearts and
minds

in Christ Jesus

—‍
Philippians
4:7

Peace I leave with you;

My peace I give to you.

I do not give to you as
the world gives.

Let not your hearts be
troubled.

Do not be afraid.

—
‍
John 14:27

I could hardly remember the
child I was when I learned those verses. They meant little to me then, just a
bunch of words I memorized to earn stickers on a Sunday school chart. Later, I
would understand why it was so important to learn scripture. Back then, I
learned those verses because it was what we were supposed to do. It was
expected. But oh my goodness, how thankful I am to know them now. Like so many
life rafts in a raging sea of fear.

Silent night, holy night

Son of God, love’s pure
light

Radiant beams from Thy
holy face

With the dawn of redeeming
grace . . .

I closed my eyes and prayed.

Oh Jesus, thank You. It’s
only through You that I can fathom such grace. To be redeemed to You through a mercy
I can’t even begin to understand. But I believe in You. I trust in You. And I’m
clinging to Your promises as if they truly are life rafts in a dark and stormy
sea.

When I finished praying, the
strangest thought came to mind. I’ve always woven threads of faith through the books
I write. I’ll never be a preacher or a missionary, and I’ve never felt called
to lead a Bible study or even teach kids in
Vacation
Bible
School
. But I never once doubted God’s call to
use the passion He gave me for writing to tell of His unconditional love and
mercy and grace.

So was
this
the faith
thread of my own personal story?

The assurance of God’s
presence even when I can’t feel it?

His promise of peace even
when it seems to elude me at every turn?

The legacy of hope that
defies understanding?

And the greatest gift of all
‌—‌His precious Son born in a
manger on that silent, holy night . . .

I glanced at the snow falling
outside the window and took another cleansing breath.

And then?

I smiled.

Chapter 13

On Christmas morning,
Chad
and Shelly woke me up.

After my late-night heart-fest
with God, I’d fallen sound asleep. Maybe the most restful sleep since this all
began. I stretched and smiled and hugged them both.

“Merry Christmas,
Chad
. Merry Christmas, Shelly.”

“Right backatcha, Lucy,” my
brother said, holding me another moment. “For someone who slept in a chair all
night, you sound rather chipper.”

“Me? Chipper?”

Shelly unwrapped the scarf
around her neck and studied my face. “
Chad
’s right. You seem different somehow.
Relaxed. Everything okay?” Her countenance drew together and she quickly turned
toward Mark. “Is he
‍—‍”

“No. No change. Sorry.”

“Don’t be silly. I just
‍—‍” she tilted her head and
stared at me again. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

I felt like I was looking at Shelly
through a different lens. I realized how much I’d grown to love Mark’s sister.
She was smart and beautiful and sincerely compassionate toward everyone around
her. Including my brother. I’d picked up little nuances between them now and
then. A look. A lingering smile. The fact that he’d saved her number in his
cell phone. The fact that they arrived here together. On Christmas day. I
wondered what else I might have missed and made a mental note to have a
heart-to-heart with
Chad
about it later.

The staff scooted us out the
door so they could bathe Mark and shave his whiskers. I was rather fond of those
whiskers
‌—‌not permitted
in the UPS employee guidelines‌—‌but cute, nonetheless. We took the
opportunity to go downstairs and grab some breakfast in the cafeteria. A far
cry from the Christmas mornings of our childhood, but it would have to do.

The rest of the day felt
eerily similar to Lucille’s Christmas. Lots of relatives showing up, and lots
of good food streaming in. I felt a little guilty seeing the parade of
scrumptious holiday dishes coming in juxtaposed against the trays of
grayish-looking fare showing up from the hospital’s food service.

I half-expected to see Lucille
come around the corner, wearing her emerald green swing dress with the
pinstriped bow, carrying the strange old “Christmas candle” to put on Uncle
Gary’s bedside table.

But thanks to my unexpected
encounter with the Lord last night, I felt strangely calm. At peace. As though
I were finally given a glimpse into that heavenly sleep my Mark was
experiencing. And just as Lucille noted in her diary, ours was truly a
wonderful Christmas. I think it helped that I didn’t allow myself too much hope
or expectation. I was okay with having our families together, blessing the
hospital staff with a taste of home cooking, and basking in the peace I’d accepted
in the wee hours of the morning.

Some of the UPS guys stopped
by later. Oh, how Mark would have loved to see those characters filing in.
Gordo and several of the guys from the bowling team showed up bearing gifts.
Lots of chocolate, lots of crossword puzzle books (Mark always quizzed the guys
first thing every morning at work), some Krispy Kremes with red and green
sprinkles on top, and even a Josh Groban Christmas CD. I love my big guy, but
unlike Uncle Gary, Mark’s singing could make every dog in the neighborhood
howl. The fact that he was off key and constantly fumbling the lyrics only
egged him on. Which was why he often belted out Groban-esque serenades along
with all those crossword quizzes at the UPS station. I loved seeing the guys,
and knowing they’d taken time away from their own families to stop by on this
Christmas morning made it all the more special.

Mom and Dad called from
Tulsa
. They apologized for not being here with us, unable to make
the long trip on such short notice. I’d completely forgotten about the airline
tickets we’d reserved to head home for Christmas. We’d sort all that out later.

Thankfully, the Christophers
helped fill the parental void. Over the past few days, I’d grown to love Mark’s
mom and dad even more. I decided their “love language” was compassion. It
motivated everything they did and bled into every conversation. Now I knew
where Mark and Shelly got it.

We ate, we visited, and we
opened silly, last-minute gifts
Chad
and Shelly had rustled together. A FedEx
hat for Mark
‌—‌ha
ha. Fake cruise tickets for Mr. and Mrs. Christopher for a trip down the
Arkansas River
. For me, a framed photo of Gertie wearing
her Velcro elf ears, along with some falsified adoption papers she’d supposedly
signed over to
Chad
. It felt good to laugh again.

The weather was getting worse
with predictions of roads icing over, so we said our goodbyes around seven that
evening. Mark’s mom and dad offered to stay overnight, but I could tell they
were really tired. Even if they’d stayed, I wouldn’t have left. I couldn’t bear
the thought of leaving Mark. Not on Christmas night.

As much as I’d enjoyed the
day, I was glad to have Mark to myself again. We’d all tiptoed around the
unspoken hope that Mark would wake up just as Uncle Gary did on that Christmas day
so long ago. With everyone gone now, I let down my guard and realized how
exhausting it was, clinging to such a fervent wish while knowing the odds were
against me.

I grabbed a cup of coffee
down the hall then settled back in my recliner. Around eight, one of the nurses
told me there was a Mormon Tabernacle Choir Christmas concert on PBS. I’m so
glad she did. It was the perfect ending to an almost-perfect day.

For the first time, I
hesitated to pick up Lucille’s diary. I’d read enough. Still, I wanted to know
how their story ended. Tomorrow I planned to write a rough draft of the outline
for my novella. I’d promised Sam she’d have it by the end of the week, and I
intended to stay on deadline. Even if she didn’t have good wireless connections
in
Switzerland
, my outline would be waiting in her
inbox whenever she got to it.

I looked over at Mark and
studied his face as he slept. “I’m thinking we should read the rest of the
story tonight. Are you up for that?” He didn’t object, so I found my place and
started reading.

Over
the next few days
Gary
still wouldn’t let me out of his sight,
except when he was wheeled downstairs for tests. He passed all his examinations
with flying colors surprising all of us, including Dr. Pembleton. He asked
several of his colleagues to stop by and see what he called his “miracle
patient.” They were quite intrigued, pelting
Gary
with their endless questions. I could
tell
Gary
was growing impatient, wanting nothing
more than to be released so he could go home.

We
were especially relieved to learn that
Gary
’s
mental faculties were strong and unencumbered by the long days he spent in a
coma. He began asking more questions about the attack that put him there in the
first place. We evaded the subject at first, until one evening after everyone
else had gone home. He insisted I tell him everything, so I did. I gave him a
minute-by-minute account as I remembered it. He seemed pleased to know the elderly
woman he rescued was all right, and said he looked forward to meeting her and
thanking her for the Christmas cannoli he’d inhaled.

The
Army had kept in touch, of course, and eventually sent one of their own medical
doctors to confer with Dr. Pembleton. Apparently they were trying to decide
what to do with Lieutenant Reynolds. Oddly, they didn’t ask my opinion on the
subject.

Then
one morning,
Gary
’s parents arrived with unusually bright
smiles, acting rather mysterious. His father set up a tripod for his camera.
His mother helped
Gary
sit up in bed, stuffing pillows behind
him, then helped him put on his robe she’d brought from home.

The
curiosity was killing me. “All right. What’s going on?”

Craig
took a peek through the lens of his camera then stood back up. “Lucille, how
about you move over there and take a seat in the chair next to
Gary
’s bed.”

“Why?
What’s this all about?”

“Oh,
come on, Lucille,” Patricia said, stepping out of the way. “Let us have a
little fun, will you?”

“
Gary
?” I groaned playfully.

“Don’t
look at me. I’m just a guy coming out of a coma.”

I
laughed in spite of myself, looking back and forth between them as I slowly sat
down. “Okay. I’m sitting. What on earth are you all up to?”

Patricia
joined Craig behind the camera, their silly smiles still puzzling me.
Gary
reached under the edge of his blanket
and pulled out a small box. I recognized the Marshal Field’s Christmas wrapping
paper.

“Lucille,
you know, I’m not supposed to be here.”

I
grimaced, concerned where such a statement might be heading.

“No!” He
reached for my hand. “I didn’t mean I was supposed to be dead! I meant to say I
was supposed to be overseas for Christmas. That day we shopped at Marshall
Field’s, I found something I wanted to give you for Christmas. You’d wandered
into the ladies lingerie department, and if you recall, you sent me away.”

“Well,
of course I did!” I teased. “A lady doesn’t shop for those things with a fella
she just met.”

He
laughed. “Yes, I think that’s what you told me at the time. We agreed to meet
in fifteen minutes back by the elevator. Remember?”

“Yes,
I remember.”

He
twirled the opal ring on my finger. How I’d missed that simple, intimate
gesture.

“While
you were shopping for ‘those things’ as you call them, I strolled over to the
jewelry section. And that’s where I found the perfect Christmas gift for you. I
asked the lady to set it aside for me to pick up later. I had it gift-wrapped
then brought it home. Before I left the house that last morning, I put it under
the tree and asked Mom to give it to you on Christmas Eve.”

I
glanced over at Patricia who shrugged in feigned innocence.

“That was
my plan. But, as you know, things didn’t go as planned, and I’ve been a bit
indisposed, as it were.” With his index finger, he pushed the box another
couple of inches toward me. “So, along with my sincerest apologies, I’d like to
finally
‌—‌
FINALLY
‌—‌
give
you your Christmas gift.”

Gary
gave me a wink as Craig kept snapping
pictures. “Go on. Open it.”

“For a
guy who ‘just came out of a coma,’ you’re quite the crafty one.”

“You
have no idea.”

I
carefully unwrapped the paper and set it aside. Then, lifting the lid from the
small box, I found a smaller black velvet box inside. I couldn’t breathe and
didn’t even try to say anything. Instead, I opened the box and found the most
stunning heart-shaped necklace made of diamonds.

“Oh,
Gary
. It’s beautiful,” I whispered.

“Do
you like it?”

“I
absolutely love it!”

“Here,
let me help you put it on.” I gently removed the necklace from the box, then
handed it to him and turned my back so he could clasp it for me. The clicks of
the camera came faster and faster.

“There,”
Gary
said, patting the clasp in place. “All
set. Hey, Dad
‌—‌
easy
with that thing, will you? I’m still recovering from a pretty serious headache
here.”

“Ah,
these are great shots! Wait until you see them. Okay, you two give me a pose.
Lucille, can you sit on the edge of the bed beside
Gary
?”

I
turned around, my hand over the diamonds resting just below my neckline.

“Let
us see those diamonds sparkle, Lucille. Oh, that’s perfect. Okay, ready, set
‌—‌
smile!”

He
took several more shots before
Gary
begged, “Enough!”

That’s
when I turned back to face him, took his face in my hands, and kissed him right
on the lips. “Thank you. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in all my life. I’m
speechless.”

“Somehow
I doubt that,” he teased, kissing me back.

Patricia
approached us. “Here, let me get a better look.” I stood up so she could see my
necklace. “Oh, son, you were right. It looks truly lovely on her.” She hugged
me then pressed a kiss on my cheek. “A belated Merry Christmas, Lucille.”