Easter Blessings (13 page)

She shifted her eyes toward him. “You know, before the accident I had so much energy when spring finally came. I would hurry outside, cleaning up the old growth, cultivating the soil, plotting my flower beds. I couldn’t wait to get my hands into the dirt.”

For the first time since he’d met her, she wanted to talk, and he let her. He settled down again on the bench and stretched out his legs. “See. You had a purpose.” And now he hoped she would find a purpose again.

She nodded. “Besides this garden, I worked at a greenhouse and had my hands in soil all day. You’d think I’d have something else on my mind, but I didn’t.”

He grinned. “Shows you how important interests and goals are. And I suppose you’ve guessed that… My goal is for you to have the surgery.”

He watched her smile fade. “That’s obvious, but, like you said, it has to be my goal, not yours.”

She straightened her back and lifted her shoulders. “I appreciate your concern. You’re kind and sympathetic. I can see that.”

“Empathetic,” he corrected. “I understand, because I’ve been where you are, Emily. I still am sometimes, if I’m honest with you. I know what hopelessness and loneliness are.”

Her color faded at his words. Yet a tinge of curiosity shone in her eyes. “Maybe someday you’d like to tell me why in the world you’d feel hopeless and lonely.”

A
cold snap turned Emily’s dreams of flower beds and warm days into a vague hope. She sat in the kitchen alcove, staring at the backyard. Though late April, minuscule snowflakes drifted from the sky like an afterthought, melting as soon as each lone crystal touched the ground.

But the outside chill was no more disheartening than the icy thoughts that filled her mind. The pamphlet the surgeon had given her made surgery seem like a horror movie. Plastic and metal replacing her bone and cartilage. And the restrictions and weeks of therapy and healing.

She released a stream of bound air from her lungs and grasped the coffeemaker on the table, pouring herself a fresh cup.

Noise sounded in the hallway, and she peered at the doorway as Marti strolled in with a gigantic yawn.

“I haven’t slept that well in weeks.” Marti eyed the wall clock and shook her head. “Ten. I’m embarrassed.” She grabbed a mug from the cabinet hook and sank onto a chair.

“Don’t be. You work hard. I wish I could do more, but you know I can only stand for a few—”

“Please don’t apologize. I’m your sister, and I’ll be here for you…as long as I can.”

She lowered her eyes, and Emily knew where her thoughts were.

“So how are the wedding plans?” A rush of panic rose to Emily’s chest.

“Fine,” Marti said, pushing the mug in a circle in front of her. “Randy says I’m dragging my feet, but I’m not. You know how it is—menus, photographer, flowers, cake, invitations, dresses. Weddings take time to plan.”

“And you’re worried about me, Marti. I know you are.”

“Sure, that’s a given, but that’s not stopping me.”

“He Ain’t Heavy, He’s My Brother” shot through Emily’s mind. At Boy’s Town in Nebraska, she remembered seeing the famous statue of the older boy with a child on his shoulders.

But this was different. Marti was her younger sister. Where was Emily’s support for her? And especially for her wedding. She wanted to scream. Not at Marti, but at herself.

When Emily raised her eyes, Marti was peering at her.

“Don’t get morbid on me, Emily.” Marti shifted her focus to the mug. She pulled the pot forward, poured, then leaned against the chair back with a look of resignation. “I suppose I should get busy. No rest for the wicked even on Saturday. I’ll start the laundry, then maybe I could run out and pick up a few groceries.”

Emily stared at her, not knowing what to say. And whatever she said, Marti didn’t want to hear it. She wanted action.

“Can I help you work on the wedding arrangements?” Emily asked, surprising herself. “Make phone calls. I can do that. You know, get prices and details for you.”

Distracted, Marti pulled herself upward, then tuned in to her sister’s questioning. “I’m sorry, I was thinking.”

“Phone calls. Could I help with that?”

She hesitated. Surprised? Confused?

“Sure. I have questions I want to ask the hall coordinator. No reason why you can’t do that.” She gulped the rest of her coffee and rose. “You know I tried to convince Randy to have a church reception. Just cake and maybe tea sandwiches. He said, ‘No, you only get married once, Marti. We might as well do it up good.”’

Marti rinsed the cup and dropped it in the dishwasher. “I might as well have talked to the wall.” She reached the doorway, then turned back to Emily. “I’ll get the list for you. And thanks.”

“No problem. It’s the least I can do.”

Pushing her guilt aside, Emily turned her attention to the yard, thinking of the bag of dahlia tubers that sat behind her on the kitchen counter. How much time she spent nurturing, weeding and caring for those lovely plants. And she did so much less for herself.

Unbidden, a Bible verse worked through her mind, “See how the lilies of the field grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you that not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these…. O you of little faith.”

Faith. Where had it gone? How long had it been since she asked God to lift her up or guide her path? Her path. She turned her eyes to the garden again, following the winding stepping stones through the flower beds.
Oh, Lord, give me courage. Help me to walk again.

Emily pulled her metal walker to her side and hoisted herself to a standing position, clinging to the rubber grips and waiting for the pain to subside. “O you of little faith,” she repeated in her head.

Emily met Marti in the hallway, and with the list and notepad tucked into the cloth pocket hanging from the
walker, she made her way to the telephone. Easing into the cushions, she drew the phone to her side and opened the steno pad, scanning the lengthy list of questions.

No answer. Call back later. Probably too early to telephone halls, she realized finally. She rested her hand on the receiver, wondering what she should do with her time.

When the phone rang, she jumped and knocked the receiver from the hook. Chuckling at her overzealous heart, Emily pulled the receiver from the floor by the cord and put it to her ear with a hello that echoed her laughter.

“You’re in a good mood.”

She frowned at the receiver. “Greg?”

“None other.”

His voice resounded with his own lightheartedness. She loved the natural humor in his voice. “How are you?”

“Great. What are you doing?”

She gazed down at the notebook and pencil in her lap. “I’ve been trying to make a call for Marti. About the wedding.” Her mind raced for the reason for his call.

“Are you at work?” she asked.

He paused, making her more addled than before. “No, I’m off today. I’m calling because I’d like to take you somewhere this afternoon.”

Take me somewhere? “What do you mean?”

“I mean take you somewhere. A surprise.”

Her head swam. “I don’t really like surprises. Plus, you’ve probably set up an impromptu surgery.”

“You can trust me.” His cheerfulness filled the line. “I’m your friend. Remember?”

His offer made her wonder. She longed to go…to do anything different. But… “Thanks, but I don’t think I can today.” Emily wished she could erase her response. Why had she refused?

“You have a date. Is that it?”

“A date?” Her voice raised a few decibels. “With my TV, maybe.”

“There are only reruns, Emily. Come along and I’ll add dinner.”

Her pulse tripped up her arm. She hadn’t been out with a man since Ted had died. Not even for lunch.

“I guess my invitation’s taken your breath away,” he said, “or did you hang up?”

She laughed at that. “I’m here. Just trying to figure out what you’re up to and wondering if I play hard to get what else you’ll offer me. I’ve always wanted to go to Hawaii.”

“Can’t fit that into my schedule today. But you never know.”

The line hung heavy with silence while Emily scuffled for a response. Having somewhere to go on a Saturday night seemed unbelievable. “What time?”

“Did you ask what time?” His voice had brightened. “How about two?”

“Let’s get this straight. This is Emily Casale. Are you sure I’m the Emily you wanted to talk with?”

Greg checked Emily’s expression when they pulled into the community recreation center parking lot. He turned the steering wheel into a handicap space and hung Emily’s special sticker over the rearview mirror. She didn’t ask, but eyed him curiously.

He pulled the key from the ignition and opened the door. “You’re in for a treat.”

“You want me to run laps?” Her eyebrows rose, but a faint smile curved her lips.

“Not quite.” He hadn’t had this much fun in years.

When he’d gotten the wheelchair ready, she slid into it and gave him a fleeting smile to cover the pain he knew she suffered.

When they entered the facility, noise resounded from
the large gymnasium, and once through the wide double doors, a parent waved to him. Greg smiled back, feeling his heart swell as it always did when he came here.

“What is this?” Emily asked. She surveyed the room. “It’s Special Olympics, right? You want me to see the kids rehearse.”

“You’re partly right.” He clamped his teeth to avoid laughing.

“Partly? In what way?”

“We sports guys call it practice, not a rehearsal.”

Her laughter warmed his heart. Her eyes sparkled while color flooded her pale cheeks framed by her short red hair. He noticed today she’d worn makeup—lipstick and mascara. She looked like a fragile flower.

He slipped off his windbreaker and hung it over a chair. “Do you mind if I help for a while? I’m a volunteer coach.”

“No. That’s fine. Just park me against the wall or someplace out of the way.”

“You’ll never be in the way, Emily.”

Wheeling her to the sidelines, the pain behind her comment touched him. He set the brakes and squeezed her shoulder, then headed toward the others. He wasn’t an athlete by any means, but with this group, everyone was a winner.

Emily watched him, knowing why he’d brought her here. Anger, frustration, irritation—any of the emotions might have wreaked havoc on her a week ago, but today she felt none of them. Instead, gratitude enveloped her. Whether she wanted it or not, Greg had dragged her out into the world.

“Hi.”

Emily turned her head toward the voice. “Hi.”

A boy, perhaps nine, stood beside her, eyeing her wheel
chair. He wore a helmet and clutched a basketball under his misshapen arm.

“Can’t you walk?” he asked in a thick, faltering voice.

“Not very far.”

“What’s wrong with you?”

Too many things, Emily might have said. “I was in an accident and hurt my legs.”

“Oh,” he said, dragging the word along with the turn of his head.

“Butch.” A man beckoned to the child.

“He needs me,” the boy said, pride in his voice. He turned and lumbered toward the coach.

He needs me.
The lovely words wrapped around Emily’s heart. To be needed. What more could a person want?

Though absorbed with the children, Emily was captivated by Greg. His face glowed as he demonstrated, with endless patience, how to handle the ball and the techniques for shooting a basket. Though they were limited in abilities, Emily delighted at the children’s eager attempts to repeat what Greg showed them, over and over. In a rare calm moment, he flashed her a deep-dimpled grin, and for once, she felt special…like the children.

As she studied him, his muscled chest and broad shoulders rippled beneath the knit shirt as he guided them through the exercises.

Working with the children, Greg’s smile seemed as generous as his spirit. Why hadn’t he married and had children of his own?

Children of his own. The question startled her. She winced facing the truth. Unless God granted a miracle, she would never know such a joy.

She forced the sad thoughts from her mind, and concentrated on the action. Time flew, and when Greg returned to her, wiping his face with a towel, she laughed.

“Too much for an old man?” she asked.

“Thirty-seven’s not old, is it?” he said in a quivering voice. He hunched his shoulders and clumped toward her.

But instead of staying, he squeezed her arm and excused himself. She watched him hurry off and wondered where he had gone. She hated the helpless feeling of being stranded, bound to the chair.

Within minutes, Greg reappeared, wearing a clean shirt and a ready smile. “Sorry to leave you, but I figured you’d prefer to have dinner with a man in a clean, dry shirt.”

She agreed, sorry that his disappearance had caused her to feel forsaken.

By five-thirty, she was sitting at a cozy table at Mario’s Italian Cuisine, staring at a menu. “Do you know how long it’s been since I was invited out to dinner?”

“Too long, I’m sure.”

She nodded and scanned the menu for the fifth time, longing to order a little of all her favorites. “I can’t decide.”

“Here’s the deal. Pick one today, and I’ll bring you back next week.”

Pleased at his silly suggestion, she shook her head and decided. “Veal piccata,” she said when the waiter took her order. When he left, she relaxed and viewed her surroundings.

“So, what did you think about the ‘rehearsal?”’ Greg asked, his voice teasing.

He rested his hand on the tabletop only a few inches from her own.

“Interesting.”

“That’s all?”

“I enjoyed watching you perspire.” She shook her head. “I’m just getting even. Every time you mention surgery, I break out in a cold sweat.”

He rested his hand against hers. “I don’t mean to frighten you.”

Fighting her instinct to draw her hand away, she eyed his fingers so close to hers. “And
you
make me nervous.”

“You mean this,” he asked, pressing his palm against her hand. “Or is it my talking about the surgery?”

“Both.”

“I can feel you tense. I’m not trying to scare you in either way. I’d hoped today you’d see how the kids are determined and optimistic. Some have so little going for them. Only their faith.”

“They are persistent. Is that where you got your persistence training?” She hoped her playful question would lighten the conversation.

“Could be. They helped me face my own self-pity…a little. Do you know what the Special Olympics’ oath is?”

Emily had no idea and waited, certain he’d tell her.

“Let me win. But if I cannot win, let me be brave in the attempt.”

The words settled on her like a brick. He locked his gaze to hers, and she had no escape.

“Maybe when you’re young it’s easier to be brave, Greg.”

He gazed at her without a word.

Seeing the disappointment in his eyes, her heart wept.