Rejoice (19 page)

“Let’s get her upstairs where it’s quiet.” Elizabeth came to Hayley and smoothed her fingertips over Hayley’s forehead. Seeing Hayley again, being reminded once more of how she wasn’t even close to the way she used to be, made Elizabeth’s head and heart ache. If only she could give her granddaughter a nudge or a tap, a gentle shake, anything to wake her up and bring her back to the high-spirited pixie she’d been before the accident.

“Here, I’ll do the stroller.” Ashley took it from Brooke and popped it open. Then she motioned to John, and the two of them strapped Hayley in, while Brooke found a bellhop to help with her luggage.

Hayley started to cry, the repetitive monotone sound that all of them were now familiar with. But only Elizabeth, who had stayed next to her, could hear it. She stooped down and hugged Hayley close. “It’s okay, baby; we’re here. Everything’s okay.”

Then, despite the crowds of people bustling around them, despite the noise from the street, Hayley stopped crying. She looked at Elizabeth and peace replaced the confusion in her eyes.

“That’s right, Hayley.” Elizabeth smiled at her. “We’re here, honey.”

And then Hayley did something Elizabeth hadn’t seen her do since the accident. With her eyes still focused on Elizabeth’s, she smiled the way she used to smile. A smile from days gone by. And despite the miles of recovery that lay ahead, the ache inside Elizabeth was instantly gone. Because the smile on Hayley’s face wasn’t merely a handicapped child reacting to external stimuli. It was Hayley, her Hayley, knowing Elizabeth’s voice and letting her see that she remembered, that somewhere inside, Hayley was still there.

For Elizabeth, it was the highlight of the trip to that point.

After Brooke and Hayley were situated in Ashley’s room, the group rested for a few hours and then set off for Luke and Reagan’s rehearsal. The wedding was to be in Reagan’s family church, a century-old cathedral in the Upper East Side, not far from where Luke and Reagan and her mother lived.

With all the activities from the past few days, the reality of why they had gathered in Manhattan hadn’t really hit Elizabeth. But now, situated in the second row of the church, watching the minister go over the details of the ceremony with Luke and Reagan, she was struck by the truth.

Luke was about to get married.

Her only son was going to pledge his life to a woman other than herself, a woman who was perfect for him in every way. But still . . .

She watched him, tall and handsome, his blond hair cut short, the angles of his face striking as he joked with the minister and cast frequent smiles at Reagan. Suddenly she remembered her own mother, the conversation they’d shared in the days after Luke was born.

“Enjoy him while you can,” her mother had said. “A daughter’s a daughter for life; a son’s a son till he takes a wife.”

Every now and then while Luke was growing up, her mother’s words had come back:
“A son’s a son till he takes a wife
.
”
And she’d known it wasn’t true. Maybe for other mothers, but not for her and Luke. Out of five children, he was her only boy, and she’d been convinced that he would marry a local girl, raise a family a few miles from the Baxter home, and spend his life stopping in for weekend dinners and summer barbecues.

She studied Luke.

He would stay in touch. She would receive calls on holidays and her birthday, and once or twice a year he’d bring Reagan and his family home. But for the first time, Elizabeth realized that her mother had been right. Come tomorrow evening, Luke would be gone from her life, gone to a bigger purpose, a grander priority.

“Elizabeth?” She looked up and saw Reagan’s mother, Anne. “Can I sit by you?”

“Of course.” Her sadness took a backseat as the two women smiled at each other. “Reagan is simply glowing.”

They were quiet for a while, listening to the pastor lead Luke and Reagan through the parts of the ceremony, watching Kari and Ashley and Erin and Brooke giggle and whisper as they tried to figure out in what order they would walk down the aisle. Across the church, Ryan and Sam talked football with Reagan’s younger brother, Bryan.

“Tomorrow should be beautiful for everyone.” Elizabeth smiled at Anne.

“Yes.” Anne leaned closer and said, “Can I tell you something?”

“Sure . . .” Elizabeth angled her body toward Anne’s so she could hear her better.

“You did a wonderful job with Luke. I love him like he’s my own.”

“Thank you.” Elizabeth clutched her bag to her waist and willed her eyes to stay dry. “I wouldn’t want him to marry anyone but Reagan.”

“They’re good for each other.” Anne looked at the young couple again. “I’ve wondered if it’s been hard on you, having Luke so far away from home.”

Elizabeth lifted her fingers to just beneath the corners of her eyes and caught two tears before they could fall. “Yes.” She forced a single laugh. She wouldn’t cry, not now. “I miss him.”

“He’s a good daddy to Tommy.” Anne shifted her gaze back to Elizabeth. “It’s hard to believe six months ago they weren’t speaking to each other.”

“Six months ago Luke was a different person.” Elizabeth smiled despite the heaviness in her heart. “But not really. I always knew he’d come back.”

“I guess I see the changes more than you, but it’s amazing.” Anne shook her head. “He and Reagan read their Bibles every morning, and Luke’s been adamant about doing things right this time around, keeping away from Reagan until after the wedding.”

“He’s so much like his father.”

Anne bit her lip and her chin quivered some. “If I don’t get the chance tomorrow, tell John how much it means to me that he’s walking Reagan down the aisle.”

“I’ll tell him.” Elizabeth’s heart went out to the woman beside her. Tomorrow’s wedding would be bittersweet for both of them.

Anne Decker looked at their children, facing each other in front of the church. “I prayed for this day, Elizabeth. And now here it is.” A sad smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. “I only wish Tom could be here.”

Elizabeth gave the woman’s hand a tender squeeze. “He will be, Anne. God’ll give him a front-row seat.”

Chapter Nineteen

It was after ten when Elizabeth and John closed their hotel-room door behind them. John tossed his jacket on the bed and sank into the adjacent sofa. “That went well, don’t you think?”

“Yes.” She hung her coat in the closet and took the seat beside him. “I still can’t believe he’s getting married tomorrow.” A pause settled between them, and she met John’s gaze. “Weren’t we just at the hospital having that boy?”

John smiled and tapped the tip of her nose. “I believe we’ve seen a few seasons since then.”

“Maybe a few, but not twenty years, John.” She drew a slow breath. “Where did they go?” She stretched out and let her head rest on the sofa back. “Remember what my mother told me after we had Luke?”

“What a handsome baby?” John shifted so he could see her better. His eyes danced the way they often had since their first date.

“No.” Elizabeth searched his eyes. She enjoyed moments like this—quiet, unhurried times when she and John could connect after a busy day. “She told me a daughter’s a daughter for life . . . a son’s a son till he takes a wife. Remember? It made me mad because Luke was my only son. I didn’t want to think of him that way.”

“I remember.” John raised one eyebrow. “Your mother was surprised it upset you. She thought you were hormonal.”

“Anyway—” she gave him a pointed look, then felt her eyes grow distant again—“the thing is, she was right. I realized that tonight.”

John crooked his elbow around her neck and rested his hand on her shoulder. “She wasn’t right, silly. Luke will always be part of our lives.”

“But not as much. His focus will be here, with Reagan and Tommy, where it should be.”

They were quiet for a moment, and finally John nodded. “I see what you’re saying.”

“It made me think of something else.”

“What?” His tone was light, and he ran his fingers along her upper arm.

“You know how we always made a special note every time our kids had a first? First smile, first teeth, first steps . . . that kind of thing?”

“First day of school, first choir performance?” John cocked his head, remembering. “We had a lifetime of firsts, didn’t we?”

“Yes, and we celebrated every one.” She reached up and laced her fingers through his. “But along the way we forgot something.”

“We did?” John raised his brow, amused in a relaxed sort of way.

“We did.” Elizabeth stared out the window. Snow was falling again, slow dancing in lazy circles toward the floor of Manhattan. She turned to John. “We forgot to mark their lasts.”

He gave her a strange, bemused look. “Their lasts?”

“Yes.” Elizabeth sighed. “Okay, think of Luke. Just yesterday he would pick me a handful of wildflowers from the field behind our house, run inside, and jump into my arms. I’d catch him and hold him, his legs wrapped around my waist. We’d grin at each other, our noses touching. He’d give me the flowers, slide back down, and be on his way.”

“Okay . . .” John seemed to be having trouble following her.

“Don’t you see?” Elizabeth searched his face. “One day he did that for the last time. It was the last time he ever ran and jumped in my arms and gave me wildflowers. Only I didn’t know it was the last time.” She paused, her eyes suddenly watery. “I took no pictures, threw no party, made no note of it in a journal or a baby book. We simply moved on to another stage of life and never looked back.”

“Oh.” A softness filled John’s eyes and he nodded. “I see.”

“Our children’s growing-up years were full of lasts, and I never knew it.” She let her mind drift. “Last time I fed them a bottle. Last time they colored a picture for the refrigerator door. Last time they made angels in the snow.”

John smiled. “Last time they played in the pond out back.”

“Last time they needed me to drive them somewhere.”

“Yes,” he chuckled. “Last time they asked for advice about romance.”

“Exactly.”

They were silent again, until John gave her a light squeeze. “I never thought of that.”

“I know. Me neither.” She stood and sauntered across the room to the table and chairs in the corner. The top drawer held five pieces of stationery, and Elizabeth removed all of them. She glanced back at John. “Are you staying up?”

“For a while.” He gave her a slow smile. “I like the snow.” His eyes fell to the stationery in her hand. “You writing something?”

“A letter . . . for Luke.”

John nodded. “I’m glad.”

Every now and then, Elizabeth had the strongest desire to write. It wasn’t something she did often; she kept no regular accounting of the days, the way some people did. But she had a journal full of random thoughts, precious moments that might otherwise have been lost in the slow pull of time. And once in a while, on lonely winter nights or cool summer mornings, the need to write was too strong to ignore.

This, the last night before Luke married Reagan, was one of those times.

She turned the chair so it faced the window and steadied the paper on her lap, a New York tourist magazine beneath it. The lights of the city dimmed through the veil of falling snow, and in a rush of school days and birthday parties and summer vacations, time ran in reverse and she allowed herself to go back, back to the days when Luke was just entering their lives.

Through the lens of yesterday she searched the moments, looking for the lasts, but nothing came to mind, and Elizabeth understood why. It was like she’d told John. The last times went by without fanfare. Certainly if she’d known it was the last time Luke would jump into her arms and give her wildflowers, she would’ve done something to mark the moment.

At the very least she would’ve held on longer.

With that thought, she positioned her pen over the hotel stationery and began to write. The words came easily, straight from a quiet corner of her heart to the linen page. Rather than a letter, her thoughts formed a poem, and in thirty minutes she had it written. Exactly the way she felt, there on paper.

She let her eyes read over it one more time. Then she turned and saw that John was reading his Bible.

“Hey . . .”

He looked up, his eyes more tired than before. “I was just about to turn in.”

She stood and set the pen and magazine down. “Want to hear what I wrote?”

“Definitely.” John closed his Bible and set it on the coffee table. “Do you like it?”

“Yes.” She brought the pages to the sofa and sat next to him again. “It’s exactly what’s in my heart.”

“Okay.” He folded his arms and smiled at her, true and genuine, his love warm enough to melt the snow outside. “Go ahead.”

Elizabeth returned the smile, her heart brimming with a kind of joy and sorrow she’d never known before. The kind reserved for a mother the night before her only son’s wedding. “Okay.” She cleared her throat and let her eyes fall to the paper.

“Long ago you came to me, a miracle of firsts

First smiles and teeth and baby steps, a sunbeam on the burst.

But one day you will move away and leave to me your past,

And I will be left thinking of a lifetime of your lasts.

“The last time that I held a bottle to your baby lips . . .

Last time that I lifted you and held you on my hip . . .

Last time when you had a binky stuck inside your mouth . . .

The last time that you crawled across the floor of this old house.

“Last time when you ran to me, still small enough to hold,

Last time when you said you’d marry me when you grew old.

Precious, simple moments and bright flashes from the past,

Would I have held you longer if I’d known they were the last?”

Elizabeth looked up. “Good so far?”

“It’s amazing.” John’s eyes were damp. “Keep reading.”

“All right.” She steadied the paper and found her place.

“Your last few hours of kindergarten, last days of first grade . . .

Last at bat in Little League, last colored paper made.

Last time that I tucked you in for one last midday nap . . .

Last time when you wore your beat-up Green Bay Packers cap.

“Last time that you caught a frog in that old backyard pond . . .

Last time when you ran barefoot across our fresh-cut lawn.

Silly scattered images to represent your past.

Would I have taken pictures . . . if I’d known they were the last?

“The last dark night you slipped in bed and slept between us two,

When last I read to you of God or Horton Hears a Who!

Last time that I smelled your hair and prayed after your shower . . .

Last time that we held devotions in the evening hours.

“The last time you were M. J. in our games of give-and-go . . .

Last time that you made an angel in the melting snow.

I never even said good-bye to yesterdays long passed.

Would I have marked the moments . . . if I’d known they were the last?

“Last piano lesson, and last soccer goal you kicked . . .

The last few weeks of middle school, last flowers that you picked.

Last time that you needed me for rides from here to there . . .

The last time that you spent the night with that old tattered bear.

“Last time that I helped you with a math or spelling test,

Last time when I shouted that your room was still a mess.

Time and life moved quicker, taking pieces of your past.

Would I have stretched the moments . . . if I’d known they
were the last?

“The last time that you needed help with details of a dance . . .

Last time that you asked me for advice about romance.

Last time that you talked to me about your hopes and dreams.

Last time that you wore a jersey for your high school team.

“I watched you grow and never noticed seasons as they passed.

I wish I could’ve frozen time, to hold on to your lasts.

For come tomorrow morning life will never be the same.

You’ll pledge forever to your girl, and she will take your name.

“And I will watch you, knowing God has blessed you with this day.

I never would have wanted, Luke, to somehow make you stay.

They say a son’s a son until he takes for him a wife.

You’re grown-up now; it’s time to go and start your brand-new life.

“One last hug, one last good-bye, one quick and hurried kiss . . .

One last time to understand just how much you’ll be missed.

I’ll watch you leave and think how quickly childhood sped past.

Would I have held on longer . . . if I’d known it was your last?”

Elizabeth lowered the paper to her lap and realized that her cheeks were wet. She dabbed at her eyes, looked at John, and the two of them uttered a quick bit of laughter. His eyes were red, tears trickling down both sides of his face.

“Well . . .” He pulled the back of his hand across his cheeks. “I think that about says it.”

“There’s just one more thing I have to do.”

He reached for her hand, pulled her to her feet, and eased her close to him. “What’s that, my love?”

“Survive the wedding.”