Who Do I Lean On? (42 page)

When I finished rehashing the doctor's report, Mike just said, “Look, we'll get the earliest flight we can, be there sometime tomorrow.” Then his voice softened. “Thanks for being there, Gabby . . . after, you know, everything.”

After we hung up, I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to stave off a wicked headache threatening the back of my head. There was another call I needed to make—to Henry Fenchel, Philip's business partner in the commercial real estate firm they'd established together last spring. He wouldn't be expecting Philip to come in until Monday . . . maybe I could wait until late Sunday. By that time Philip's parents would be here and
they
could deal with Henry and Mona Fenchel . . .

I sighed. No, better to let Henry know sooner rather than later that Philip was going to be laid up awhile. That was only fair. Henry would have to cancel meetings, follow up on clients, fill in for Philip—whatever it was the two of them did during a week to keep Fairbanks and Fenchel Development Corp running.

Sucking up my courage, I dialed Henry's cell, but only got his voice mail. Not surprising on a weekend. I left a brief message, saying Philip had had an accident and was at Weiss Memorial, and to call me as soon as possible.

I looked at my watch. I'd been out of Philip's room half an hour already. Should probably get back soon. He was basically helpless right now if he needed ice chips or lost the call button for the nurse. But there was one more call I wanted to make before I lost the battery on my cell phone . . .

I called Lee.

I sat in the recliner in Philip's hospital room the rest of that day, listening to the beeps and ticking of the half-dozen machines attached to his body, wondering what in the world I was doing there. I wished I had somebody to talk to! But all I got when I called Lee was his voice mail. Frustrated, I'd left a cryptic message and hung up. Where was he when I needed him?

Maybe it was just as well. He'd tell me Philip had brought this down on his own head—which was probably true, if Mr. B was right about that guy Fagan—and I should just go home. Still, I knew, somehow, I'd made the right decision to stay. I turned on the TV and watched some mindless reality show so I wouldn't have to think, and actually welcomed the parade of nursing aides who came in and out to check Philip's vitals, change his IVs, and give him more pain meds, which kept him zoned out most of the time.

But I was surprised when Pastor Joe Cobbs and his wife, Rose, from SouledOut came by that evening, bringing a tote bag Jodi Baxter had packed for me with some of my toiletries, a few sandwiches and fruit, my Bible . . . and my cell phone charger. “You know Jodi.” Rose Cobbs smiled. “Thinking of everything.” The African-American couple didn't stay long, but Pastor Cobbs did pray for Philip in his strong voice that I'm sure carried down the hall clear to the nursing station.

When they left, Philip muttered through his swollen lips, “Who was that?”

I was startled to hear his voice. He'd seemed basically out of it when they were here. “My, um, pastor and his wife.”

A long silence. “You asked him to come?”

“No. They just came.”

“What? Uh . . . Whole world knows I'm laid up here?” He winced with pain.

I decided not to answer. “You're hurting. I'll call the nurse— it's probably time for more pain meds.”

I reached for the call button, but Philip grabbed my hand with his one good one. “Just . . . don't tell my parents. Or Fenchel.”

I gently pried my hand from his grip. “I'm sorry, Philip. They needed to know.” I tensed, expecting him to get angry—but all I heard was a groan escaping his dry and swollen lips.

I had dozed off in the chair when my cell phone rang. I squinted at the caller ID:
Henry Fenchel
. Slipping out of the room, I closed the door and hit Talk. “Hello?”

“Gabby! What's this about an accident? What kind of accident?” I'd expected Henry to be worried, concerned, anxious. But his words slammed through the phone like a challenge. I told him briefly. “How bad?” he demanded.

Again I kept the details brief. “They need to monitor him for a while. Could be a week.”

Henry spat out a curse word. “Gabby, this is the last straw!”

He was practically shouting into the phone. “Philip has taken money from the business account to cover his gambling debts, thinks I don't know because he transfers money to cover it from . . .
somewhere
, who knows! He's distracted, he comes in late on Monday, he's missed some important meetings with clients . . .

Ever since you left him, Gabby, he's been going downhill. Now this. How are we supposed to run a business, tell me that!”

“Since I left him? Since
I
left
him
? Henry Fenchel, you know good and well—!”

“Whatever. Since the two of you broke up. But I've had it! I'm going to sue him, break off the partnership. You tell him that, Gabby!” And the phone went dead.

My heart was pounding so hard I had to lean against the wall to get my breath. When I finally went back into the room and saw Philip lying there looking like a wreck, knowing it was going to get worse—a lot worse—before it got better, I fell into the chair and put my head in my hands.
Oh, Jesus! You're the only one who's going to be able to turn this around for Philip. Please, God .
. .

The night was long, but I must have finally fallen asleep, because when I woke up sunlight was slipping long fingers through the blinds, making pretty patterns all around the stark hospital room. I looked over at Philip . . . and realized he was staring at me.

“You're awake,” I said.

He just looked at me for a long moment. Then he croaked, “You've . . . been here all night. Why did you . . . stay?”

Good question. Wasn't sure I could answer it. I pushed off the blanket the nurse had given me and got out of the recliner, standing uncertainly at the end of the bed. But finally I took a deep breath and blew it out. “Because, Philip, I'm still your wife and you needed me.”

He kept staring at me. I could hardly stand to look at his bruised and battered face and looked away . . . but when I looked back, tears were running down his face. “Oh, Gabby . . .” he moaned. And then he started to weep, big deep sobs racking his body, mixed with pain with every move. His sobs sounded almost animal-like, a guttural wail I'd never heard before. I didn't know what to do. What was going on?

I almost reached for the call button to call the nurse, but his free hand flailed, motioning to me to come closer. Tentatively, I moved around to the side of the bed and he grabbed my hand. “Gabby!” he gasped. “Gabby, I've . . . I've messed everything up so bad. I don't know what to do! You . . . you were the best thing that ever happened to me, and I . . . I drove you away. Please . . . please, don't leave me. You have every right to . . . to walk out of here, but . . . can you forgive me? I'm begging you! Please . . .”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the door open slightly and a man's face appeared for a moment, and then disappeared again.

Lee Boyer!

I gently slid my hand out of Philip's grasp. “Just a minute. Someone's here.”

“Gabby, please . . .”

“I said just a minute.”

I hurried out of the room into the hall, closing the door behind me. Lee Boyer had walked several yards away, but he turned back when he heard the door close. His eyes flashed and his body was rigid.

“Lee?”

He strode toward me, almost shaking with anger. “I heard. Heard everything that—that con man was saying to you! You know it's all a lie, don't you? He'll say anything right now, because he's in trouble. What are you doing here anyway, Gabby? I called your house and they said you were still here at the hospital.”

The absurdity of the situation made me want to laugh—or cry—or something. I could still hear Philip's voice in my head—
“Can you forgive me? I'm begging you!
”—and now Lee was hissing at me between clenched teeth,
“It's all a lie!
” But for some reason a strange calm settled over me, like standing in the eye of a storm with the two men in my life swirling like hurricanes around me.

Lee threw his hands out in frustration. “You don't owe that man anything, Gabby Fairbanks. I . . . I love you, don't you know that? We could have a good life, you and me. We're the same kind of people. We get along great. We like the same things . . .”

For the life of me, I don't know why I said it. “Except church. And God.”

I don't think I could have startled him more if I'd slapped Lee in the face. His mouth dropped open and his eyes widened behind his wire rims. Then he found his voice. “Church? God? What do church and God have to do with
us
?”

A sudden sadness settled over me. “Maybe . . . everything.”

Lee looked totally bewildered. Then the anger rose in his voice again and he pointed a shaking finger toward Philip's hospital room. “And you think that . . . that self-centered jerk in there is your churchgoing, God-praying type?”

I shook my head. “No, that's not what I meant.” The sadness weighed heavily on me. Part of me wanted to fling myself into Lee's arms and run away with him, disappear from this hospital and leave Philip to wallow in his own mess. I had no idea what to say or do, but the strange calm seemed to surround me and hold me up.

Lee's diatribe finally ran out. He paced back and forth a few steps, then stopped. “Gabby, I don't know what's going on here. But I want to know if you feel for me what I feel for you . . . because if you do, then come with me. Don't listen to him. But if you go back in there, we might as well call it quits.”

“Lee. Don't make me choose. Not now. This isn't the time.”

“Yes it is. Leave him. Come with me.” He held out his hand.

My calm threatened to shatter into little pieces, to be sucked into the hurricanes swirling around me in that hospital hallway and the room just steps away.

I wanted to go.

But I couldn't.

My eyes filled with tears. “I'm sorry, Lee,” I whispered. I slowly turned, opened the door to Philip's room, and shut it behind me.

chapter 41

I slipped into the bathroom of Philip's private room and cried silently into a skimpy white towel.
What have I done
? Lee said he loved me! But to insist that I leave with him now when Philip was hurt and broken, to say if I stayed we might as well call it quits . . . it was so unfair!

I heard a nurse come into Philip's room. “Well, look who's awake already. How are we feeling this morning? . . . Let's see, which thigh did they use to give you the Heparin shot last night? . . . Okay, turn over, we'll do the other thigh this morning.”

Turning on the faucet in the sink, I let the water run so she'd know I was in there. What would I say to Philip when I came out?
“I forgive you
”? No, no . . . it wasn't that simple! He'd nearly destroyed me! Was saying he was sorry just a big lie to get my sympathy, like Lee said?

But . . . what if he really was sorry?

That possibility was so beyond comprehension, it would have to be a miracle. But I'd seen some pretty impossible miracles in my own life the past few months. What if God hadn't given up on Philip yet? What if . . . what if God had allowed Philip's life to spin out of control to get his attention, like Avis had prayed at Yada Yada? Was Philip paying attention? What he'd said to me not fifteen minutes ago wasn't the self-confident man I'd married, or the cruel egomaniac who'd washed his hands of me.

He'd sounded like a broken man. A Humpty Dumpty who'd had a great fall . . .

But if God was working on Philip, where did I fit into the picture? Was I ready to take responsibility for my part in our broken communication? To ask Philip to forgive
me
?

Oh, God
, I groaned.
I can't do this. I need time. Time to think. Time to pray. Time to talk to someone who isn't going to give me an ultimatum
.

Washing my face, I took several deep breaths and came out of the bathroom. The nurse was exchanging the IV bag and doing readouts from the machines. She smiled pleasantly and said the doctor would be doing rounds shortly, they'd probably want to do more tests to determine the extent of internal injuries . . . and then she was gone, leaving Philip and me to deal with our unfinished conversation, like a sticky spider's web filling the room.

His head was turned away, his face still twisted in misery. But as I approached the bed, that Voice seemed to speak to my spirit.
Gabby, take the time you need. You don't have to figure it all out right now. Can you trust Me with all your heart? Can you lean on Me instead of your own understanding
?

Startled, I stopped beside the bed. Was God telling me that promise I'd been memorizing was for
now
? This moment? I
didn't
understand how all this craziness was going to work out—so it might as well be now. I took a big breath, then breathed out a silent prayer . . .
Okay, God, I'm going to trust You. But I'm going to need a lot of help
. But even as I prayed, the “sticky spider's web” seemed to shrivel and disappear, and the anxious knot in my stomach began to loosen.