*****
Joanne picked her daughter up and held her tightly. She had been numb since getting that awful call that told her that her husband, Lester, had been hurt at the flea market, and that he and their daughter, Caitlyn, were both at the hospital. She jumped into her car and raced the whole way there, cursing the traffic and wondering how such a nice, normal day could have turned out so badly. The words that the police officer said over the phone repeated in her mind over and over. ‘Lester had been hit pretty hard in the head by a concrete block and knocked unconscious. He and the little girl with him had been taken to the local hospital.’ Tears streaming from her eyes made it hard to see the road, but she made it. Now, with her daughter in her arms, a new wave of fear washed over her for her husband.
Another nurse walked into the waiting room with a somber look on her face, and stood next to Joanne. Taking the hint, she set her daughter back in a chair and turned to the nurse. Not wanting Caitlyn to overhear, the nurse bent close to Joanne and whispered that the corner of the concrete block had caught Lester just above his eye, and that they didn’t think he’d make it through the night. Joanne’s breath caught in her throat and she covered her mouth with her fingers as the nurse’s words echoed in her mind. She couldn’t bear the thought of living without him or raising their daughter alone. She began shaking as new tears spilled over her cheeks and dripped onto her shirt, but she didn’t bother wiping them away. She picked Caitlyn up again and followed the nurse to the room where Lester lay. He looked just like he was sleeping, except for the IV running into his arm, the wires, and the heavy bandaging around his head. She set Caitlyn down in a chair by the window, pulled another one up to the bed and stroked Lester’s hand as she tried to cry her pain away.
The sky was dark and still very cloudy as Joanne drove home that night. A light drizzle kept everything wet and miserable, but the winds from the storm had died. Joanne’s face was dry and blank as she stared at the empty road ahead. She couldn’t bear to say goodbye to her husband before she left, so she whispered that she’d see him tomorrow morning. An awful thought played in the back of her mind; ‘If he’s still alive when I come back.’ Joanne sniffed and glanced in the rearview mirror. Caitlyn was asleep in her booster seat in the back. It was way past her bedtime, and Joanne figured that she was emotionally exhausted from everything that had happened that day. Joanne was emotionally drained, too. She didn’t have any more tears left to cry.
The next morning, Joanne dropped Caitlyn off at a neighbor’s house and briefly explained the situation. She didn’t have time to take in their reaction, nor did she really care to. She knew she had to get to the hospital as quickly as possible, but she drove slowly. It took her longer to get there than it did the night before with all the traffic. She didn’t jump out of the car and rush inside like last night, either. She sat in the car and stared out into space as her mind wandered. She saw herself waking Caitlyn each morning and fixing breakfast for just the two of them. She imagined standing by the door alone and watching her get on the bus. She pictured the empty house, and how frightening it would be to be alone all day long. She wondered if she would continue the tradition of going out to eat every Thursday that Lester began before Caitlyn was born. She wondered if she’d be able to continue living without him.
Joanne expected to feel tears welling up as she slowly made her way to the front doors of the hospital, but they remained dry. She figured she had used them all up the night before. She barely heard the receptionist at the front desk wish her ‘good morning’ as she headed to the elevator. She didn’t remember getting in or pushing the buttons, but the elevator doors opened up to the fourth floor hall where Caitlyn had been waiting and Lester’s room was. She dragged her feet as she walked to his room and paused outside the door. Swallowing a lump in her throat, she walked into the room and couldn’t believe her eyes.
Lester was still there, covered in wires and bandages, but he was sitting up and eating breakfast. He smiled at her as she stood there, shocked. Relief washed over her as she ran up to him and threw her arms around him, crying and shaking uncontrollably. He squeezed her back. Finally, she released him, still shaking and wiping the tears away. The nurse who had given Joanne the bad news the night before came in and explained that his recovery couldn’t be explained. One moment he was unconscious and slipping away, and the next moment he was wide awake and wondering what he was doing in the hospital, and where his daughter was. The nurse told them both that Lester was healthy enough to leave the hospital that same day. Joanne cried harder, but this time, they were tears of joy.
Epilogue
Years later, Joanne set up at the same flea market. She began a conversation with the two women who set up beside her. They talked about lots of things, including how they cleverly used their tarp frame as a clothes rack to show off the baby clothes they were selling, since they couldn’t bring a real one. They explained how it helped to weigh down the tarp during strong winds, too. Joanne then told them about the time a storm brewed up and nearly killed her husband, not expecting them to believe her, but they nodded and said that they were there that day and had seen the whole thing. They told her that they had explained to the pastor of their church about the accident and that the church had prayed for him.
The conversation was interrupted when several customers came to look at the women’s baby clothes, and Joanne thought about what they had said. Their whole church prayed for Lester to get better sometime Sunday morning. The nurse had said that Lester made a complete comeback early Sunday morning, although none of the doctors had any idea why. The thought struck Joanne like lightning. The reason why Lester was okay was because these women and their church had prayed! Joanne had never believed in the power of prayer.
She did now.
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About the Author:
C.L.Mozena lives in southeast Ohio with her seven cats and one dog. She enjoys painting, taking walks, and writing (of course!).
She has many short stories published in the local newspaper and contributed into book collections of short stories by a group of local authors.
Miracles:
Lester’s Story
Shannon’s Story
Steven’s Story
Legend of the Irdisae
Connect with me online:
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