Doug tried to stay strong for Kay, who hadn’t moved from Beth’s bedside. But the disappointment tugged him down.
He left the ICU, depositing his scrubs in the laundry basket, and tried to find a private place to pray. He tried the chapel but found three or four others in there, sitting quietly in the three long pews, staring up at the cross hung on the wall or the open Bible on the podium. He didn’t want to sit there among strangers, even if they were brothers and sisters in Christ. He wanted to talk aloud to God, to pour out his heart in uncensored honesty unbefitting a preacher of God’s Word.
The stairwell was a traffic thoroughfare that presented no privacy, even though the elevators were now operational. Waiting rooms were breeding grounds for noise and anxiety. The courtyard outside was short on oxygen, since that was where the smokers clustered.
There was no place to be alone with God.
So Doug stood at the window in the corner of the ICU waiting room, whispering angry, desperate prayers against the windowpane. He practiced faith without doubting, ordering up a healing for his precious child, expecting it to come immediately like Lazarus coming out of the tomb.
Then he doubted his faith, wondering if it was strong enough to transport his prayers. Was there a hint of disbelief that would filter them out of heaven’s gates?
So, like the father who came to Jesus on behalf of his tormented son, he whispered into the windowpane, “Lord, help my unbelief!”
Jesus had answered that father’s prayers and healed the son. But Doug wondered if his own faith was somehow flawed and deformed. Was God using Beth to show him how flimsy it was?
Tears flooded his eyes and he wiped them away. “God, I’m begging you to save her,” he whispered. “I’m dying, myself. Kay’s dying. We can’t stand this. We need your help. If this is my fault, if it’s because of my failings, show me. Punish me, not Beth.”
At once, he felt a peace come over him, filling him with the warmth of a father comforting a son — the immediate sense that Beth wasn’t lying comatose because of anything he or Kay had done. The sudden, certain knowledge that it was about love.
Love? How could that be? If God loved them, wouldn’t he give them their deepest heart’s desire? Wouldn’t he save their child?
His human mind searched for human answers, and dragged him to conclusions. Of course God would save her. Why wouldn’t he? What would be served by her death? That wouldn’t be love.
Someday, after she was healed, they would stand before congregations and tout God’s goodness. They would tell how prayers prayed in faith are always answered. They would describe the miracle of her waking and walking. They would share their gratitude.
He would write a book to encourage others. Beth would write her own. And she would grow up to be an evangelist who taught of healing and brought glory to God. Everyone who knew them would be won to Christ by the miracle.
The thought of it lifted the heaviness on his heart.
But his daughter’s condition hadn’t changed. The reality of it settled over his heart like a lead blanket.
“Doug, can I talk to you for a minute?”
Doug wiped his eyes on his sleeve, then turned around. Craig stood there. “Hey, you’re back. Did you get any sleep?”
Craig looked at Doug’s teary eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were . . .”
“Praying,” Doug said. “I’m fine. Sit down.”
Craig sat down in one of the vinyl chairs, his concerned eyes on Doug. Doug pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket and quickly wiped his nose.
“Is everything okay? Beth hasn’t gotten worse, has she?”
“Actually, yes. We had to put her back on the ventilator.” He cleared his throat, banishing the dejection in his tone.
“I’m sorry. I thought things were looking up.”
“Me too. But hey, she woke up this morning. She can wake up again.” His voice was flat, tinny — revealing his flat, tinny faith. “So have you gotten any rest?”
“I napped an hour or so at the office. Then I had to go to Birmingham while they got another substation online.” Craig sighed. “I came by to talk to you about Deni, but if it’s a bad time . . .”
Doug’s chest tightened. Romance was the last thing he wanted to talk about. But Craig had done so much for them. “I’m listening.”
Craig looked down at his hands. “I know she’s been stressed about Beth, and I don’t know how to help her. I’m sure you heard that I asked her to marry me last night before Beth woke up. I thought maybe if you gave her your blessing, it might change things.”
His blessing? Doug hoped his surprise didn’t translate to his face. He couldn’t give his blessing for that. Again, he tried to spare Craig’s feelings. “I don’t feel comfortable talking to Deni about that.”
“Well, you talked to her about Mark.”
It was true. He’d talked to Deni many times about Mark. And Mark had talked to Doug about her. He had even asked for her hand. Craig never had.
“Look, Craig, I like you. I really do. You’re a good guy, and I know you’ll make someone a wonderful husband.”
Craig bit the side of his lip. “Why do I sense a ‘but’ coming?”
“But . . . before you came back, Deni and Mark were happy together. It was going somewhere, and Kay and I felt good about it. Deni had never been happier.”
Craig clearly couldn’t accept that. “Did you ever consider that God might have sent me back just in time to stop them from moving forward in their relationship?”
If there was providential intervention here, Doug thought, it was when Beth woke up and told Deni not to do it. But he didn’t want to hurt Craig more. “I firmly believe that if God wants her to marry you, she will, and if he wants her to marry Mark, she will. And if there’s someone else altogether, then he’ll lead her to that person.”
Craig leaned in, his eyes intent. Lowering his voice to a whisper, he said, “Doug, who can give her a better life? You know I can.”
“Yes, if we’re talking finances,” Doug agreed. “There was a time in Deni’s life when I used to think that was all that mattered. If somebody made a lot of money and could buy my daughter all the things she’d want, then he was the guy. But I’ve learned a lot over the last year. It’s not money that buys happiness. I got nine hundred dollars the day the bank opened, and I’ve hardly thought about it at all. Money can’t save my child right now. And money won’t help me if we lose her.” His voice broke and his face twisted. He paused and tried to compose himself. “I’d like to think that both you and Mark have what it takes to make Deni happy. But we’re just going to have to let Deni make that decision.”
Defiance colored Craig’s face, and he looked across the people stirring around in the waiting room. Finally, he turned back to Doug. “You were all worked up for Mark to be your son-in-law, weren’t you? You haven’t forgiven me for coming back.”
“Craig, we’ve provided you a place to live all this time. This isn’t about a grudge. You’ve been a good help to my family, and I admire what you do. I’ve come to think of you as a friend.”
“But not as a son-in-law?”
“Only if that’s what Deni wants.”
Craig’s eyes softened as he gazed into his. “How can I prove to you what kind of man I am?”
“You already proved it,” Doug said. “What you did for Beth was awesome. You have nothing else to prove.”
“No, but I do.” Craig’s eyes were intense as he lowered his voice to a whisper. “I want to show you that I can make her happy. If she marries me, she won’t have one day of trouble, not one day of sadness. I’ll see to it.”
Doug breathed a sad laugh. “You can’t promise her that, Craig.”
“Yes, I can.”
Doug wished it were so. “I know you would try. But nobody can promise anybody that. Jesus said, ‘In this world you’ll have trouble.’ We’re sitting here in an ICU waiting room right now while my daughter is in here on life support. You can’t pro
mise Deni you can insulate her from trouble. You don’t have that much power.”
Craig leaned back against the wall. He looked at the ceiling, eyes glistening. “Just for the record, when she said, ‘Deni, don’t do it,’ I think she was having a dream.”
“You could be right.”
“And even if Beth was fully conscious and was speaking from her own desires, that doesn’t mean she’s right. I can win her over when she wakes up. I just haven’t had as much time as Mark has.”
The pain on the young man’s face touched Doug’s heart. “Craig, even if Beth knew what she was saying — even if it was a word from God — it wasn’t a testament to your character.”
His forehead wrinkled as he looked at the ceiling again. “Yes, it was.”
Doug touched Craig’s shoulder. “Sometimes God just guides us into a different direction, because he loves us. Not because we’re somehow less than anyone else.”
Craig tried to laugh through his tears. “This is so strange. I rarely feel inferior.”
Doug smiled. “I don’t think there’s anything more humbling than falling in love.”
Craig looked down at his feet, and Doug patted his back. “Well, I guess I’d better get to work.”
Doug shook his hand. “Trust God, Craig. If it’s meant to be, Deni will be yours, and you’ll have my blessing. But if it’s not, there’s someone better suited to you.”
Craig’s shoulders slumped as he walked from the room.
NINETY-THREE
MARK ONLY SLEPT AN HOUR BEFORE HE WOKE UP. HE slipped his shoulder from under Deni’s head and laid her down on the couch. He left her sleeping soundly, then stepped outside, trying to shake off his fatigue. There was work to do.
His individual interviews with Clay Tharpe’s coworkers had brought no new information. At least none that he could put on paper. He’d had the sense with each of them that they weren’t telling everything they knew. Something or someone was keeping them from talking. He suspected their boss had given them reason to stay quiet.
When they questioned Ned Emory again, they met with the same brick wall. He denied having any outside relationship with either Melissa or Clay Tharpe, and claimed he was happily married. Mark knew better. Ned’s wife was half-crazy and suicidally depressed most of the time — not the makings of a happy marriage. Ned also denied knowing that Melissa’s husband was abusive.
So why had Melissa’s father put them on Ned’s trail? Surely she hadn’t told him about an affair, had she? Maybe he’d stumbled on it, along with the murder plot. And his mention of Ned’s name had been intended to get them off Melissa’s trail.
Mark had switched to the night shift so he could spend his daylight hours watching Melissa Tomlin, determined to make the connections he needed. So that he could watch her house without being noticed, he took his tools to Magnolia Park and tightened the bolts on all of the playground equipment, pretending to be working for the city of Crockett. With a baseball cap and sunglasses, he hoped he wouldn’t call attention to himself.
He tightened bolts until he saw her garage door open. When she left, he followed her on his bike, keeping his distance and watching as she ran errands. The widow wasn’t mourning. Instead, she seemed upbeat and happy. She walked with a bounce in her step, as if her life was smooth sailing. Never mind that her husband had been murdered, or that her father was headed for death row.
But that wasn’t probable cause for arrest.
NINETY-FOUR
WHILE HE KEPT VIGIL BESIDE BETH’S BED, DOUG DEVOURED books on prayer that had collected dust at home. They were books he’d bought in his Christian growth spurts, titles recommended by friends, books he’d never found time to read. Now he soaked up the contents, thirsty as a sponge, searching for something that would enhance his prayer life and turn things around.
But no matter how sincerely or earnestly he prayed . . . Beth got worse.
He had come to the end of himself, and exhaustion had made him despair. They’d sat at the hospital for days since her waking, waiting for another sign that she would come back to them.
On Tuesday night, Deni talked him and Kay into going home. Though they dreaded leaving Beth again, he needed a full night’s sleep in his own bed, or he would be no good to anyone.
The bed was a luxury. He held Kay as she lay beside him.
“We’re doing something wrong,” she whispered. “Our prayers aren’t being answered. What are we missing?”
Stroking her shoulder, he stared at the ceiling. “I’ve read everything I can find on prayer,” he said. “Some books make me feel like a total and complete failure. That if my prayers aren’t answered it’s because I haven’t worked hard enough at it. That I’m not doing it earnestly enough. But what more can we do besides turning ourselves inside out with our cries to heaven?”
“Maybe we shouldn’t sleep. Maybe we should stay up all night and pray.”
“We’ve stayed up every night and prayed,” he said. “I don’t think that’s it.” Weariness burned in his eyes, and all his muscles ached. “Some of the books I’ve read put Beth’s life on our shoulders, like the energy spent in our prayers is the only thing that can save her. But there’s just something that doesn’t ring true about all that,” he said. “Jesus said his yoke is easy and his burden is light. But this is crushing.”
She sat up and looked down at him. “God must hear our prayers. He loves Beth more than we do.”
“But what if — ” His voice faltered. “What if it’s just not his will to save her?”
Kay looked betrayed. “Doug, don’t say that. Don’t even think it.”
“But I have to, Kay.” He got up, walked across the room, looked out the window. “Jesus prayed for his cup to be removed, then he said, ‘Not my will, but Thine.’ Paul prayed for his thorn in the flesh, and when God said no, he accepted it. Job lost his family, all his possessions, his health — ”
Kay slammed her fist into the pillow. “Don’t you do that!” she said through her teeth. “Don’t you give up on our daughter. We have to believe!”
His eyes burned as he turned back to her. “I believe that if Jesus wants to heal our child, he will. I have utmost faith that he can do that if he wants to.”
She looked close to shattering. “Why wouldn’t he want to?”
That despair that he’d been fighting rose up to choke him. He came to the bed, sat down facing her. “Kay, sometimes he takes his saints home.”
She reared back and slapped him.
He caught her hand as she pulled it away, pressed it against the sting.
She jerked it away. “Are you saying that God’s not going to answer our prayers?”
“No, Kay, that’s not what I’m saying. I know he’ll answer.”
“But you think his answer will be no?”
“Honey, he might have a greater purpose. Maybe he’s trying to do something in us.”
“Well, he can stop!” she cried. “I’m tired of suffering, and I don’t want to be that strong. I want to live a mediocre life with every day the same as the others. We had that once, and all our children were safe. Why can’t we have that again?”
He wished he had answers. “Maybe we can. Maybe he’s already healed her. Maybe we just haven’t caught up to that place on the time line, when she gets up off that bed.”
“Then pray that he moves the time line up. God has control over time, doesn’t he? He created medical science. He can heal the tissue in Beth’s brain.”
“Of course he can.”
She touched his chest, as if he were the one she had to convince. “Then why won’t he? What on earth could be the reason for all this?”
“Maybe it’s not a reason on earth. Maybe it’s a reason in heaven.”
She backed away from him. “I don’t want to hear that, Doug.”
“Neither do I.” He wilted as tears overtook him. “Neither do I.”
NINETY-FIVE
DAYS PASSED AND DESPITE THE USE OF THE DRUGS CRAIG had brought bac
k from Washington, the pressure on Beth’s brain grew. Dr. Overton took them into the dreaded conference room and presented their only option.
“Her brain has to have room to swell,” he said. “As drastic as a craniectomy seems, it’s saved a lot of lives.”
Kay covered her face. “So you want to open up her head?”
Kay’s pain seemed reflected on Dr. Overton’s face. “Kay, Doug, I know this is hard for you, but if we’re going to do it, we need to do it today.” He looked at Doug, waiting for him to make the decision.
Doug’s hands were clasped in front of his face. “Well, then, we have to do it.”
Kay reigned her emotions in. “What do we have to sign?”
Dr. Overton gave them the consent forms for him to open Beth’s skull. Kay’s hands trembled as she signed.
“I’ll go get her prepped for surgery.” The doctor hesitated as they got to their feet, then came toward Kay and hugged her. It took her by surprise, but she clung to him, knowing that he would do whatever he could for Beth.
AS THEY TOOK BETH INTO SURGERY, KAY WALKED DOWN the hall. She passed the waiting room and saw that friends had gathered there to pray with them. Doug sat among them, talking softly. She didn’t want to go in just yet. She wanted to be alone.
She wandered through the halls of death, sickness, and tragedy, hating the smell of antiseptic, the smiles on the nurses’ faces as she passed their station, the detachment of the doctors scribbling in patients’ charts.
She thought of going to the prayer room and sitting on one of the three pews, looking up to that cross on the wall and begging God to heal her child. But this time, she might pick up that Bible opened to the Twenty-third Psalm, rip out its pages, and hurl them against the wall. And then someone else, someone who hadn’t yet prayed themselves empty, might come in and see how she’d lost it, intruding on her private anger . . . her private grief.
People seemed to be everywhere. The building was too small for the community’s needs. Where could she go to be alone?