Another Dawn (22 page)

I could smell the smoke as I neared the house. My father’s all-pervasive habit even had the nerve to infringe its disgusting smell on the outdoors.

I thought about the backyard and the stone circle around the tree. The place where people started over. They pushed through hard, impossible circumstances to do the right thing, even though they didn’t want to. Even though maybe it wasn’t really their fault.

As much as the smell and the memories pushed me away from the side porch, something else drew me forward. I changed my direction and walked around the corner of the house. My father was sitting in the rocking chair, his eyes closed, and he rocked, a cigarette in his hand. How many times had I seen him just this way over the years?

The memories of my senior year, when I’d come home from school to find him sitting out here just like this—knowing that my mother was inside the house in a hospital bed—because of what he was doing . . .

How many times had I wished he’d had the cancer instead of her? He was the one who
deserved
it. Now I was ashamed of the thought. But at the time, the injustice of it caused me to rethink everything I’d ever believed in.

I walked up the couple of steps and sat down in the chair beside him. He opened his eyes as soon as he heard me. “I’m done. You want to go inside?”

I shook my head. “That’s okay. You look comfortable.”

He had his right leg extended up on a foot rest, but with the left he made small rapid rocks. Finally, he said, “So what was all that screaming about last night? Bad dream?”

“I wish.” I locked my hands behind my head and bent forward. “Nothing’s quite as simple as bad dreams at this point, is it?”

“I s’pose not.” He continued to rock, moving more or less in time with the birds singing in the trees around back.

Finally, I looked up at him and released my hands, although I continued to rub my neck with my left hand. “He was crying because he thinks Hannah is going to die, and he thinks it’s his fault.”

“His fault?” My father looked at me, and there was no denying where he placed the blame.

I couldn’t help but flinch. “He says he was afraid of getting shots and every time his friends talked about getting one, he would pray and ask God to make me not let the doctor give him one.”

My father expelled a short, hard laugh. “Well, I guess that’s one prayer that got answered.”

“Oh, Daddy.”

I rocked back and forth and my mind flipped through the various problems currently confronting me. There were too many to settle on just one. Then I remembered the part about Joshua and Caleb being the only two spies who were willing to move forward. It was time to commit. Whether or not the rest of the camp chose to follow was not my responsibility; my responsibility was to do the right thing. Period.

“I’m going back to Nashville today. Do you want to come with me, or is the trip too hard on you?”

He cocked his head to the side. “You mind my asking why you’d want to do that? You know your sister isn’t going to see you. And it’s hard on Dylan sitting still in that waiting room for all that time. Why put yourself through that? You know Rob will call us the minute anything happens—good or bad.”

“I know he will, I know. It’s just that Rob’s family won’t be back in town until late tonight, they don’t have anyone else up there with them. I want Jana to know that someone is there for her. I know she’s mad at me, hates me, even. But if she should all of a sudden need her sister, decide that she needs me there with her, well, I’m going to be there. It’s the right thing to do. And, if she wants to scream at me and get it all out of her system, I’ll be there for that, too. Might just be what she needs.”

He nodded, pulled his right leg off the stool, and rocked hard for a couple of strokes until he was able to launch himself easily out of the chair and into a standing position. “All right, then. I’m up for it if you are.”

I went inside and began packing some snacks for Dylan for the day. I had left his backpack on the kitchen counter last night, and it still contained all his coloring supplies and the travel set of Legos, so he was essentially packed and ready. I hated the thought of waking him up, but it was almost nine o’clock and we needed to get moving.

Very slowly I turned the knob to his bedroom door, then just as slowly pushed the door open. I knew it would squeak if I didn’t use the utmost care. I peeked my head inside and found Dylan sitting up on the bed, coloring a picture. “Sweetie, I thought you were still asleep, you were so quiet in here. How long have you been awake?”

He shrugged. “Don’t know.” He continued coloring without further comment.

I walked over to see what he was working on. It was a drawing of a person with arms extended straight, and in those arms was a white blob with a head sticking out. I knew instantly what it was. Hannah. Wrapped in her blankets. “Who is that holding Hannah, sweetie?”

“It’s me.” He drew a round mouth on his face. “I’m talking to her.”

“Really? What are you saying?”

“That I’m sorry.”

“Honey, I’ve told you, it wasn’t your fault. It’s not even mine. It’s a complicated kind of thing that even grown-ups have a hard time understanding.”

“Don’t matter, really. I didn’t mean to hurt her, but I did. That’s a good reason to say I’m sorry.” He looked up at me with innocent blue eyes. “Don’t you think?”

During the drive to Nashville, I spent the entire time thinking about what Dylan had said. Yet somehow I balked at fully accepting the blame for this. I wouldn’t run away from the consequences, but I knew too many parents who were living with another truth. How could I pretend I would make a different choice if it meant risking that for my own son?

Then, of course, there was Hannah. While I wouldn’t risk my child for a stranger, would I have risked him for my niece? Well, it didn’t matter what I would do or wouldn’t do differently now. The fact was, the decision had been made and it was too late to change that now. And, perhaps because of that, Dylan was a happy and healthy little boy. But, definitely because of that, Hannah was in the hospital with a tube down her throat, the only thing that was keeping her breathing.

We pulled into the parking lot and made our way into the hospital and to the waiting area. “Please, can I go see Hannah Rose? Please, I’ve just got to talk to her for a minute.”

“I don’t think so, Dylan, but we’ll see.” I was certain the hospital staff wouldn’t allow it, and I was perfectly prepared to ask the question and get the answer in front of Dylan so that he could see that I wasn’t the bad guy.

Just as we were walking up to the waiting area, a nurse came walking out of the pediatric critical care. It was the nurse in Tweety scrubs who had been with Hannah yesterday, and when she noticed us, she came walking over. She nodded toward my father and me. “Two of you can go back right now, if you want. Mr. Morgan just went down to get some coffee. I’m headed that way on break myself.”

“Can I go back and see her?” Dylan blinked his huge chocolate eyes, framed by long dark lashes. “I know she’s not my real sister, but we’re all each other’s got, me and Hannah. I’m the one that made her sick and I have to see that she’s okay.”

“She’s pretty sick right now. There are lots of tubes and things. It looks pretty scary.”

Dylan nodded and blinked. “She got that from me. It’s all my fault, every bit of it. I got to tell her I’m sorry so she’ll know I didn’t do that on purpose.”

The nurse looked at me, a question in her eyes. I shrugged. “Dylan encountered one of the children from Ashland and subsequently got sick. He’s the one who exposed Hannah to the measles and he feels like it’s his fault.”

Dylan pulled at the nurse’s scrub top. “Please. I got to tell her I’m sorry. I can’t stand for her to not know that.”

“How would you feel about him going in there?” The nurse waited for me to respond.

“Please, Mama, please.”

I looked at my son’s pleading eyes and then looked at the nurse. “I think it’s the only way he’ll find peace.”

She nodded and bent down eye to eye with Dylan. “Well, I tell you the truth, the rules are that only brothers or sisters are allowed, but you know what? I think we might be able to make an exception in your case. Just for a quick visit. But here’s the deal.” She leaned a little closer. “You’re going to have to wear a mask and a yellow gown over your clothes. It’s very important that Hannah doesn’t come in contact with any other germs than what she’s already got, and it’s important that we don’t bring any of her germs out into the other rooms.”

Dylan nodded. “Okay. I had to wear one of those already, back when they poked me with a needle.”

“Right. It’ll be the same thing.” She looked at me. “You need to come in with us in case he gets upset.” I supposed that she’d seen enough of my interactions with Jana yesterday to know that there were issues, but this was spoken as an order, not a request. She took Dylan by the hand and led him toward the door of the unit, where she swiped her ID badge to unlock the door. It clicked open and soon we were standing outside Hannah’s little room.

The nurse pulled out one of the gowns and handed it to me; then she began to wrap one around Dylan. It could have gone around him twice, but somehow she managed to tie it up so that it all worked. “Stay put now while I get you a mask.”

She reached deeper into the cabinet and pulled out three masks, one of which she handed to me. She helped Dylan put on the second one. “It’s very important that you keep your mouth and nose covered. Okay?” Dylan nodded and for the first time a bit of worry crept in his eyes. “You have to be brave, okay? She needs to hear your voice and know that you’re okay.”

Dylan nodded. “I will.”

The nurse put on her own mask and we walked through the first door, closed it behind us, then pushed open the second. “That didn’t take long.” Jana looked up then and gasped. “Dylan?”

“Hi, Aunt Jana. They told me I could come in just for a minute and talk to Hannah Rose.” He walked directly up to Jana. “But I guess I need to talk to you first.”

“What do you need to talk to me about, sweetie?” Her voice sounded tired and halfhearted.

“I know you’re probably real mad at me and I know I deserve it. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it, really I didn’t.” He reached up and rubbed his eyes. “But if you don’t ever want to speak to me again, I understand.”

He turned then, while Jana simply stared, and beneath her mask I’m pretty sure her mouth was hanging open. Dylan walked right up to Hannah’s crib. “Hi, Hannah Rose. Hey there, girl.”

She didn’t move. By now the rash had spread down onto her trunk, and her bare stomach looked raw and patchy.

“I know you’re too sick to hear me, and I guess you’re too little to understand even if you could. But I’m the one who made you sick. It’s all my fault. My germs.” He took a moment, seemingly to compose himself. “I’m pretty sure you’re going to be okay. See, I prayed that Mommy wouldn’t make me get my shots, and she never did. I prayed that Mommy would come to Tennessee so I could meet you, and then we needed to come take care of Grandpa after his surgery. But now, I prayed that God would make you better and let me die if someone needs to die. I’m pretty sure He’ll answer me. He always has.”

He leaned closer to her and wiggled his fingers, although he didn’t try to touch her. “You’re such a pretty girl, such a big girl. I love you.” The baby talk voice disappeared and he straightened up, noticeably lifting his shoulders. “You’re worth it.”

He turned then and looked at me. “I’m ready to go now.” He reached up and took my hand and led me from the room.

When we stepped back in the waiting room, my father looked up from the magazine he was reading. He looked from Dylan to me to Dylan again, then closed the magazine. He didn’t say a word; he just looked at us, as if wondering what had changed.

I finally burst into tears. Loud, sobbing tears. The kind that embarrass you when they’re happening but there’s nothing you can do about it. The kind that embarrass everyone in a two-mile radius—thankfully there was just my family in the waiting area. Dylan came over. “What’s the matter, Mommy?”

“Oh, Dylan.” I wrapped him in my arms and cried on his shoulder. I took loud sobbing breaths and absolutely could not regain control no matter how hard I tried. This went on and on; I just couldn’t stop.

Finally, I managed to pull myself together enough to look at my son—who was obviously now clearly freaked out about his mother’s meltdown. “Dylan, I can’t believe what a big person you are.”

“Huh?” He looked down at himself as if to confirm whether or not he’d grown.

“Grown-ups are so much smaller. We spend so much time defending ourselves and blaming other people that we forget how to truly love someone selflessly, the way you love Hannah Rose.” I pulled a Kleenex from the box on the table and wiped my eyes.

“Well, if you think you’re gonna be okay without me, I think I’ll go on back and see my granddaughter.” My father quickly left the room without looking back. How could I blame him?

Dylan fell asleep almost immediately on the drive home. My father stared out the window in silence. He was worried about Hannah. I knew he was. We all were.

“Rob’s parents will be at the hospital tomorrow.”

I nodded, remembering that they had been in Europe on vacation. After they found out Hannah was sick, it had taken them several days to arrange flights home. “I know Rob will be glad to see them.”

And then we simply fell into silence. Not a word exchanged between us for the rest of the drive home.

The scene with Dylan in Hannah’s room replayed over and over in my mind. It never failed to amaze me what a wonderful young man he was becoming, but nothing had prepared me for what had happened. He’d asked Jana for forgiveness in such a grown-up way—much more so than I, and I knew it. And when he talked to Hannah, so matter-of-fact, so confident in his faith that God was in control, so willing to give up his own life for his cousin that he loved.

My father and I, in contrast, had sat in silence and bitterness for years. Dad had certainly never asked for forgiveness like Dylan, but I hadn’t been much in the way of a grown-up, either. That’s when it hit me. I wanted to grow up to become more like my four-year-old son.

When we got home, I carried Dylan to his room. I turned down the bed with one hand while balancing Dylan on the opposite hip, then gently laid him down. He rolled over onto his side but never opened his eyes. I pulled the covers up, smiling at the red Ferrari that was nestled directly by his chin. Dad was making an effort. Perhaps I needed to be more like my son and make a bigger one of my own.

I walked down the hallway but saw no sign of my father. But I had known that I wouldn’t. I knew exactly where I would find him, and I would have known it even if I didn’t detect the faintest whiff of smoke.

When I walked out onto the porch, he glanced up briefly while taking a long drag on his cigarette. He turned his head away from me to blow out. “Everything okay?”

“Don’t I wish.” I sat down and started rocking.

“Isn’t that the truth.” He took another puff but said nothing more.

I rocked slowly back and forth, debating what I was or wasn’t going to say. Finally, I decided it was best to move forward while I still had the inclination. “Dad, there’s something I think I need to tell you.” My mouth went dry. I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to do this.

“Yeah? Like what?” He stubbed his cigarette out in the large ashtray beside his chair.

“All these years, I’ve blamed you. For Mom, I mean. It’s been eating me up inside. And, fact is, I know now, actually deep down I’ve known all along, you would never have hurt Mom on purpose, just like we would never have hurt Hannah, I suppose. I just want you to know that I’m sorry I’ve spent so much time being angry at you, and I . . . forgive you.”

He sort of snorted. “Well, all right, then.”

I waited for him to say more. He didn’t. Not one single word. What he did do was pull another cigarette out of the pack, put it in his mouth, and light it with his lighter.

I’m not sure what I’d expected here, but it was definitely more than this. Some acknowledgment of responsibility at the very least. Instead, I got nothing. My anger started to burn toward him again, but I remembered Gilgal, I remembered Hannah, and I prayed that God would help me let it go.

“I’m going to get a shower.” I walked into the house without bothering to look back.

Later, when I got out, I went into the kitchen for a glass of water. I could see the light coming from beneath the guest room door, and I thought I heard my father talking to someone. I tiptoed down the hall, wondering if something was wrong. I was getting ready to knock when I realized that the sound I heard was not talking, it was sobbing. My father’s sobbing, but he was talking, too.

In spite of myself, I put my ear to the door and listened. Every now and then, I would hear his voice. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He said it over and over and over.