Finding Hope (14 page)

But it
wasn't
a dream, not really. “S-somebody hit me,” she said, her eyes searching his face for confirmation.

“Yes. But you're safe now. You were having another nightmare.”

She struggled to make sense of the images twirling like tornadoes in her head—horrible things and sweet things, all twisted together. Which were real and which were only dreams? “I remember being in the emergency room,” she said at last. “You kept insisting that I squeeze your hand.”

He ran his thumb back and forth across her knuckles. “As much as I like holding hands with you, that was just a doctor thing,” he explained. “Part of a quickie neurological exam.” He smiled. “You earned top marks for
snapping at me and insisting that your brain was still on the job. The trauma team got a kick out of that.”

“You stayed with me,” she recalled.

“Yes. I was your guardian angel, watching over you.”

She liked the sound of that. Pulling her hand from his, she attempted to shift a little in the bed. She was stopped by a white-hot spasm of pain. “Charlie, what's wrong with me?” she gasped. “I hurt everywhere. And there's something odd about my left foot,” she added in a worried tone.

Her hand was recaptured, engulfed in both of his as he looked straight into her eyes. “Your left foot feels strange because there's a cast on it. Your chest and abdomen hurt because most of the ribs on your right side and a couple on your left are broken. Dr. Olmstead had to sew up your liver and your spleen. The incision is right here.” He released her hand and pointed, his index finger describing a long line just above the sheet that covered her. “And do you see this?”

Careful to preserve her modesty, he pulled down the sheet a little. He gently pushed aside the wide sleeve of her gown, revealing a plastic tube that appeared to be attached to her side, next to her right breast.

Her mouth went dry. “That doesn't—oh, Charlie—that doesn't go
in
me, does it?” she asked in a horrified whisper.

He spoke gently as he covered her again. “All the way in, kid. To your chest cavity. It's for drainage, but you're almost clear now, so it'll come out soon.”

Drainage? Hope didn't want to think about what might have been leaking from her, and she was grateful when he didn't elaborate.

“Why don't I just tell you the rest later?” he suggested as her eyelids drooped.

That woke her up. “There's
more?
”

“Just a lot of little things. Like the fact that you have twenty stitches just above your left knee and you have an impressive black eye with—” he leaned close, inspecting her “—seven, eight…nine stitches just under your left eyebrow,” he finished.

She studied his face. “Is that everything?”

“Well,” he said slowly, averting his eyes. “There is something else….”

She gulped. “Tell me, Charlie.”

He picked up her right hand and held it in front of her face. “Kid, I'm awfully sorry, but your manicure is ruined.”

She tried to chuckle, but it hurt. She groaned instead.

Charles turned serious again, squeezing her hand to reclaim her attention. “Hope, you're going to be really uncomfortable,” he warned. “And you'll see bruises and stitches everywhere, so don't be scared, okay? Everything's been fixed and you'll heal just fine, because you're young and strong.”

As her eyes closed, she told herself it was well worth a broken body to be with him again. She pulled his hand to her face, rubbed her cheek against it and was suffused with peace.

“Hope,” he said urgently. “I can't get Pastor Bill on the phone and I don't know how to get in touch with your family.”

“I just want
you,
Charlie.” She couldn't tell whether she had said the words aloud or merely thought them. Sleep beckoned to her, lapped at her like gentle waves, and she didn't resist.

 

Charles had finally reached Pastor Bill late on Saturday evening, but it wasn't until Sunday afternoon that the Evanses and all four of their sons had been contacted about Hope's accident.

Hope wasn't worried. Pastor Bill would take care of her family. He'd answer their questions and pray with them. She was concerned about Bob, though, until she learned Tom had paid a visit to the neighbors who always looked after Hope's pet when she was out of town. Even Bob was in good hands.

Grace Evans was preparing to leave Africa. Although it would take her a few days to get to Chicago, she was planning to stay with her daughter for at least a month.

On Monday evening Tom drove to Midway Airport to pick up Matthew, Hope's eldest brother, who was flying in from California.

“Your other three brothers wanted to come,” Charles had told Hope that morning, “but I understand Matthew discouraged them. I'm glad he did—that many people would be a bit overwhelming.”

Yes, her family was overwhelming, but in the most delightful way. If only Charles could see a gathering of her boisterous clan—how they laughed and loved!

“What time is it?” Hope asked Charles.

“I answered that question fifteen minutes ago,” he responded with a grin. “Here.” He removed his watch and handed it to her. “Now you can watch the second hand go around and around. Maybe it will put you to sleep.”

“I know I'm acting like a six-year-old on Christmas Eve,” Hope confessed, “but I haven't seen Matthew in over a year.”

“Go to sleep,” Charles urged. “I promise to wake you the minute he arrives.”

Attempting to find a more comfortable position, Hope shifted in the bed. A vicious stab of pain made her catch her breath sharply. Aware that Charles was watching, she averted her face to hide the tears she couldn't stop.

He wasn't fooled. She felt his hand on her shoulder. “You don't have to be so tough. The injuries you've
suffered would make a professional hockey player bawl like a baby.”

Her pain medication finally kicked in and she was able to doze a little. When she awakened, twilight was creeping into the room.

Charles put down the medical journal he'd been reading. He stood and stretched, then bent to touch his toes as Hope had seen him do once before. He moved to the window, his attention captured by the rising moon, which he pointed out to Hope. He stood still for several minutes, apparently lost in thought as he gazed at the moon.

From Hope's vantage point the window was like a mirror, clearly reflecting Charles's face. Her hungry eyes feasted on him as he finger-combed his hair. She watched him rub his hand over the stubble on his jaw and wondered what he was thinking. He looked infinitely weary.

In three days he hadn't left her alone for a moment unless a nurse was available to sit with her. Several times she had urged him to get some rest and then go back to his work, but he kept putting her off. She hated knowing it was guilt that kept him glued to her bedside, but she couldn't do anything about that. She was glad Matthew was coming because Charles might not feel so responsible for her now.

He came to sit beside her. “How is it, kid?”

“Not too bad,” she fudged. She hated it that he worried so much. “You're awfully good to me, Charlie.”

He turned anguished eyes on her. “How can you say that?” he demanded. “How can you still believe that? Hope, there is nothing good in me!
When
will you understand?”

Shocked into silence by his outburst, she watched as he tore himself from the chair and strode angrily back to the window. With his back to her, he raged, “I didn't figure it out until this morning. Of course I wondered
why you had been out so late at night, but—” He broke off, then he turned around, savagely accusing her. “You were coming here, weren't you?” Angrily he stabbed a finger towards the floor. “You were coming
here,
at three o'clock in the morning. In a thunderstorm. Because I wouldn't return your calls. It's all my fault, isn't it?”

Annoyance helped Hope find her voice. “That's ridiculous, Charlie. You can't blame yourself for—”

“Can't I? I blame myself for everything. All of it. I should never have let you get so close to me. I knew there was a danger to you, but I was selfish.” He bowed his head, avoiding her eyes. “I don't love you, Hope,” he said bluntly. “I feel affection for you, but I don't love you and I never will.” His voice softened until it was barely audible. “You have to forget any dreams you have about me. I'll never be able to make them come true.”

She shook her head emphatically. “I don't have any dreams about you. I've never seen us getting married, if that's what you're afraid of.”

He said nothing.

“It's okay that you don't love me,” she said steadily. “I can live with that. In fact, it's better that way. So you see, nothing has to change.”

His hands gestured wildly and he made an explosive, exasperated noise in his throat. “But everything
has
changed. And I
can't
live with it!”

Their gazes locked and time slowed to an agonizing crawl as their battle of wills was fought in utter silence. Hope was shocked and sickened by the naked despair she read in his eyes. Her heart almost failed, but Charles looked away first.

“You're not going to save me,” he said at last. “Why can't you just leave me alone?”

“Because I'm your friend. That's what I was coming to tell you.”

“Well, who doesn't know that?” he rasped. “You might have saved yourself that wild ride to the ER. But I'm
your
friend, Hope. That's why I can't just—” He stopped as a nurse entered the room.

As the woman looked from Charles's angry face to Hope's frightened one, her eyes widened until the full circles of her blue irises were visible. Obviously uncomfortable, she cleared her throat. “Let's check your blood pressure first,” she suggested. A minute later she looked Charles in the eye and reported the numbers in a tone of gentle reproof. “I think we need to calm down in here,” she remarked.

He said nothing, but turned to stare sullenly out the window as the nurse completed her tasks.

Just as the nurse left, Tom phoned from Midway to say that Matthew's flight was running over an hour late. Without looking at Hope, Charles relayed the news in a flat voice.

She clenched her teeth, fighting both physical pain and emotional agony. He wouldn't leave her tonight because he felt responsible for her. But he would go soon, probably when her mother arrived. And she'd never see him again.

Charles sighed heavily and slumped into the chair next to the bed. He didn't speak again and he didn't look at Hope, but he reached for her hand and held it tightly.

She had just reached the threshold of sleep when she felt Charles release her hand. She was dimly aware of the bedcovers being pulled over her shoulders, then her hair was smoothed away from her face and she heard his broken whisper. “I'm sorry, kid.” She felt the light brush of his lips against her forehead. “Oh, Hope—I'm so sorry.”

Even though drugs and exhaustion clouded her mind,
she didn't misunderstand. He wasn't taking back anything he had said. What he was sorry about was not being able to love her.

And that only made her love him more.

I
t was an amusing reversal of roles, Hope thought as she watched Charles sleep for a change.

His chair didn't look terribly comfortable for sitting, never mind sleeping in. With his left leg folded under him and his right thrown over one of the chair's wooden arms, Charles was twisted like a pretzel. His left elbow rested on the chair's other arm and his head was propped against his fisted hand. With his right arm he hugged a pillow to his chest, but Hope couldn't see how that was doing him any good.

He'd told her many times he could sleep standing up if he had to, and now she understood that was no idle boast. His deep, even breathing assured her that he slept soundly. She watched him for twenty minutes and he didn't move an eyelash.

Hope's eyes were drawn to a movement in the doorway, and she smiled a welcome to Matthew, her eldest brother. With a soft, strangled cry he rushed to her.

Matthew wasn't thinking. When Hope lifted her hands
to cup his face and kiss him, his arms went around her and he squeezed. She yelped like a kicked dog.

Charles was awake and on his feet in an instant, ready to do battle with the villain who was abusing Hope. From the far side of the bed he glowered at the intruder.

Shock registered on Matthew's face as he backed away. “Oh, Hope! Baby, I'm sorry!”

Hope couldn't breathe and she was actually seeing stars, but one look at Charles's stormy face forced a smile to her lips. “No, Charlie,” she gasped. “Please don't kill him. This is Matthew!”

With obvious reluctance Charles offered his hand. “She's going to be fragile for a while,” he said gruffly.

“Yes, of course.” Matthew reached across the bed to shake hands. “I can't believe I was that stupid.”

Charles's flashing eyes and tightly clamped lips said clearly that
he
couldn't believe it, either. He repositioned Hope's pillow and helped her to get settled again.

As Matthew removed his sport coat and draped it over a chair, Tom spoke from the doorway. “Honey, I'm going to take the old bear home with me for a while. I'll clean him up and give him a decent meal.”

Hearing that did Hope a world of good. “And then you'll tuck him into bed?”

Tom shrugged. “I would if I thought for a moment that he might stay there. But you know he wouldn't. If I can get him away from here long enough to shower and shave, I'm going to call my mission a success.”

Charles ignored the exchange. Still standing beside Hope's bed, he bent to tuck in her bare right foot, which had strayed from beneath the covers. “I'll be back in two hours,” he promised, giving her toes a light squeeze. “Call me on my cell phone if you want anything.” He nodded curtly to Matthew.

Matthew watched him go. “Whew!” he said in a low voice. “Your doctor friend is a little intense, isn't he?”

Hope wouldn't hear criticism of Charles, not even from her favorite brother. “You woke him up,” she accused. “And unless things have changed, you're not exactly ‘Mr. Sunshine' when
you
are awakened from a deep sleep.”

He plopped into a chair and grinned at her. His dark curls tumbled onto his forehead, making him look more like an ornery seventeen-year-old than the responsible husband and father he was. “Things haven't changed, baby.”

 

Charles needed to think about going back to work. Since Hope's accident he'd been calling in favors, but his absence was being felt downstairs. He didn't know how much longer he'd be able to stay away, yet how could he work when he was so tormented by guilt? He'd been responsible for breaking Hope's body as well as her heart.

That was probably why he was so fiercely protective of her now.

The endless parade of visitors grated on his nerves. Matthew's dawn-to-dusk presence was bad enough, but Pastor Bill and a couple of church friends had looked in, too. Claire brought a pretty robe one day and some glossy cooking magazines the next. Tom kept the room filled with flowers.

Hope appeared to be glad to see them all, but Charles thought nothing of throwing people out whenever she needed to rest. Between the constant pain and the recurring nightmares, she wasn't getting much sleep. He hated the way she'd sit bravely in her bed, dispensing sweetness to everyone who came in. Couldn't her friends see the weary lines around her eyes? Didn't they notice the
way her smile wavered when her pain medication began to wear off? Too many people came too often and stayed too long.

Well, they probably couldn't help themselves any more than Charles could. Like moths to a porch light they came, hungry for her warmth. Who could resist Hope's charm? Even Granddad had fallen for her and Mother was probably next.

But she was finally asleep, and Charles was determined that she would receive no more visitors this afternoon.

Matthew was on his way to O'Hare Airport to pick up his and Hope's mother. If only Hope would sleep until they got here. Charles knew when she saw her mother she'd be too excited to rest anymore.

Careful not to disturb her, he propped his feet on the bottom of Hope's bed and leaned back in his chair. He reached for her half-finished cup of ginger ale. The stuff was awful, but there was sugar in it, and maybe that would fool his rumbling stomach into believing it was being fed. He could grab something to eat as soon as Grace Evans and Matthew arrived.

He turned on the television and watched a baseball game without the sound. When the Cubs made a brilliant double play he turned instinctively to Hope, wanting to share it with her, but she was still asleep.

A young, pretty nurse came in. Charles had never seen her before. “Not now,” he said tersely, waving his hand as if to shoo a pesky housefly.

She blinked at him. “Excuse me, sir, but I have to—”

“Come back in an hour,” he said quietly.

“But all I want is to—”

His eyes narrowed and his tone was softly menacing. “You are not going to wake her now. Go tell your supervisor that Dr. Hartman says it's time for your break.”

The nurse's eyes grew round. Apparently, she'd heard the name. She retreated without another word.

Still asleep, Hope sighed and turned her head. Charles watched closely, ready to wake her at the first sign of a bad dream, but she didn't stir again.

It was understandable that she would have nightmares of the accident, but Charles felt her tortured sleep was his fault. He was consumed by guilt and he had no idea what he should do. He would do anything, anything at all to make it better for her. Perhaps he should talk to her mother or even Pastor Bill. They would know what was best for Hope.

A woman appeared in the doorway. She was short and trim, with dark hair and a sweet expression Charles knew very well. She gazed longingly at the sleeping Hope and her large gray eyes shimmered with tears.

Charles scrambled to his feet. “I believe I know who you are,” he said softly.

“I know you, too.” Grace Evans smiled as she walked towards him. “Thank you, Charles, for all you have done.”

All he had done? If this woman had any inkling of what he had done to her sweet daughter, she would clobber him, not thank him, Charles reflected bitterly.

As Grace Evans's arms encircled his waist, something in him snapped. His eyes closed and he clung tightly to her for several long seconds before he dropped his arms and stepped back. “I'm sorry,” he mumbled, deeply disturbed by the hunger he had just revealed.

She tilted her head to look up at him. “No. I think you really needed a hug, didn't you, Charles?”

He opened his mouth to deny it, but then he pressed his lips together and nodded dumbly, shocked by the discovery that he was starving for this kind of human contact.

“Matthew is parking the car,” Grace explained. “He'll be up in a minute. Could we step outside and talk?”

Charles looked at Hope and gave his head a slow, solid shake. “I don't like to leave her,” he said in a low voice. “She has nightmares. They're pretty bad.”

Grace's eyes again brimmed with tears, but none fell. “It was awful, wasn't it?” she asked tremulously. “Please tell me about it, Charles.”

He took her elbow and led her to the far side of the room. “It was a head-on collision,” he said quietly. “Her seat belt broke and it was a miracle that—” He sucked in some air, fighting a growing tightness in his throat. “Anyway, she broke ten ribs, mostly on the right side, and her right lung collapsed. There was a huge tear in her liver, but that was fixable. Her spleen was pretty ripped up, but Dr. Olmstead managed to save most of it. She'll do fine.”

He tried to speak dispassionately, but as he looked into Grace's watery eyes his control began to slip. His stomach lurched as he recalled the horror that had gripped him when he'd been told Hope was on her way to the ER.

Grace was waiting, and he continued in a voice that was not altogether steady. “We had a chest tube in her for a couple of days, but everything's good now. Her left foot is broken in three places and she has a number of cuts and bruises. She'll make a complete recovery, but she'll have some scars.”

Grace had gone pale, but she was tough. “I understand.”

“Her ribs will heal on their own,” Charles said. “We can't bind them because that would interfere with her breathing. So every time she moves, it hurts. She rarely
complains, but you can see in her face how much pain she's in.”

“Poor little thing,” Grace lamented softly. “Oh, my baby!”

“Of course I couldn't operate on her,” Charles said, “but I saw to it that she had the best care, and I stayed with her the whole time. Is there anything else you want to know?”

“What about the nightmares?”

He wanted to fall on his knees before this woman and confess he was to blame for Hope's accident, for her nightmares, for everything. “She remembers the wreck and she remembers being in the emergency room,” he said. “She was in a great deal of pain and it was pretty scary. But I'm sure the nightmares will stop when you take her home.”

Grace observed him keenly. “You look worn out,” she commented. “Why don't you go home and get some rest?”

Home? He'd never thought of his apartment that way. He liked it, but it was little more than a place to hang his suits and his art collection.

Home. Involuntarily his gaze drifted to the young woman in the bed as he thought of a porch swing, a small dog and the aroma of apples and cinnamon. The modest house where Hope lived was the closest thing to home Charles had ever known.

Grace was still watching him. “Charles?” She reached up to give his shoulder a friendly pat. “Go home and sleep.”

He forced himself to smile. “I'm a trauma surgeon, Grace. Sleeping isn't something we're trained to do.”

When she smiled back, he was startled by the gleam of understanding in her kind eyes. Grace Evans had seen
straight through him. She saw his guilt and his confusion, and somehow she knew how very sorry he was.

 

“I'm in trouble,” Hope muttered. “Lord, help me.”

She'd come far enough out of her drug-fog to start worrying. She chewed a fingernail as she stared out the window at a deep blue sky dotted with white cotton-ball clouds.

What was she going to do for a car? And how on earth was she going to pay her hospital bill? “It's going to be thousands of dollars,” she whispered. “And I know my insurance won't cover all of it. Please show me what to do.”

Charles entered the room carrying a large paper bag, and she was more than a little interested to know what it contained. The lunch trays had been passed out an hour ago, but they'd skipped Hope. When she complained to a nurse that she was starving, she'd been told simply that she was supposed to wait for Dr. Hartman.

“That's food, I hope?” she said, eyeing the bag greedily.

“Can't you smell it? Cream-of-asparagus soup. For sandwiches we have smoked turkey. The chicken salad is for your mom. Sorry I took so long. Traffic was awful.”

It touched her that he'd gone all the way to her favorite deli to get her lunch. “Mom had a migraine so I sent her home. But thanks, Charlie. It's a beautiful day, isn't it?”

He put the food on her bedside table. “Then why were you frowning and biting your nails when I came in?”

She hesitated. “I have things on my mind.”

He studied her face. “Yes.” He opened a can of ginger ale and poured it over ice in a tall plastic cup. “Money things, I'll bet.”

She sighed.

“Knock it off, Hope,” he said impatiently. “You know I'll take care of the hospital bill.” He set the cup in front of her and reached into the paper bag.

She watched as he unwrapped the sandwiches. “Charlie, I can't take money from you.”

“Fine,” he said airily. “Then
borrow
from me. You did once, you know. Fifty dollars, if I recall correctly. You paid it back promptly, with some delicious interest, I might add. I'm perfectly willing to do business with you again.”

She looked at him soberly. “But it would take me years to pay you back. If you would even let me.”

She took a drink of her ginger ale. He watched her, waiting for her to set the cup down before he spoke. His voice was low, serious. “Hope, you always insist that every good thing comes to you from God's hand. Is it so inconceivable that just this once He might use me as a conduit for His blessing?”

Hope shook her head in amazement. How did He
do
that? Not five minutes ago she had asked God to show her a way. It had just been offered to her—was she going to reject it? “I give up,” she said simply.

“Good. I'm hungry. Just look at this beautiful soup,” he said, removing the lid from a cup and handing her a spoon.

 

Hope awakened in the night. Her room was darker than usual, so she knew Charles had pulled the curtains and closed the door. She hoped that meant he was sleeping.