Song of Renewal (29 page)

“That’s a problem?” Garrison quipped, chocolate-brown eyes glimmering with laughter.

“Not for him,” Charlcy leaned from Liza’s other side to mutter. “He couldn’t care less, doncha know? Look at ’im.”

Sure enough, when Liza gauged her father’s reaction, she saw him sitting placidly, face straight ahead, expression bland.

Sally dragged a chair up to him, nudged another resident over to squeeze her seat in, and plopped down beside the birthday guy.

“How old are you, Charlie?” she asked coyly.

Pops thought for a moment. “I’m…fifty.”

“Dad,” Charlcy reminded him, “You’re seventy-five today.”

“Nope,” he insisted, rather huffily. “I am
not
seventy-five. I’m…sixty or sixty-five.” He gave a
so what
shrug of his thin shoulders, eyes straight ahead, features set stubbornly.

“Dad.” Dread slid through Liza. “You’re
seventy-five
.” She forced the desperation from her voice
. Lighten up
. “It’s okay, Dad. You’re just on the wrong channel today.”

Her father looked at her, frowning. Then smiled. “Wrong channel.” He grinned widely, nodding in approval. “I like that. I’ll just switch channels.”

Liza relaxed, thankful that Pops’ brain conduit had switched to clarity again.

Then he looked at Charlcy, focusing intently for long moments. “Where is Raymond? Isn’t he with you?”

Charlcy stiffened, glancing at Liza. “N-no, Pops. Raymond couldn’t make it this time.” She picked up her water, and Liza saw her hand tremble when she turned it up for a gulp.

“Why not?” His voice turned testy, his lined face stormy. “Raymond hasn’t been to see me for a long, long time. Why doesn’t he come to see me anymore? As far as that goes, why don’t
you
come anymore? I haven’t seen you in ages, girl. That’s not showing respect for your father.”

“Pops.” Charlcy visibly fought to hold it together. “I come three or four times a week. Every week. Liza comes the other three or our days. We rotate.”

“Nobody comes anymore,” he intoned, gazing off into middle distance, his countenance inordinately grieved.

“Dad.” Liza reached to take his hand. “We come – ”

He snatched his hand back as if stung by her touch. Then he stared at her in a way that chilled Liza. It was that blank yet hostile set of his features that sparked dread. The unknowing eyes that snatched away her cloak of daddy-security. The hairs on her neck and arms sprang to life.

“Who are you, anyway?” His voice rose on an exasperated pitch. He peered around as if trapped in a horror chamber. “Get these people out of here,” he commanded. “I don’t want them here. Why are you all staring at me? Huh?”

An aide appeared at his shoulder. “Come on, Charlie. We’ll go to your room.”

“I don’t want to go,” he sputtered, resisting the tugs on his arm. “Please don’t touch me.”

Liza felt Garrison gently grip her arm and nudge her to leave.

“Dad – ” Tears stung the backs of her eyes at the pitiful desperation in her father’s voice, this man who was once so indomitable, even in the face of her mother’s barrage of indignities against him. He’d remained, even then, a protector, good and honorable…loving unconditionally.

Now he was reduced to pleading.
Please be kind to him
. She heard herself exhale on a sob.

“Shh.” Garrison nodded to the door. “Let’s leave him in peace.”

With tears flowing, Liza allowed Garrison to steer her from the room. Her father’s shouts trailed them.

“Get away from me, you crazy woman.” His wrath toward Sally rattled the airwaves and Liza recoiled at the vehement display, one so unlike the father of her upbringing.

Liza turned in time to see the aide and another staffer pry Sally from her Dad’s side and propel her from the room. She was in tears, confused and distraught.

“Why is he shouting at me?” Sally wailed pitifully, unfortunately lucid.

Liza wanted to cover her ears, squeeze her eyes shut, and delete the entire scene as, outside in an early dusk, Garrison jogged to the parking lot for the car. She and Charlcy huddled on the curb waiting for him.

Silent. Stunned. Despite her earlier resolutions to soar above the clouds, Liza felt it all caving in on her.

But just then, she felt Charlcy’s arm slip around her.

“It’s okay, baby,” her sister whispered. “It’s okay.

And she knew that it was.

chapter fourteen

Garrison refused to let his spirits dampen when Angel didn’t immediately return to them. He and Liza agreed on that point. They would not let despair creep back in to sully their belief. In truth, they agreed on most everything these days.

“I’m glad to have you back in my bed,” Liza said, stretching sinuously against her husband. He loved it.

“Mmm, glad to be back.” He rolled half over on her, twining his leg with hers, his lips exploring her neck. “You’ve got the softest, most beautiful neck and shoulders.” He snuggled closer. “You feel so good,” he groaned. “All that dancing is making you into a streamlined form of yourself.”

She pouted her lips. “You didn’t like the old me?”

“I loved the original…but baby, just look at you now.” He gazed into her eyes. “I don’t ever want to leave your side again.”

She captured his face with both hands and whispered, “You’d better not.”

He grinned then. “If you ever leave me, I’ll just tag along.”

“I’m counting on it.”

Yep, they agreed on most everything lately.

“Garrison?” She gazed deeply into his eyes.

“Hmm?”

“I don’t see it anymore.”

“What?”

“The condemnation.”

“I’m sorry, Liza,” he whispered. “That should never have been. I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”

Her eyes darkened. “Making up…mmm…sounds delicious.”

His lips curled into a slow, lazy smile. “My specialty.”

And in those moments in time, they were able to put aside the dark crisis that raged at Restorative Care. It shatterproofed and recharged them for the battle they faced.

They packed up the unfinished painting and Liza’s portable stereo with some of her choice music discs. “It can’t hurt, having these there in the room. Y’know?” she said.

“I agree,” Garrison said, carefully placing them in the car trunk.

At the hospital, they set up the easel and painting in the room’s far corner, facing the bed. Liza began softly playing selections of her music.

They resumed their vigil on either side of the bed. Across the white shrouded figure, their gazes now reflected hope.

Two days later, Liza, purse in hand, joined Garrison downstairs, where he’d gone to the foyer closet to retrieve his briefcase and double check his agenda. They’d both dressed in casual jeans for the Saturday Restorative Care bedside vigil.

“I should be fairly free for a few days.” Garrison’s appreciative eyes scanned Liza from head to toe while hers swept his lean frame, assessing the finely chiseled features and softly waved, slightly wayward salt-and-pepper hair. And it was as though this was that first flush of intimacy all over again. The excitement of discovery, of exclusivity. Awareness shot through her in
the most cherished, timeless way. In a way that felt scrumptious and right.

Liza couldn’t believe the blast of chemistry between the two of them since the night of their renewal. With its upsurge came the power to face all other adversities.

“The Vanhauser account put us over the top.” Garrison opened the closet door. “I just want to take stock of the list Gwen has compiled of pending accounts in different time slots. I’m pretty certain none are coming up for several days.”

He tugged the briefcase from the top shelf. It snagged a package that toppled out, barely missing his head and bouncing off his shoulder. It thudded onto a colorful Persian runner and landed at his feet.

Liza picked up the package “What’s this?” She turned it over and read the mailing label. Her heart leaped. “This is from Troy. To Angel.” She looked at Garrison, who gazed back, eyes mirroring her own powerful emotions.

“I’d forgotten it was there,” he muttered.

With trembling fingers, she tore open the box. Slowly, she lifted out a tissue-wrapped figurine. Her fingers trembled. It was an idealized version of Scrounger, the mutt Angel and Troy had so sadly mourned. But the resemblance was uncanny. She pulled the accompanying note from the box.

She read it and handed it to Garrison.

Stunned, they gazed at each other. Liza started to put the figurine back on the closet shelf. Then a gut feeling kicked in. She tucked it and the note in her large purse. “This belongs at her bedside.”

Dr. Abrams’ prognosis remained grim. “We did the cultures to determine the appropriate antibiotic and the proper dosage to use for ARDS. Along with that, we’ve also used moderate
doses of corticosteroids for inflammation. Now, we just wait and see. I wish I could promise that she’ll recover. But at this point – honestly – the bottom line depends upon her will to live.”

Garrison repositioned the easel and painting near the window, where sunlight blended with the light spilling from the portrait.

It would either happen or not. Liza carefully placed the ceramic figurine and stood the note on Angel’s bedside table, facing their daughter. Then she and Garrison pulled chairs up to either side of the bed and held the girl’s hands. Charlcy and Penny sat unobtrusively in the background, keeping silent vigil as well. Liza’s music wafted softly from her portable stereo. Today’s selections were from
Don Quixote
, along with John Barry’s
Dances with Wolves
and
Out of Africa
movie themes.

Garrison’s and Liza’s eyes met across the bed. Liza said softly, gathering courage about her, “It’s up to her now.”

Garrison nodded, his eyes dark with purpose. They closed their eyes and focused on the portrait with the lily pond and the Love Tree. On family love….the mystical healing of unconditional love and forgiveness. On renewal.

Heads bowed, having done all they could do, they once more took up their vigil.

Blackness clung and cloyed as Angel struggled toward the glimmer of light.

She groaned soundlessly and broke free into the misty light spilling over the dance floor where her feet connected with parquet. She recoiled slightly…wanting to be somewhere else. A sideboard in the distance, laden with gooey frosted cakes and goodies beckoned to her…tantalizing her…her finger dipped furtively into frothy icing, but guilt stopped her from indulging.
From the barre, Mama, face worried, silently called to her, holding out bread to her. Angel couldn’t understand what she was trying to tell her. On the far side of the studio, Daddy wiped his paintbrush on a cloth and smiled at her. Love pulled so strongly at her that she nearly flew through the air to them, but – something held her back. Angel spun away from them both…away, away, away…floating toward him…she knew he was there somewhere near the lily pond. But where?