When Tomorrow Comes (19 page)

“Danny. My, look at you. You are all dressed up.”

“They got them for me,” he said, grinning as he dipped his head in the direction of the other three.

“Well—you look so nice.”

Danny was not to be sidetracked for long.

“Why are you in bed?”

Amber indicated that Danny should be boosted up to sit beside her, and Wynn lifted the boy. “Because I got a nasty bump in that accident.”

“I see where your face got cut.”

She nodded.

“I gots cuts too.” He fingered the bandages. “But you got more.”

“A few more. Cuts heal.”

Danny nodded. “Where’s your bump?”

“My leg. Not really my leg. Up here.” She pointed out the spot.

“Does it hurt bad?”

She nodded. “It’s broken.”

His eyes widened. “Can they fix it?”

“Yes. But it will take some time. I have to stay in the hospital for a while.”

He frowned.

“But you get to go home now. Well, not home—but to Aunt Mary’s house with Auntie Christine. You get to see all of those cousins.”

Danny looked unsure.

“When will you come?”

“Just as soon as I can.”

That seemed to satisfy the boy. He gave his mother a goodbye hug and left with his grandfather and Aunt Christine. Elizabeth was returning to sit at the bedside of her son. She wanted to be there when he awakened.

“You’re still worried, aren’t you?” Christine asked her father in a low voice on the short drive to Jon’s.

He merely nodded.

“Over her—or him?” She intended to speak vaguely so Danny, who was busy with a new toy car, would not be alarmed.

“Both . . . I guess. The leg will heal, but she could, well . . . you know.”

Christine nodded to let him know she was following his thought.

“And him? The doctor said that he’ll be fine once he—”

“They never know . . . for sure.” Wynn’s voice dropped to nearly a whisper, but not on account of Danny.

“So—”

“Don’t say anything to your mother,” Wynn said quickly. “It would just worry her needlessly. I trust the doctor is right— but the truth is, we won’t know until he wakes up and responds.”

Christine felt her stomach tighten. What if the doctor was wrong? What if Henry did not wake up? Or worse still, to her thinking, what if he awakened, but things were all wrong? What would it do to the entire family? The very thought made her feel sick inside.

Christine did not return to the hospital with her father. They all agreed that it was necessary for Danny to have someone near whom he knew. They need not have worried. His cousins all seemed excited about meeting him, and the boys near his age quickly had him involved in a game. Christine hoped that one of the children wouldn’t inadvertently make a remark that would upset Danny, but the parents assured her that they had passed on as little information as possible. Anything the children knew Danny already knew himself. Christine tried to relax.

Her parents had promised to call the moment there was any change in Henry’s condition. All through the day, Christine watched the clock. She knew those around her were trying valiantly to distract her—to involve her in conversation or activity, but she was unable to concentrate. Her thoughts were entirely on Henry and Amber. Was the baby still safe? Would Henry still be—be Henry when he finally awakened?

By late afternoon Kathleen approached her. “I think Danny is doing just fine with the kids. Would you like someone to drive you over to the hospital?”

Christine didn’t trust herself to speak. She felt tears sting her eyes. “Please” was all she could whisper.

Frank acted as chauffeur. She thanked him sincerely and hurried in to find her parents. They were in Amber’s room, offering consolation through their own grief. She had lost the baby after all.

With a sickness of soul Christine fled the room. She could not bear to hear the young woman’s broken sobs.

She stumbled on to Henry’s room. He was stirring in agitated fashion, but he still had not regained consciousness. Christine could not even bring herself to reach out to touch him. She stood back, watching his struggle for awareness.
Oh,
Henry,
she cried silently,
when you do wake up—if you do wake
up—who’s going to tell you that you and Amber have just lost your
child?

The tears rolled down her cheeks, and she was well into her prayer before she even realized she was pouring out her sorrow and concern to her heavenly Father. What had she said to God? She wasn’t sure. But He knew. He knew. He knew the cry of her heart.

Dear God, I love my brother,
she continued through her tears.
I love him so much. He has been . . . been everything to me.
Please . . . please let him be all right. Let him be . . . be Henry
again
.

She could only wait and pray.

CHAPTER
F
ifteen

Christine finally found the courage to visit Amber later that evening. Amber’s eyes were still red from her weeping, but she was now calm.

“I can hardly bear the thought of having to tell Henry that I have . . . have lost his child,” she said. She picked listlessly at the edge of the white blanket as she lay against the pillow.

“It was your child too,” Christine reminded her.

Amber nodded. “But Henry. He was so excited. He could hardly wait to tell you about it. He wanted to phone the very moment we were the least bit hopeful.”

Christine almost said there would be more babies, but she caught herself. She knew that was not what Amber wished to hear at the present.

“He’ll grieve,” Christine said instead. “But much of his grief will be for you.”

Amber blew her nose and took a shaky breath. Christine feared she had said the wrong thing. But when Amber lifted her eyes to Christine’s, she even managed a weak smile. “I know he will. He is so sweet. So gentle and caring. I never thought I would be blessed with a man like him. I’ve been so . . . not lucky. I don’t like that word. Blessed. Wonderfully blessed.”

“And so has Henry,” Christine stated, bringing a smile to Amber’s pale face.

“You know . . .” Amber began, “I was a bit worried . . . at first. It seems silly now, but . . . Henry was so . . . so dedicated to you, to his parents, that I wondered if he could ever love me as much. But I needn’t have worried. Henry has such a big heart. . . .” The rest was left unsaid. She started over. “I’ve no doubt that he loves me. He shows it a dozen times a day—in so many ways. He’s a wonderful man, your big brother.”

Christine could only nod, her eyes blurred with tears.

A stirring behind the curtain that divided the next bed from Amber’s got their attention. Except for the coming and going of strangers visiting their family members, it was easy to forget there were other patients in the room. Christine tried not to be distracted by the intrusion. She turned back to Amber.

“I just wish I could be with him,” Amber mourned. “It’s so hard being apart.”

Christine silently wondered how much comfort Amber would find in seeing Henry as he was now.

“Even if I could just see him. Know he’s all right.”

“He’s not really all right . . . yet,” Christine said carefully. “But the doctor assures us he will be.”

“Yes . . . I know. They have promised to let me know the minute he wakes up. It seems like it’s taking forever. If I could just speak to him, he might . . .”

“He might,” agreed Christine.

They were quiet for many moments, each deep in thought.

“I worry about Danny. Does he understand what’s happening?” Amber finally asked.

“We haven’t told him any more than necessary. We don’t want him to fret. He seemed fully involved in play when I left the house.”

“Wasn’t it gracious of God to arrange for all those cousins to be here just when Danny needed them?”

Christine had not thought of it that way. She had been thinking their plans had all been totally spoiled.

A nurse entered. “Mrs. Delaney. How are we doing? Have we been able to get any rest? It’s time for another shot.”

Why do they do that?
Christine complained to herself.
Why
do they always say “we” like they are actually part of it all? Well,
perhaps that’s the answer. Maybe they want the patient to feel they
are in this together. They have a companion in their pain
.

“I think I’ll slip back and check on Henry,” Christine said, giving Amber’s hand a squeeze. “I’ll see you later.”

There had been no change in her brother’s condition that Christine could see. Wynn and Elizabeth still talked to him, still touched him, still coaxed him for some response, but there was nothing. Just the occasional fidget or moan.

“Why don’t you go on back to Aunt Mary’s and have something to eat and check on Danny?” Christine suggested. “Then I’ll take a break when you come back.”

“You’re right,” her father agreed, standing up. “If this is going to take a while, we should work out some kind of system. No one can be on duty twenty-four hours a day.”

Elizabeth looked reluctant, but when Wynn brought her coat to her, she did not argue.

Christine settled in the chair by the bed and took Henry’s hand. “Hey . . . wake up,” she said, trying to keep her voice even. “Enough sleep. Open your eyes. Blink. Squeeze my hand. Do something.”

She squeezed his hand. There was no response.

“Good evening.”

The voice and the step brought Christine’s head around. A man in a white lab coat, a hospital chart-board in his hand, stood in the doorway.

“I’m Dr. Carlton,” he said, moving toward the bed. “And you are. . . ?”

“Christine. Christine Delaney.”

“His sister?”

“Yes.”

“Sorry to meet you under such unpleasant circumstances, Miss Delaney,” he said, shaking her hand. He sounded sincere. “It was nice to hear that the little boy was discharged. Danny, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” said Christine again.

Christine stood and moved her chair so the doctor had free access to the bed. He worked quickly, checking instruments and charts and talking to Henry the entire time as though the man was fully awake.

“Your wife, Amber, is doing fine, Henry, but she is anxious to see you. And Danny has gone on to Grandma’s house.”

Christine did not attempt to correct him. There was no need for him to try to untangle the gaggle of relatives who had gathered for the weekend.

“Now we just need to get you going again, Henry. Can you open your eyes for me? Think, Henry. Concentrate hard. Can you open your eyes? Can you squeeze my hand? What about the other one? Squeeze.

“Has he been doing anything?” the doctor asked Christine when there was no visible response. “Have you seen his eyes blink? Move at all?”

“He does move a bit . . . at times. Just . . . just his left hand and . . . and his head some. And he sort of moans. Not words really.”

“That’s encouraging,” the doctor nodded.

Christine could find little encouragement in the feeble description she had just reported.

“At least something is going on in there.” The doctor made some notations on his pad. “The nurses will soon be in to bathe him and change his bed linen.”

Christine assumed this was a polite invitation for her to leave the room.

“I’ll go visit my sister-in-law,” she said, moving toward the door.

“I just came from there. She’s sleeping.”

“Oh. Well . . . I’ll go on down to the lobby, then.”

“There’s a small room for family members right down the hall. Has anyone shown it to you?”

Christine shook her head.

“It’s a bit more relaxing and private than the lobby. Third door on the right. Just walk in.”

He was still writing notes on his chart. Christine murmured her thanks and left.

Third door on the right
. It wasn’t at all hard to find. She was relieved to discover the room was vacant. She took a seat by the one window and laid her head back. She was so weary. So very weary and a long night stretched before them. Was Henry ever going to wake up?

She closed her eyes. Only then did she realize that soft music was coming from somewhere. It was a simple hymn. She knew it. She groped around mentally to find the words. When the song reached the chorus, she followed along silently.

Count your blessings, Name them one by one.
Count your blessings, See what God hath done.
Count your blessings, Name them one by one.
Count your many blessings, See what God hath done
.

Christine let the words wash over her soul. If she were to start to count, just how many would be on her list? She hadn’t been counting blessings. She had been counting woes—but surely . . .

They were all alive—Henry, Amber, and Danny.

They were in a hospital where they could get care.

There could be more babies—painful as the loss was now.

They had family members who loved them and shared their concern.

They were still in God’s hands.

Someone at the door brought Christine’s head up. “You found it,” the doctor said with a smile. “Good. Here—I brought you a coffee. I don’t know how you take it, but it being hospital coffee, I figured it would need all the help I could give it. I put in both cream and sugar. I found a few stale cookies too.”

In spite of herself, Christine smiled. “Thank you,” she said, accepting the cup. “I’ll have to add that to my list.”

“List?”

“I was just sitting here counting my blessings,” she said, with a slight wave toward the corner radio that continued to play.

“That’s a great exercise for all of us.”

“It is,” she replied. “One I had temporarily neglected.”

“You’ve had a lot on your mind,” he said.

Christine took a sip of the coffee. She didn’t normally use sugar, but it was hot and strangely comforting.

“Just how is he?” she asked frankly.

The young doctor shook his head. “These things are so hard to read. It looks like everything should be okay.” He hesitated, deep in thought. “But I wouldn’t stop praying yet,” he said just as frankly.

“So . . . there is a chance that . . . that he could be more seriously—”