Author's Note: We're getting settled into the new house and I'm getting some good writing time again. Of course, now we've got the grandkids visiting, so who knows when I'll get the next chapter written! I'll try to have it by next week, but no promises. I'll be busy chasing a five-year-old and a six-year-old around the house, trying to keep them occupied and entertained. We're hoping to break their screen addiction while they're visiting, so that means getting out of the house and doing things.
Oh, and just a note for those who may be wondering. In the clamor of moving, I forgot to make mention of the Fourth of July in chapter 13. I finally decided to set that chapter on the 5th of July instead. Just imagine the guys enjoying a cookout at the Stanley house on the Fourth and watching the fireworks from there.
I've done the scene showing Mike's surgery a little differently from my usual. That scene has two POV characters. Beth's POV is in plain text and Mike's POV is in italics.
I hope you enjoy this chapter, and I hope that those of you who love Mike aren't too angry at me by the end of it!
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July 5, 1977
Johnny stood just inside the front door of Harriet DeSoto's house. It felt weird, being here without her. He'd been made welcome many times in these rooms. Drawn in by Harriet's friendly smile, offered a seat at the dining table or in the immaculate sitting room. According to Roy, Harriet had a history of adopting her kids' friends. Johnny was no exception. She lavished as much love on him as she did on Roy and Marta. In fact, she was the one who got the DeSoto kids to call him Uncle Johnny.
Now she was gone. The loss hadn't hit Johnny hard until this moment. He'd guarded his heart, refusing to burden Roy with his grief. Still, his heart ached. From the very beginning, when he was first assigned to work with Roy, Harriet welcomed him into the family. She remembered his birthdays and made him a part of things at Christmas. When he was injured while JoAnne's sister was visiting, Harriet had insisted he come stay in her guest room. He'd found it strange at first, but he'd learned to appreciate it, and he'd learned to love Harriet. Aunt Taloa had always been his aunt, not his mother. Uncle Tahlako had never wanted children, but after Johnny's father died, he'd been willing to take the boy in over the summers when he wasn't at boarding school, until he was old enough to work as a ranch hand. Then he moved with them to California and worked when he wasn't in school. Johnny and his uncle had respected one another, but there hadn't been much love there. He knew Taloa loved him, but she was always circumspect about it. She was a very reserved person, staid and proper. Harriet had offered him a mother's love without reserve.
His eyes grew wet. He felt the tears beginning to roll and he didn't try to stop them. He sank to the floor and wept. Buck stepped onto his lap and licked the salty tears from his face. Johnny buried his face in the pup's shaggy fur.
He wasn't sure how long they sat together, Buck offering what comfort he could. When he finally sat up and looked around, dusk was settling over the world outside. Johnny's stomach growled. He needed to eat, but he didn't feel like being alone. He reached into his pocket. He'd asked Dr. Schiller for her phone number, and she'd given it to him. Maybe she would come over and make pizza with him. Not anything romantic. Just two friends, eating something tasty and watching a movie. He reached for the phone and called her. To his surprise, she agreed to come over and said she'd stop on the way to get everything they needed to make pizza. Johnny was partial to the Chef Boyardee pizza kits, but he didn't mention it. He would let Alina Schiller make the choices.
"Do you like pepperoni and sausage?" she asked.
"Oh yeah. And Alina, whatever it costs, I'll cover it." He smiled. If Harriet was looking down from Heaven, she would be pleased he was having dinner with Alina Schiller. She was as bad as Jo, trying to find him a steady girlfriend. But she'd always told him, "Build a friendship first, Johnny. It's much better that way."
Ever eager for romance, he'd waved away her advice before. Now he wondered if there was something to it. Certainly, his own methods hadn't worked very well. Maybe he should try hers. If he were interested in a woman, that is. He was still feeling a bit gun shy. Friendship felt less threatening. Besides, he and Dr. Schiller had Buck in common. How could it go wrong?
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Marco lay awake in his sleeping bag. He was exhausted but he couldn't sleep. It was way too hot and the ground was hard, even with a foam camping mat between him and it. But if he threw off the sleeping bag, he was exposed to mosquitos and other biting bugs. The charred smell still hanging in the air reminded him of the fire that had destroyed the house. Thank God Mateo had gotten Mama out in time. Mama. He hadn't seen her rehab facility yet. He had quit his job planning to spend all his time with her, but now he had to be here. No one else had the time to do it. Mateo would spell him for a few hours after his shift tomorrow so he could go check on Mama. He hoped she was doing well.
He patted the rifle he kept next to him. If looters came, he was ready. Please, God. No looters. We've had enough to deal with without that. They had their insurance money and tomorrow he would make plans for rebuilding. He wanted to build the house up again exactly as it had been before the explosion. Whether he could manage that, he wasn't entirely sure.
He'd been born in this house, in Mama and Papa's room in the back. All the Lopez kids were born at home under the care of Mama's mother, Abuela Lucia, who came from Lomas de Santa Anita for each birth. Abuela had lavished them all with so much love whenever she visited. Marco had spent a couple of summers with her in Mexico before she passed away. He loved her dearly. Even when she wasn't visiting them in Carson, her spirit loomed large. She was always weaving blankets and knitting sweaters for them. Abuela Lucia seemed convinced that no matter the temperature outside, they were always freezing. "Put on a sweater!" she would insist. Now everything she had made for them, all the precious quilts and sweaters, were nothing but ash. Well, a few survived — the ones that his siblings had taken with them as they moved on. But Marco had lived with Mama, and so his reminders of Abuela's love were gone forever.
It was spooky camping here, where he'd always been sure of a roof and three square meals a day. At least he didn't have to worry about the meals. Lupita was bringing him breakfast in the morning. Pepita was in charge of lunch, and Rosita would bring him dinner. But he wanted his old house back, every creaky inch of it. He wanted to sit in the living room, listening to Mama and Rosita banter as they worked in the kitchen, to smell Mama's culinary delights instead of that awful ashy stench. What he wouldn't give to feast on Mama's carne asada and street corn again.
He heard rustling outside his tent. He sat up like a shot and reached for the rifle. Was that a person out there? "Who's there?" he barked.
"Meow."
Marco took a deep breath. Just a cat. Not a looter. Something butted against the side of the tent. Marco unzipped the door and looked out. Then he grinned. "Perro!" Yes, Mama had named her cat "Dog." The animal acted like a dog, begging for treats and petting and had even learned to sit and lie down on command.
Marco scooped the cat up in his arms and rubbed his face against its soft fur. "I'm glad to see you, Perro. Mama will be glad too." The cat was heavier than ever — he must have been feasting on rodents since the quake. Marco took the lid off his thermos and poured some water into it, then set it in front of Perro. The cat lapped up a whole cup of water. "I'll ask Mateo to bring you some cat food in the morning," Marco promised.
He lay back down in his sleeping bag. Perro curled up next to him, licked his face with a scratchy tongue, and soon both were sound asleep together.
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July 6, 1977
Beth kissed Mike's hand. She brushed the hair from his brow and traced the sign of the cross on his forehead. "Oh, my love, may God bless and keep you and bring you back to me soon. In Jesus' Name, Amen."
"Amen. I love you too, Bethy." He caressed her cheek. "See ya soon."
"See you soon." She kept the worry out of her expression, willing him to see only confidence and assurance. But this surgery scared her. Something just didn't feel right.
Once he was gone, she wheeled her chair out of his room. She would be so glad to get out of the thing, but it would be a few more weeks before the casts came off and she could start PT. At the nurse's station, she told Nurse Cantor where she could be found when the surgery was over. Then she headed for the elevator. Downstairs, she made her way to the chapel. Dr. Early had said the operation would take a couple of hours. She would spend that time in prayer.
Mike stared up at Dr. Early. "Sure hope this is the last time I see you this way, Doc." The sedative was starting to work. This wasn't like the morphine, which made him loopy. This sedative was really knocking him flat. Mike felt his eyes getting heavy. Then everything went dark.
Her Rosary at hand, Beth bowed her head. After reciting the Our Father, she said the Hail Mary. Then she began her prayers specifically for Mike. Each time she came to a larger bead on the Rosary, she said another Hail Mary. It wasn't exactly a proper Rosary, but she believed that God wanted to hear the prayers of her heart.
As the first hour wore on, her concerns grew. By the end of the second hour, a sense of impending doom had settled over her. "Please, God. Don't take Mike away from us. We need him. We love him. We're still reeling from losing his mom. Please, God. We can't handle another loss like that." She blinked back tears. Something was wrong. She could feel it.
Mike awoke to the sound of birds singing. His shoulder no longer hurt. In fact, he felt stronger than ever. When he blinked open his eyes, he saw a cloudless blue sky overhead. He was lying in a grassy meadow, closer to the sky than he'd ever been. To one side was a steep cliff. To the other, was a forest. In the distance, he heard water trickling. He sat up, intrigued. Wasn't he just having surgery at Rampart? How did he get here? Did I die? He wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer to that question.
He got to his feet and followed the sound of running water. The noise was musical, a pleasant accompaniment to the birdsong. It led him into the woods, where the sound of the birds ceased entirely. Oddly enough, there was no sound of a breeze, no chittering of squirrels, nothing that he would expect in the woods, except the water. Somehow, he knew he'd find answers if he just got to the source of that sound.
At last he came to the stream. He felt desperately thirsty, but he didn't stop to take a drink. He was driven by the need to seek the source of the stream, to find the answers he longed for. He walked along the bank until he came to a lion. It's Ian's dream. Somehow I've found my way into it.They'd been reading the Narnia books together, so it was a logical explanation. But something about this didn't feel like a dream.
The lion gazed at him. "If you are thirsty, you may drink."
Those were the words Aslan had spoken to Jill. Mike was desperately thirsty, but he also felt the same fears Jill had upon encountering Narnia's Lion for the first time. "You have swallowed up girls and boys, women and men, kings and emperors, cities and realms," Mike said. "I don't dare move past you, lest you devour me."
Aslan bent close to whisper in Mike's ear. "If you wish to dwell in my realm, you must drink the water I offer."
"Did I die then?" Mike caught in a sharp breath. He wanted to stay in this peaceful, beautiful place. He wanted to follow Aslan into his country and make a home there. But a part of him longed to be with his boys, his wife, and his father.
"You have not yet died," Aslan said. "Your heart has reacted badly to the anesthesia. Death is imminent." He nodded his head and Mike followed the movement. Up against a smooth rock face, he watched images from the operating room in Rampart. His heart monitor was beeping erratically as Dr. Early applied the defibrillator.
Beth dropped her Rosary in her lap. Her voice failed her. Perhaps silence was in order. Head bowed, eyes closed, she raised her hands. Please, God. An image filled her mind of Mike, eyes closed, face pale, lips tinged with blue. She could swear she heard Dr. Early say, "We've lost him, Kel." She burst into tears.
Soon, a sense of peace washed over Beth. She pulled a handkerchief out of her purse and dried her tears. God would help her handle whatever she faced. She wouldn't go through any of it alone. Even so, she continued to pray for Mike. "Whatever you have in store for him, Father, please walk with him through it all."
Mike felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see his mother standing beside him. "Beth and Nik and the boys have just suffered a big loss, son. They don't need to lose you too. Go back to them."
"Can I go back?" Mike felt numb. He didn't want to leave his family. He also didn't want to leave his mother. He reached a hand to touch her face. She was so precious to him. He craved her counsel.
"The choice is yours, Michael." Aslan's deep voice rumbled in his other ear. "You may remain here or you may return."
Mike kissed his mother. He knelt before Aslan and bowed his head. "I thought Ian just had a dream. But this is real, isn't it?"
"It is." Aslan's voice was a low growl, but not a menacing one. "You see me now as you have imagined me through the story-world. One day, you will see me as I truly am."
Suddenly, they were on the edge of the cliff. Mike had made his choice. "I have to go back. I love you, Mom." He kissed and hugged her. Then he felt himself floating away. Should I have told Aslan I love him too? Maybe that sounded hokey. He didn't care.
He felt the Lion's voice inside him. "I know, Son."
Mike was floating on Lion's breath, like Eustace and Jill. Like Ian. He closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep, only to be awakened by voices. Dr. Early's. Dr. Brackett's.
"He's back, Kel!"
A loud sigh. Then, "Thank God." And then Mike fell asleep again.
The chapel door squeaked as someone opened it. When Beth turned, she saw Dixie. The nurse looked very serious. Her eyes were dark and stormy. Beth's heart sank.
Dixie took a deep breath. She knelt and took Beth's hands. "Beth, Mike had a heart attack as we were closing him up. Joe and Kel defibrillated him, but his heart stopped. He wasn't breathing. We were sure we had lost him. Then, suddenly — and we can't explain why — his heart started beating again. He started breathing again."
Beth closed her eyes and took in a deep calming breath. "He's alive?"
"Yes, he's alive." Dixie's voice was still serious, but gratitude was welling up in Beth's heart. The sense of doom had faded away. "But we don't know what the outcome will be. He went several minutes without oxygen. He's been moved to Recovery. Joe is keeping an eye on him."
"He's going to be OK." Beth wasn't sure where her sense of certainty came from. Well, actually, she was sure. She breathed a silent prayer of thanks. "I've been praying for him. God brought him back."
Dixie's eyes dropped to the floor. "I hope so, Beth. But there's no guarantee. The lack of oxygen — it could affect his brain."
Beth shook her head. "No. He's going to be OK. I know it." She squeezed Dixie's hands. "Thank you, Dixie. You'll see. Please let me know when I can go see him. I'll stay here and pray until then."
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Liliana Lopez was hard at work in the rehab center kitchen. Cooking was part of the rehab here. Patients prepared the meals alongside their therapists. Today they were using her recipe for Ojos de Buey. Kneading the sweet dough was good exercise for her hands, and everyone would love the special treat.
Lili slid her eyes to the side to look at Sylvia Moreno. Everyone except Sylvia would love the treat. Sylvia didn't like anything Liliana Lopez did. They had met on Lili's first day at the center. That afternoon, the patients who enjoyed cooking had worked with their therapists to prepare their own mole recipes. Lili's had taken first place in the taste-testing. Sylvia's came in fourth. That moment set the stage for their relationship. Whatever Lili did after that, Sylvia resented it. Lili sighed. She would love to change that. She tried to be friendly to Sylvia in spite of the woman's nasty attitude. Sometimes it was hard, though.
Regulating her emotions had been difficult since her stroke. Sometimes anger bubbled up inside her and she found herself letting loose, spouting out words she never would have said in the past. Words she would have washed out of her children's mouths with the foulest tasting soap she could find. When the anger passed, she would cry over what she'd done. She didn't like this new facet of her personality. Julia, her therapist, said it was normal, that a stroke could affect how a person dealt with emotions. Eventually, the young woman said, Lili would gain greater control over her tongue and her angry outbursts. For now, though, she just tried to stay out of Sylvia's way, because she didn't want to use those words against anyone, no matter how they aggravated her.
That didn't mean Sylvia made it easy. She made a habit of confronting Lili whenever she could. Now she was sneering down her nose at Lili's efforts to knead the dough. "It's going to have a terrible consistency if you can't manage it better, Liliana."
The anger flashed. Lili glared at Sylvia. The words were there at the back of her throat, threatening to spill out in a flood. But Julia's hand on her back reminded her that she didn't have to say everything that came into her head. She took several deep calming breaths, swallowed the anger, turned away from Sylvia, kept the words at bay. As her nemesis flounced away, Lili continued kneading the dough. There would be nothing wrong with her Ojos de Buey. Victory felt good.
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Roy was exhausted. He'd spent all morning working hard at PT. He'd regained full movement of his good leg, and he hoped once his cast was off, he'd be ready to walk again. Next week they would let him try getting up on crutches, but for this week he was still stuck in the wheelchair. Once he was steady on crutches, his PT had promised him he could go home and do the rest of his therapy on an outpatient basis.
Cindy, a high-school junior working her first job, brought in his lunch. "Here you go, Mr. DeSoto. Chicken cordon bleu with green beans and roast potatoes." She grinned. "I'd avoid the green beans, but the chicken and potatoes aren't that bad."
"Thanks for the warning." He yawned. He could have eaten lunch in the dining hall with the other denizens of the rehab center, but he was too tired. He preferred to eat here in the privacy of his room, where he could doze off mid-meal if he needed to. He pushed the green beans aside — they looked nasty — and started on the chicken. Cindy was right, it was decent.
He was halfway through his meal when he heard a knock at the door. "Come in," he called. He figured it was a doctor here to check him over, or maybe one of the therapists.
Instead, he looked up to see the fire department chaplain, Father Conner, holding a grocery bag. Conner had been a firefighter before going to seminary and had continued to serve in the department on top of his position in a Catholic church in Long Beach. Roy wasn't Catholic, but he respected the man. Everyone in the department knew that Conner had risked his own life to save the lives of ten other firefighters when he was still a lineman. He'd been injured and lost an arm, but everyone else had walked away without a scratch. Conner didn't like to talk about it — he wasn't interested in the limelight or the reminder of what he had lost — but the story got around anyway.
"Hello, DeSoto." Father Conner took a seat by Roy's bed and set the grocery bag on the floor. "I'm sorry I haven't visited you before now. You wouldn't believe the number of people I've had on my list to visit since the quake. I'm really sorry to hear about your mother."
"Thanks, Father." Roy pushed the rest of his chicken away. Suddenly he wasn't hungry. He couldn't help thinking of those letters Julia had given him. Part of him wanted to unload everything on Father Conner, but he pushed that idea away. Talking about it would make it real.
Father Conner pulled a pack of cards out of his pocket. "How about a game of Texas Hold 'Em?"
Relief washed over Roy. He needed a distraction, something to get his mind off those letters. "Sure, Father. Sounds good."
Then Conner bent down and retrieved something from the bag. Two large bags of M&Ms. "I figured we could use these. Greens are 50, yellows are 20, oranges are 10, tans are 5, and browns are 1. Small blind of one and big blind of two."
Roy chuckled. "Works for me."
Conner offered Roy the cards to shuffle. Roy gave them back and the priest dealt two hole cards to each of them. Roy looked at his cards — a Jack of hearts and a ten of spades. He pushed a brown M&M into the pot. Conner countered with two brown M&Ms. "I'll raise it by ten." Roy added an orange M&M to the mix. After that, he ate a handful.
"Hey!" Conner protested. "Don't eat those! I intend to win them back!"
Roy laughed. This felt good. It was something normal, something fun. "Hey, Father. You brought M&Ms to a man who's been stuck eating hospital food for weeks. What did you expect?"
"True enough," Conner conceded with a sigh. "Enjoy. But not too many." He added another orange M&M to the pot. "I call." Then he dealt three cards face up. A Jack of diamonds, a ten of hearts, and a Queen of spades.
With his hole cards, Roy had two pairs. It was his turn to bet. He pushed a green M&M into the pot.
Conner eyed his cards and the community cards and frowned. Finally, he said, "I'll call." He pushed a green M&M into the pot. Roy watched his opponent carefully. The priest had an honest face. From what Roy had heard, Conner was notoriously bad at poker because he couldn't keep his emotions out of his expression. He may have called the bet, but he wasn't happy with his cards. He turned one more card face up, setting it next to the other community cards. A two of diamonds.
The two wasn't useful to Roy, but that was OK. He bet another green M&M. Conner called it, then laid the final community card face up. A Jack of clubs. This gave Roy a full house. This time, he pushed two green M&Ms into the pot.
Conner studied his cards. Finally, with a heavy sigh, he laid his cards down. "I fold." He turned his hole cards face up so Roy could see them. An eight of diamonds and a three of hearts.
"Full house." Roy laid his hole cards down to show his hand. Then he reached for the pot and grinned as he ate every single M&M.
"This just isn't my game," Conner admitted.
Roy chuckled. "So I've heard. No wonder you decided to play for M&Ms instead of money." Both men were eating from the candy bags now. "Thanks for coming, Father. I appreciate it."
"Glad I could. How's your therapy going?" Conner sorted through his handful of candies and removed the orange ones. "Those just don't taste as good. I liked the red better."*
"I don't notice any difference." Roy ate another handful. "Therapy's hard but good. I'm told to expect a full recovery. I should be back to work in six months."
Conner's hand came down on his. "May I pray for you, Roy?"
Roy shrugged. He wasn't religious, not like Jo was. But he liked Father Conner. Mom would have liked Father Conner. Ian's words came back to him. …Your mom came to us… she said I should tell my Uncle Roy she was in a good place and she hoped she would see you there one day. Suddenly he wanted the Father's prayers. He needed them. "Uh… sure, Father. I'd appreciate that."
The priest traced the sign of the cross on Roy's forehead. "Omnipotent and eternal God, I ask you to remember Roy DeSoto as he recovers from his injuries. Give him the strength and stamina to make the most of his therapy. Thank you that his prognosis is good. Father, you have already been taking care of his body. I pray that you would also give peace and comfort to his heart. I see the sorrow in his eyes. Abide with him, that he might know your compassion. In Jesus' Name I believe and pray, Amen."
As the prayer ended, Roy yawned. Father Conner chuckled. "Looks like you need some rest. Call me anytime if you need to talk."
"Thanks, Father." Roy's eyes were drifting shut. Before Conner was out of the room, he was sound asleep.
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Chet hadn't seen much of Kitty for the past few days. She'd been busy getting ready for the wedding. He wished Marco could be around to help him, but Marco was having to camp out on Mama Lopez's land to keep anyone else from claiming the property. His dad had registered a homestead, and that meant someone had to be living on the property so it wouldn't be considered abandoned.
Someone knocked on his door. "Come in," Chet called. He was sitting up in bed working on a new drawing, another one of Kitty. He studied his red pencils, considering which would be the best to capture Kitty's curls. He loved her hair. It wasn't a bright red, bordering on orange. It was more a deep, dark coppery red.
A young man walked into the room. Chet didn't know him from Adam. The guy coming in had the same shade of red hair and his smile looked just like Kitty's. "You must be one of the brothers," Chet said.
"Guilty as charged." Kitty's brother took a seat. "I'm Liam. The youngest of the McIntire boys. And I guess you're Chet." His eyes drifted to the sketch in front of Chet. "Whoa, is that our Plain Jane?"
Chet frowned. "Nothin' plain about her. She's beautiful."
Liam shrugged. "She sent me to ask how I can help you get ready for the wedding. I'm the friendly brother. She figured I'd get along with you better than Seamus, Cillian, Callum, and Pat."
Chet laughed. "All those Irish names. Why didn't Kitty get one?"
Liam's eyebrows shot up. "Oh, but she did. She's officially Cáitín Sinéad McIntire." Liam pronounced it Kawtcheen Shinade. "In third grade the kids teased her, and she decided she preferred Katherine Jane, Katie for short — we boys turned Katie into Kitty."
He leaned back, clearly trying to make himself comfortable in an uncomfortable chair. "So, Chet. Tell me how you're going to take care of our little sister."
Chet's eyebrows knit together. He could always work Dispatch out of HQ, but he wanted to focus on his artwork. Still, Liam was a burly farm boy and Chet was not exactly at his strongest right now. "I can work Dispatch with the Fire Department, but I'm also going to focus on my artwork. I've already been offered a job doing the artwork for a friend's new restaurant. Someday, if I can, I'll just do art. But I'll make sure Kitty is well cared for. She won't have to work unless she wants to."
Liam nodded slowly. "Your art is good. But when you meet our dad, talk about working Dispatch. He's not so keen on the starving artist idea."
"Got it." Chet ducked his head. "Liam, I hope you and I can be friends."
Kitty's brother winked. "Well, that all depends on how happy my sister is with you. Now, let's talk about the wedding. Kitty has a guy coming in to take your measurements for a tux. She figured you didn't want to get married in a hospital gown. What else do you need?"
"A ring. I've got my grandmother's ring." Chet pointed to a ring box sitting on the counter. His mom had brought it by earlier in the day. "It's real pretty. Can you get it sized for her?"
"Sure thing. How about a priest?"
Chet caught in his breath. He hadn't been to mass for ages, even though Marco had encouraged him to go. "The fire department chaplain is a Catholic priest. I'll give him a call… unless there's someone Kitty prefers."
"Call your chaplain. I think she'd be happy with that." Liam got to his feet. He tucked the ring box in his pocket. "I'm glad to meet you, Chet. I'll talk with you later. Bye."
And just like that, he was out the door and Chet was alone again.
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When Mike opened his eyes, he was no longer in the OR. Dr. Early was sitting next to the bed, watching him, his eyes shadowed. "I'm back, Doc," Mike said weakly. His bandaged shoulder ached. "And man, do I have a story to tell."
A wry smile lifted the corners of Early's mouth. "You gave us a real scare, Mike. As we were stitching you up, you had a heart attack. We defibrillated, but your heart stopped altogether. Mike, you died on the table. Then suddenly, out of nowhere, your heart started beating again. It's beyond explanation." He shook his head. "If I didn't already believe in miracles, I would now." The doctor squeezed his good shoulder. "I've been sitting here, waiting for you to wake up. I wasn't sure if I'd have good news for Beth or bad."
"I'm OK, Doc." Mike sighed. "At least, I think I am. I'm awful tired."
"Understandable. Get some rest." Dr. Early got to his feet. "I'll have them move you up to a new room. Beth will be up to see you soon. You'll be spending a few days in Cardiac Care, undergoing tests. We want to find out what went wrong."
"Bad reaction… to anesthetic." Wasn't that what Aslan had said? Mike's eyes were heavy. He let them drift shut. He was too tired to tell the story now. He just needed a little sleep.
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Julia watched as D.J. played with his toy dog at the park. Jim was several yards away, pushing Megan on the swings while JoAnne was on the other side of the playground watching Chris on the monkey bars. The dog was DJ's favorite toy. He loved to crawl after it if someone else was pulling it along. But now he was tired. He rested his cheek on the grass and blinked drowsily. Julia checked her watch. It was about his naptime.
He was such a sweet child. How had she not seen that before? How had she missed that his smile lit up a room? She picked him up and nestled him against her chest. He blinked his eyes, lodged a thumb in his mouth, and began drifting off.
A little blond-haired boy, maybe seven or eight years old, came trotting over. He stared at D.J. for a long moment, the corners of his mouth turning down. Finally, he asked, "What's wrong with that kid anyway?"
Julia stared at the boy. She wanted to yell at him. She wanted to scold and shout and call his mother over to scold her too. But that would wake the child sleeping peacefully on her chest. And besides, very recently, she was the one who had thought there was something wrong with D.J. Could she blame a child for what she herself had done?
"Nothing's wrong with him," she answered. "God made him special. He's a sweet little fellow." A month ago, she would have scoffed at those words. Now she meant them whole-heartedly. "He may look a little different, and he may learn things a little slower than other children, but that's all right."
The little boy stared for another minute and then nodded his head. "OK." He turned around and strode over to the slides.
Joy washed over Julia. She liked being D.J.'s defender. It felt so much better than complaining about him ever did. She shifted the boy in her arms and bent to kiss his reddish curls. "Grandma loves you, little one," she whispered as she cradled him close.
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When Mike next awoke, Beth was sitting beside him, her hand wrapped around his. He still felt weak, but he curled his fingers around hers in a light squeeze. "Now there's a sight for sore eyes," he whispered.
"Oh, Mike!" Tears sprang to her eyes. "I was so scared." She pulled his hand to her lips and kissed the back of it. "It's good to see you awake."
"I'll be OK, honey." Mike tried to sit up, but he couldn't manage it, so he just clung to her hand. "Just awful tired."
"Rest, Mike. Go back to sleep. The boys are fine with the Stanleys. I'll be here when you wake up." She kissed his hand again. As he drifted off, he was aware that her hand had never left his.
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Beth had nodded off when a knock at the door awakened her. She looked up to see an older man sticking his head in the door. "Hello?"
"Hello, Ma'am. I'm Barney Olsen. I was supposed to meet with Mike today."
"I'm Beth Stoker, Mike's wife." Beth offered her free hand to shake. "I'd rather not wake him. The surgery was —" She cleared her throat, trying to decide how much to say. Finally, she settled on, "hard on him."
Olsen took a seat. He kept his voice low. "I'm a lawyer, Mrs. Stoker. Did Mike explain to you why he contacted me?"
She shook her head. "Yes. The insurance company denied our claim. They want us to move."
Olsen leaned forward in his chair. "Exactly. They say they will give money only toward the purchase of a new home, not for repairs. Mike suspected something illegal was going on there, and I agree. I've dealt with a number of complaints about the same company since the quake. It's the same thing every time."
Beth clenched her jaw. "I just don't understand how they can get away with this. We don't want to move. We want to rebuild."
Olsen nodded. "Of course you do. After John Gage told me last night that Mike had been admitted here, I did a little research on my own." Olsen shifted slightly, placed one elbow on his knee and his chin in his palm. "I called one of the Realtors listed in the letter Mike showed me. All the houses he was willing to show are in the same development. None of them are as big as your previous house, and all of them are priced much higher than the insurance company is offering." He leaned back. "Tell me, Mrs. Stoker, are you a signatory on the homeowner's insurance policy?"
"Yes, of course. Mike insisted on it. He said with his job, I might be on my own one day and I would need to be able to deal with things like that."
"A very wise man." Olsen grinned. "Mrs. Stoker, you and I are going to take on Findel Insurance together and we are going to win. Don't worry about my fee — Findel will have to pay it."
He glanced around the room. "Johnny told me he left the homeowner's policy here. He went back to your house to get it after Mike's incident yesterday. Oh, that must be it." The papers had been moved up to Mike's new room and were sitting on a counter by the sink. Olsen got up to get them. "I'm going to read this tonight and tomorrow I'll get back to you about my plan." He pulled a pen out of his shirt pocket. "Just give me your current phone number so I can call you."
"I'll be here," Beth said. "The Stanleys are watching our boys so I can stay with Mike." She hadn't called Hank yet to tell him what had happened, but she would have to do it soon. At this point, she wasn't willing to let her husband out of her sight for a minute. Dr. Brackett had offered her the second bed in the room so she could get some sleep.
"All right, then. I'll be here tomorrow at nine a.m. sharp, and we can talk strategy." He nodded to Beth as he moved to the door. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Stoker."
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Hank got off the phone with Beth and dropped into a chair at the kitchen table. What she'd told him was simply unbelievable. Mike was a healthy young man. Heart attacks didn't happen to healthy young men. "Em!" he called through the open window. She was sitting on the back porch with Jim and Julia, watching the kids play. They would be OK without her for a few minutes.
She came inside. "Hank, you look pale. What's wrong?"
"Come talk with me in our room." He didn't want to risk one of the Stoker boys overhearing. Once they were in there with the door closed, he sank down on the bed.
"You're scaring me, Hank."
"Mike Stoker had a heart attack during his surgery. The doctors say he died on the table."
Em gasped. Hank shook his head. "He's alive. His heart stopped. He wasn't breathing. But then suddenly it started again. They don't know why or what happened. But he's talked to Beth. He's weak and tired, but it's not nearly as bad as it could have been."
"Oh, thank God." Emily sank down next to him and rested her head on Hank's shoulder. "The Stokers don't need any more bad news right now."
Hank pulled Emily into a close hug. "You got that right. Beth said we should wait till tomorrow to go see him. For now, we'll watch the boys so she can stay with him. They've got him in the Cardiac Care unit undergoing some tests. Apparently, he told Dr. Early his heart had a bad reaction to the anesthetic — I'm not sure where he got that."
"I'm going to bake some cookies," Emily announced. "The kind Mike loves. We'll take them tomorrow morning when we visit. Is Nic still in Fresno?"
Hank nodded. "Yeah. Beth was going to call him after talking with me. I'm guessing he'll be headed this way as soon as they get off the phone."
"I'll make over the guest room for him." The boys had been sleeping on the screened-in porch with the Stanley kids.
Hank nodded. He kissed Emily and brushed his fingers through her hair. "I don't deserve you."
She blushed, then shoved him down on the bed and kissed him again. "Are you sure about that, Mr. Stanley? Because I'm pretty sure you're out of my league."
They hadn't had many moments like this since the earthquake. Too many guests, too much to worry about. And it didn't help that Hank had a broken wrist. Then again… it was just a broken wrist. The rest of him was fine.
He slipped off the bed for a second, locked the door and pulled the shades. Then he returned to bed, where husband and wife took full advantage of their private time together.
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NOTE:
*During the 1970s, red M&Ms were discontinued because of the scare over red dye causing cancer. They were replaced with orange.