The Seat Beside Me (16 page)

I’ve had enough cold water, thank you very much
.

“Tell me, woman!”

She lifted both eyebrows and let a brief glare escape before couching it in nurse-happy again. “There were originally eight survivors; seven were airlifted to safety. Two of those have died.” She tucked the sheet on the side. “And, of course, the one man in the water who didn’t make it. The one who kept handing the lifeline to the others.”

“What are you talking about?”

She hesitated, then her face lit up with an aha-moment. “Oh, that’s right … you weren’t hanging on to the tail section. You didn’t see, you weren’t there.” She told him about the hero and his sacrifice.

“I’ll take that water now.”

She poured him a glass and he downed it.

“Are you all right, Mr. Davanos? I didn’t mean to upset you.”

He shook his head. As soon as she left, he called her back, but it was too late. He asked the next question to his empty room. “What about the widow and Henry? Were they among the five?”

The phone rang and he answered it. Suzy’s voice flowed through the line like an elixir. “Dad? Is that you? Are you all right?”

For now. At least for now
.

“But you need to eat something, Mrs. Cavanaugh. Your body needs fuel to heal.”

With a swipe of her hand, Merry shoved the breakfast tray to the floor. “Don’t you
get
it, lady? I don’t
want
to heal. My family is dead! I don’t want to heal.”

The orderly picked up the dishes, then fled the room.

Good riddance
.

Merry stared at the mess on the floor. A disheveled blob of green Jell-O looked like mint jelly without the Easter ham. A piece of meat lay dead amongst its brown gravy blood with baby carrots strewn on top as if they were bold strokes from an orange pen writing a special message just for her.

Here’s the message, Merry: Your family’s dead. What would you like for dessert?

Merry sank into the pillows even as the aroma of the meal lured her to climbing off the bed to eat. She turned her head away from it. How dare she think about fulfilling her own desires or needs when her family would never desire or need again? If she could cut off the other aspects of life her body craved—breathing, water, sleep—she would. She’d just lie there and let time swallow her up as if she had never existed.

She saw the light streaming through the blinds. How dare the sun shine. And flowers … her room was full of flowers and cards. Who would do such a thing? She was not allowed to enjoy beauty or a flower’s fragrance or the warmth of the sun. They were offlimits. She glanced at a framed picture on the wall across from her. It was a desert scene, with large-armed cacti dotting a many-layered peach-colored vista. A blue and pink sunset silhouetted the low
hills. A desert. Phoenix. She was supposed to be in Phoenix right this minute, enjoying a break.

Serves you right, Merry. You wanted to run away from your life? Now your life has been ripped away from you forever
.

Merry looked at the picture a moment longer, then laughed. Why couldn’t she have been placed in a room that offered a mountain scene? Or a French marketplace? Or a still life of perfectly arranged flowers? Why had God placed her in a room with a picture of a desert—her destination that God had cut short?

She desperately looked around the bed for something to throw at it, to banish it from her vision, from her conscience. But there were no more throwables at hand. She’d already swept them to the floor with her food.

It was appropriate. She was stuck with the desert scene mocking her, condemning her. And so she stared at it, letting it do its work. If it made her feel bad, so be it.

She deserved worse.

Merry heard a commotion outside her hospital room. She wrapped her body tighter around her pillow and wished them away.
Didn’t people have any manners? Didn’t they realize hospitals were a place to rest and find—

Merry’s eyes shot open as she heard her mother’s voice. The moment she glanced toward the door, it opened wide, and a stream of family filed through. Her mother-in-law, two sisters-in-law, and their spouses, Uncle Jerry, and—

Her mother made a beeline for her bed, her face a puckered mask of sympathy. “Oh, my poor baby, my poor baby.”

Before Merry could protect her injuries from the onslaught of Anna Keenan’s hugs, she had two pudgy arms wrapped around her torso.

“Ouch!”

Her mother jerked back. “Oh, baby, I’m so sorry.”

Merry pushed the controls to the bed, propelling herself to a more seated position. She scanned the faces of her family and realized they had no idea what to say. The feeling was mutual—especially when Merry glanced in her mother-in-law’s direction. What could she possibly say to Mabel Cavanaugh, who suffered a pain equal to her own?

Mabel’s eyebrows warred against each other as she tried to keep her composure. It was a losing battle. Within seconds, she flanked Merry’s mother on the other side of the bed, her hand clasping Merry’s, her head shaking no with such a furious rhythm that Merry wondered if Mabel would ever be able to stop it without divine intervention.

“Oh, Merry … My boy, my boy. And my little Justin.”

Across the bed, Anna joined in with her own head rhythm. “Oh no, no, you can’t think of them. Merry is alive. She’s only one of five to be a—”

“But my boy is dead. My grandson is dead.”

“He’s my grandson too.”

“But your daughter is alive.”

Merry’s mother leaned toward the center point of the bed. “So you’re saying it would be better if Merry had died too?”

Mabel met her stance, their faces separated by mere inches.

“Certainly not, but you can’t possibly say your grief is deeper than mine. My heart is ripped in two. My—”

“And mine’s not?”

“Not like—”

The other relatives took sides and pulled the two women away from the war zone above Merry’s bed. A nurse suddenly appeared, assessed the situation in one glance, and ordered, “Everybody out. Now!”

As their voices faded down the hall, Merry expelled the breath she’d been holding and took a fresh one.
So much for relatives
.

Then she turned over on her side and pulled a pillow to her chest. At the moment it was all the comfort she could tolerate.

Sonja hadn’t slept well. She found it ironic that hospitals were supposed to be places of rest and yet they were probably the hardest places to get any rest with nurses in and out and the clattering of trays and carts.

She had breakfast and let herself doze while waiting for the doctor to visit. The half-sleep was the hardest to take, for that was when her mind ran a mental video of the events of the crash and rescue. If only she could reach deep sleep, maybe she’d find some peace there. She would even settle for the hard nothingness of drug-induced sleep. Anything but this laundry list of events that replayed itself on an endless loop.

Suddenly, her eyes shot open with a new memory.
Dale! Allen!

She put a hand to her chest, trying to calm her breathing. They were dead. They were lying at the bottom of the river, cold and hurt and dead. She hadn’t thought of them before—why
hadn’t
she thought of them before? She didn’t want to know what character trait that omission revealed. And Geraldine … Geraldine must be laughing in her Bandolinos right now. Her nemesis was safe and unhurt. Sonja, because of her own finagling, was traumatized and broken.

Then Geraldine’s words returned, clear as if she were in the room.
“Just wait, Sonja
 … 
some day …”

Some day was here.

Sonja remembered Allen coming back to her seat to check on her while they’d been waiting to take off. What had she told him? She closed her eyes and snickered.
“I’m fine. I’ve got everything under control.”

What a joke. If nothing else, the crash had proven she had
nothing
under control. It was the most out-of-control, violent, drastic thing that had ever hap—

She saw Roscoe’s face in her mind’s eye, heard his voice.
“Don’t make God do something drastic to get your attention. Don’t make Him reach down and shake you. Look up, away from the world, for just a moment. That’s when you’ll see Him, waiting there for you.”

Had God crashed the plane to get her attention?

She shivered and shook her head vigorously. Surely He wouldn’t let dozens of people die just so she would maybe, possibly, by chance, turn to Him?

Look up, away from the world
.

Sonja tentatively let her eyes move upward, but when she realized that all she saw was the water-spotted ceiling tiles of a hospital room, she looked away.

Roscoe may have been a nice man, but he was over the top when it came to God. None of this happened because God was thinking about Sonja, wanting her to turn to Him. No way. She couldn’t even fathom such a thing. For to do so would mean that there was a reason she lived—and others died.

She clamped her eyes shut and willed herself to sleep, choosing to face the disturbance of her half-dreams rather than the disturbance of her soul.

Tina let the tendrils of warm tea flow through her body. She would never take warmth for granted again. She set the mug down awkwardly. Her fingers still didn’t work well because of the frostbite.

There was a tap on the door. It was Pastor Rawlins. “May I come in?”

“Sure.”

He pulled a vase with one yellow rose from behind his back. “This came for you.”

“How nice of you.”

He laughed. “Not me. I’m just the flower boy.” He handed her the card.

“Can you take it out? I’m all thumbs.” She read it:
They wouldn’t let me see you. I’ll get off work early and try again. I love you, David
.

The pastor tucked the card in the envelope. “From someone who cares?”

“My boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend?”

“It isn’t that odd, is it? For me to have a boyfriend?”

“Well, no,” the pastor said, glancing at the door. “I met him earlier. He’s been waiting all night in the relative’s waiting room but had to go home to change before he went to work. He said he was your husband.”

“No way!” She was shocked at her vehement reaction.

“I must have misunderstood.”

Suddenly it became clear. Hospital rules. David had
become
a relative in order to see her. “You didn’t misunderstand. But he’s not my husband. He’s just being pushy, trying to see—”

“You don’t sound pleased.”

“He’s a complication.”

“That’s an odd term.”

“He wants to get married.”

“And you don’t.”

She shrugged, realizing it was an imperfect gesture. Her feelings were more complex than she could express. And she wasn’t being fair. David’s attempts to see her were good. He was concerned. That was normal. “You’ll have to forgive me. I’m confused; I don’t know what I think about anything right now.”

He put a hand on her arm. “Going through a disaster such as this does complicate things. Perhaps that’s what you meant?” He looked hopeful.

Was that what she’d meant with her rude comments about David? “There was a lot to think about before, much less now.” She shook her head, wishing she didn’t have to think about anything for a while.

The phone rang and he handed it to her.

“Tina! My little girl. Are you all right?”

At the sound of the voice, Tina started to cry. She was suddenly a child again, a child who only wanted to hear one voice when she was hurt or scared.

“Oh, Mom …”

Pastor Rawlins nodded with understanding, handed her a tissue, and slipped out of the room.

“We love you, sweetie.”

“I love you too.”

Tina sank into the pillows, letting them surround her like her parents’ hug.

After talking with her parents, Tina sat in silence trying to hang on to the glow of their concern. They’d apologized for not coming to visit, but their health wasn’t good, and neither were their finances. She understood and accepted their voices as comfort enough. She’d always been able to depend on them.

But something her father said stuck with her. He asked if she’d met the other survivors, or the men who flew the helicopter. She hadn’t, and the trouble was, she wasn’t sure she could. Was it healthy to relive such a crisis? She wanted to say hello and thanks, but she wasn’t ready. Not yet. It was obvious she had some healing to do first, and she feared a few days in the hospital was only the beginning. Bodies heal more quickly than bruised memories.

As Tina let her eyes fall shut, she reconciled herself to the fact that there was only one man she really wanted to meet—and he was dead.

Perhaps it was better to leave the rest alone.

Tina felt someone stroking her hand.
The nurses sure go overboard on the personal atten—

“I love you, Tina.”

Huh?

Tina opened her eyes, and David smiled down at her. “Hi there.”

She adjusted her shoulders against the pillows. “So … I hear we’re married. You shouldn’t have said we were married.”

He took a step back. “Nice to see you too.” He shoved a vase of yellow roses into her arms. “Here’s the other eleven.” He pointed to the bud vase on the windowsill. “I see you got the one I sent with the pastor.” He eyed the other huge arrangements and cards from strangers. “Do I have competition?”

“Maybe.”

He turned toward the door. “I’ll see you la—”

Tina sighed. “David … come back. I’m sorry. Those flowers are from my parents, friends, work, and complete strangers. There’s no competition.”

After a moment’s hesitation he returned to the bed, and Tina could tell she was forgiven. That was just like him. He never held a grudge. Unlike some people they both knew.

She extended her hand, and he took it, scanning her body. “You broke a leg?”

She nodded.

“I was at work when I saw everyone watching the news. I saw the tail section with the logo, and then, when I heard the flight number.” His forehead ruffled. “Oh, Teen. It’s such a miracle you survived.”