A Christmas Peril (The Teacup Novellas - Book Five) (4 page)

“May I?”

He motioned toward the seat beside me.
“Oh, sure.” Not sure what else to do, I scooted over to the window seat, giving
him mine.

“Thanks. So Lucille, are you from
Chicago
? Is this home to you, or are you a
student just passing through?”

“Both, actually. Born and raised in
Chicago
‍—‍”

“So am I! Where’d you go to high school?”

“
Calumet
.
You?”

“Tilden. Why, we were practically
neighbors.” He stared at me, gazing up at my hair, my eyes, my
lips . . . I felt myself blushing again, so I turned to look out
the window only to find it covered with steam.

“Tell me, Lucille.” He shifted in his
seat, turning toward me and folding his arms across his chest as though
settling in for a nice, long chat.

“Tell you what?”

“Everything. I’m home on leave before
heading back overseas, I may never see you again, so tell me everything about
you. Your favorite color. Favorite flavor of ice cream. Favorite candy. All your
hopes and dreams.”

“Favorite color, blue. Favorite ice
cream, butter pecan. Favorite candy, Fanny May, of course.”

“
Chicago
’s
best.”

“Hopes and dreams? I’ll be graduating next
spring, and I’d like to teach high school English, preferably here in
Chicago
.”

“What about family? Brothers or sisters?”

“Just one baby brother. He just turned
five.”

“He’s
five
? You’re what
‌—‌
twenty?
Twenty-one?”

“I’m twenty. Jack was born when I was
fifteen. Mother and Father call him their miracle baby.”

“What was that like for you, after being
an only child for all those years?”

“I adored Jack from the minute I first
got to hold him at the hospital.”

“And I bet he thinks you’re the cat’s
meow.”

I smiled, remembering how Jack always greeted
me every afternoon with happy squeals and hugs. “I assure you, the feeling’s
mutual.”

For the next half hour, as the train drew
ever closer to home, we talked non-stop. He told me of his family
‌—‌
just one brother, who
was serving with the Army Air Corps in
England
.
He said he was with the
124th Field Artillery
stationed in
Congleton
,
England
.
He hadn’t
been on the battlefield since his job was assisting the colonel in command of
the base. He told me of his dream to be an architect, and how he looked forward
to coming back to college after the war. We talked about movies and music and
theater, and anything and everything we could think of.

“Lucille, would it be too much to ask
‍—‍
”

“This is where I get off,” I said as the
train slowed again.

He stood up. “Well, what a coincidence. Mine
too. Small world, isn’t it?”

I doubted seriously this was his stop. What
will I do if he tries to follow me home?

And then I wondered what would happen if
he didn’t. Would I ever see him again?

“Miss Alexander?”

I looked up as Dr. Bradley entered Mark’s
room. It took a minute for my mind to leap back from 1944. I stood, letting the
blanket and pillow fall back in the recliner. “Dr. Bradley, thanks for coming
by.”

“Sorry to disturb you. I apologize it’s
taken me so long to get up here and check on Mark. I was in surgery, and it
took a lot longer than usual. How’s he doing?”

I rubbed my face, then folded my arms
across my chest. “About the same. He hasn’t moved, hasn’t made a sound or even
twitched an eye.”

“No, and I don’t expect him to for a while
yet.” He shined a small flashlight in Mark’s eyes, holding up one eyelid then
the other. He continued his examination.

“Define ‘a while yet,’ if you don’t
mind.”

 He smiled, nodding. I’m sure he’s asked
that question a million times a day. “I’m afraid there’s no way to actually
know when that might happen. In a case like Mark’s, the more he rests initially,
the better. We’ll keep a close eye on him, and hopefully, when he’s good and
ready, he’ll come around.”

“Wait, what do you mean by ‘hopefully’?”

He entered something on his iPad, then
closed it. I assumed this was the new version of making notes on medical
charts. “Don’t worry‌—‌Lucy, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“The hardest part is the waiting. Your
mind wants to jump ahead and explore all the possibilities, the best and worst
case scenarios. But every case is different, which means Mark’s recovery will
depend on how his body and mind respond to the injuries.” He closed the gap
between us and gently patted my shoulder. “I’ll be back in the morning. You get
some rest, okay?”

“Thank you, Dr. Bradley.”

“Sure enough,” he said, exiting the room.

I stretched my legs then stood beside
Mark’s bed. I wrapped my hand around his, prayed another silent prayer, and
wondered when God would see fit to give me back my Mark.

Chapter
4

Chad
returned shortly after Dr. Bradley left, bringing me some
mail, extra socks, another chai latte from Starbucks, and best of all my
laptop.

He also brought an attitude.

“Either you go home and clean up, or I’ll
throw you in that shower myself.” He motioned a thumb toward the small bathroom
behind him and leveled his eyes at me. “Which will it be?”

“Is it that bad?”

He rolled his eyes. “The last thing you
want is Mark waking up and getting a whiff of you like this. It might send him
back into another coma.”

“All right, all right.” I pushed the
recliner upright and took a sip of my chai. Wiping the foam from my lip, I warned,
“But you have to stay with Mark until I’m out.”

“Hey, do you not see the
Sports
Illustrated
I brought? I came to stay, little sister. So hop in that shower
before the stink police come charging in here.”

“I said I would, okay? You’re not the
boss of me, you know.” It was my favorite go-to line with my brother, but for
some reason my snarky quip failed to hit its mark. I was learning that
hospitals tend to zap the humor. I grabbed the tote bag
Chad
had brought, almost afraid to peek in and see what he did
or did not remember to bring me. I opened the bathroom door. “Listen, if he so
much as twitches his pinky, you bang on the door and let me know. Understood?”

He raised a hand in defense as he plopped
into the recliner. “Fine. If he passes gas, I’ll call.”

“You are so gross and not even remotely
funny, I might add. Have a little respect for the coma guy, will you?”

“Go, already.”

Fifteen minutes later, I looped the towel
around my neck and opened the door.
Chad
was passed out in the recliner, his head
back and his mouth hanging open as he snored quietly. I padded over to the
other side of the bed to check on Mark. If only he would wake up. At least now
he wouldn’t pass out from his smelly girlfriend. Mark loved the scent of my
shampoo.
It smells like orange blossoms,
he always said. I leaned over
to kiss his cheek, wishing my fresh scent would rouse him.

I towel-dried my hair as I strolled over
to the window. Winter was in the air, the wind still scattering the last fallen
remnants of autumn’s leaves. I shivered, noticing visitors and medical
personnel below wrapped in coats and scarves, their breath puffing clouds
before them. I wondered if I’d still be in this room when the first snow fell.
Would I spend Christmas here as well? I took a deep breath and tried to coax my
mind away from all the what-ifs that kept swirling through my head.

The door slowly
whooshed
open behind
me. I turned just as my uncle poked his head around the door. “Lucy?” he
whispered.

I gravitated toward his outstretched
arms. “Uncle Ted? What are you‌—‌how did‍—‍?”

“Your mother called me,” he whispered,
noticing Mark asleep and
Chad
sacked out in the chair. “I came as soon
as I heard.” He hugged me and kissed the top of my damp head. “Unfortunately,
I’ve been out of town and only found out this morning. How’s Mark doing?”

My mom’s older brother tucked me under
his arm as we walked toward Mark’s bed. “About the same, actually. He’s still
in a coma. Hasn’t come around yet.” My voice wobbled but I didn’t really care.
This was my Uncle Ted, after all. He was in the ministry and used to situations
like this, visiting people in the hospital under the worst of circumstances.

Uncle Ted was one of my favorite relatives.
He loved people, lived large, and knew how to enjoy life‌—‌including
fast cars. A couple years ago, I rode with him to one of
Chad
’s baseball games. At the time he owned a flashy red Dodge
Viper, and I forced myself to quit watching the speedometer when it passed
ninety-five. I swallowed my gum as I yelled at him to slow down. Instead, he
just flashed me his world-famous grin and pressed the gas pedal harder.

With a head full of hair that turned
snowy white back when he was barely in his forties, my uncle always looked the
part of a pastor. “Dr. Theodore Wendel” had served as senior pastor at Hickory
Street Cathedral for many years until he retired a few years ago. Since then,
he’s served in an interim position at
First
Church
covering pastoral ministries for that
downtown church. A perfect fit.

“Frannie told me about the whole hostage
situation. She’d seen some of the footage online and said it was terrifying to
see‌—‌like something out of a movie.”

“It was. You see these things happen on
television, and you feel so bad for everyone involved. But you never think it could
happen to you or someone you know. It’s so surreal.”

He side-hugged me again, then put both
his hands on the side rails of Mark’s bed. “From what your mother told me, Lucy,
all things considered, it’s a miracle he survived.”

“I know. I just wish he’d wake up.”

As he leaned over to get a better look at
Mark’s bruised and bandaged face, a technician knocked softly on the door and walked
in with a rolling cart. “Hello, friends and family,” she said in a soft,
sing-song introduction. “I’m Mishala, and I’m here to borrow a little blood
from Mr. Christopher.”

I moved out of the way. “Hi, Mishala. Do
you need us to leave?”

“No, y’all are fine. I’ll be out of your
way in just a few minutes.” Mishala’s warm smile and wide dimples framed her
beautiful face, the color reminding me of café au lait.

I motioned for Uncle Ted to move with me
to the other side of Mark’s bed. That’s when I noticed his eyes were wide as
saucers, glued on the vials of blood lined up on the compartmentalized cart
tray like so many dark red soldiers standing at attention.

“Uncle Ted?”

“Uhhh, I get . . . a
little, uh, squeamish at the sight of . . . blood. Maybe I
should‍—‍”

“Oh my gosh!” Mishala whisper-squealed,
clapping her latex-covered hands. “You’re Father Ted, aren’t you?!”

I watched my uncle make a valiant effort
to smile, his eyes still fixed on those blood vials. “Yes, yes, that’s, uh,
me.”

“Well, butter my cheeks and call me
cornbread! I see you all the time on TV. Father Ted‌—‌it’s a real
honor.” She reached across the bed to shake his hand. “Course, I almost didn’t
recognize you without your monk’s robe.” She giggled, tearing off the gloves
and putting on a fresh pair. “Oh, I cannot
wait
to tell my kids I met
Father Ted today!”

I guess I should mention Uncle Ted’s
other job. A few years ago he did some radio spots for a local charity. He’s
got one of those rich, gentle voices that endears him to everyone he meets. The
commercials were a huge success, bringing in a record number of donations, so a
local TV station hired him to do a number of Public Service Announcements. That’s
when he did a commercial for a local tire company dressed in a brown monk’s
robe and sandals. “Father Ted” would look straight in the camera and say, “When
driving on life’s highways, you know who to trust‌—‌Royal Tires.”
Or something like that. I guess you could say he’s a local celebrity. He gets
invited to all kinds of grand openings and sales events around town, always
giving a blessing in the guise of the famous monk known as Father Ted.

But to me, he was
Uncle
Ted, which
is why I’m always caught off guard when people like Mishala makes a big fuss
over him.

Suddenly my brother stirred. “Oh, hey,
Uncle Ted.” Chad yawned, stretching his arms over his head, the
Sports
Illustrated
sliding off his lap onto the floor. “When did you get here?”

Uncle Ted tore his eyes from the tray of
blood vials, shook his head a little, then made his way over to Chad. “Just a
few minutes ago. How are you, Chad?”

My brother stood up and gave him a hug. “I’m
good, thanks. Are you okay? You look a little pale.”

“I’m fine. Really.” Uncle Ted wiped his
forehead. “Is it hot in here to you?”

“Ah, he’s okay,” Mishala answered over
her shoulder. “It’s the ones you least expect that can’t handle the sight of
blood.” To make her point, she stuck a syringe into the port taped to the top
of Mark’s hand, then turned to flash a smile at Ted.

“Okay, I’m outta here.” Ted gave us a
wave and hurried out the door.

“Father Ted! Don’t leave!” Mishala called
out as she capped off a vial. “Hold up‌—‌I wanna get a picture of
you ‘n me to show my kids!” She snapped off her latex gloves again and looked
up at us. “Y’all don’t touch anything. I’ll be right back.” With a giggle, she
dug in her pocket for her cell phone. “Father Ted? Wait up. Don’t you leave!”

Chad couldn’t stop laughing.

“I can still hear you!” Ted sang in
protest from the hallway.

“
Chad
, go out there and take the picture for
them. And apologize for laughing at him.”

He was still guffawing as he headed out
the door.

Chad
convinced Ted to go for coffee with him while Mishala
finished taking blood. She showed me the pictures my brother had taken of her
and “Father Ted,” and I couldn’t help but smile at the green tint on my uncle’s
face.

A few minutes later,
Chad
and Ted returned with a fresh cup of coffee for me. The
three of us had a nice visit. Before he left, Ted invited us to pray with him
as we gathered beside Mark’s bed. Most of the time he keeps us in stitches with
his quirky sense of humor. But he’s also a gifted man of God with a gentle demeanor
and compassionate heart. And just then, as he prayed a beautiful, heartfelt
prayer for Mark, it almost felt like he’d ushered us into the presence of God. When
he prayed for me, asking God to wrap His arms around me and fill me with His
presence, I sensed the most comforting warmth of peace wash over me.

Afterward, he and
Chad
both said goodnight.

As I settled in for the night, I could
tell that Uncle Ted’s prayer had changed me. At least I felt changed. More at
peace. More hopeful. As I reached for Mark’s thumb through the bedrail, I felt
a tear track down my cheek. But for the first time, I knew it was a tear of
gratitude for what God was going to do through all this. I had no idea
how
He was going to do it. I just knew.