A Time to Dance/A Time to Embrace (70 page)

“It was under control, Abby.” His tone was soft, the teasing gone. “Just like your emotions these past few months.”

She froze and he could see the tears form across the surface of her eyes. “It was that obvious?”

“Of course.”

A tired sigh worked its way up from somewhere deep within her. “I was afraid to tell you how I felt.”

“Why? You’ve never been afraid before. Even when we weren’t getting along.”

“Because—” she let her head fall against his chest—“I was afraid you’d never recover if you knew how upset I was.”

“No.” He waited, choosing his words with careful precision. “I’ll never recover if you can’t be yourself, Abby. We can’t pretend everything’s okay, don’t you see? There’ll be days when you can’t take another minute of helping me get dressed . . . days when you want to scream you’re so angry. But there’ll be days when I feel the same way. No matter how upbeat we pretend to be. The only way we’ll survive this is if we’re honest. Do you understand?”

“John . . .” The tears spilled onto her cheeks. “I’m so mad this happened to you. It’s not fair. It’s just not fair.”

“I know, honey.” He cradled her close, stroking her back. “I know.”

She brought her face up against his and dried her tears on his cheeks. “I want to dance again. Don’t you ever feel that way?”

“All the time.” He released the hand brake again and wheeled her once more to the far end of the pier.

“John . . . what’re you doing?” Her body grew taut in his arms. “Not another trip down! We’ll fall in for sure this time.”

“No, Abby—” they reached the top of the pier and he turned so the wheelchair was facing the water—“just lean back against me and relax.”

She hesitated and for a minute he thought she might jump off. “You’re serious?”

“Yes.” He patted his chest. “Come on, lean back.”

“What’re we doing?”

“It’s sort of a tango dance step. Something I’ve been practicing.” He eased Abby back against him so they were both facing forward. “Okay . . . now you’ve gotta let everything go . . . your anger, your frustration . . . all of it. The dance doesn’t work otherwise.”

She giggled and the sound did wonders for his soul. “Okay. I’m ready.”

John released the hand brake and the chair began rolling down the pier toward the water. Abby’s laughter grew louder and she pressed her back against him. “It’s kinda fun when you’re not scared.”

“The tango always is.”

“Perky Paula would be proud.”

The chair picked up speed, and their laughter built until, a few yards from the water, John slowed the chair and turned it for one final spin. After that he wove the chair back and forth, his voice a gentle whisper in Abby’s ear. “Do you hear it?”

“Mmmmm.” Her soft moan sounded deep against his chest. “I think so.”

“The dance steps might change, Abby—” he kissed her earlobe— “but the music’s still playing.”

They stayed that way, swaying to the distant breeze and the rustling of still bare branches, until finally Abby shifted herself onto one of his knees and kissed him, long and slow. “You know what?”

“What?”

“I’m not angry anymore. At least for now.”

“See . . . the tango, Abby.” He brushed his nose against hers. “Works every time.”

“No—” their lips met again and again—“your love works every time.”

John was about to kiss her once more when it happened. It was so brief, so fleeting, John knew it might be nothing. But then . . . he paused, going stone still. What else could cause it to happen?

Abby drew back a few inches. “What is it, John? You’re scaring me.”

He gulped and concentrated on the place where he’d felt it. Then, as though God wanted him to know it wasn’t a fluke or some figment of his imagination, he felt it again. Sort of a twinge or a burning sensation in his big toe. A place where he hadn’t felt anything since the accident.

“Abby, you’re not going to believe this.” He looked straight at her, seeing past the surface to the heart of this woman he loved.

“What? Tell me.” Abby leaned back further, looking down the length of him. “Is something wrong?”

“No.” He pointed to his feet, his heart thudding hard against the wall of his chest. “Just now, just a few seconds ago . . . something happened. Something I can’t explain.”

“What was it?” She climbed off him and stood, studying his legs.

Suddenly he realized that what he was about to say would sound ludicrous. Maybe it was only phantom pain, something he’d read about where months or even years after paralysis a person might have the memory of sensation.

He couldn’t say something that would build false hope only to destroy it when they found it wasn’t so. He’d tell her soon, but not yet. Abby was staring at him, waiting.
Think, John . . . come on . . . make
something up.

“Well . . .” He smiled big at her. “I think we invented a new dance step.”

The wind left Abby’s lungs in a rush. “John, I thought you were hurt . . . like maybe you couldn’t breathe or something.”

He chuckled, hiding the excitement welling in his soul. “Nope. Don’t you know, Abby? Dancing is good for the lungs.” He patted his chest. “After a routine like the one we just did, I’ll be breathing good for days.”

“You’re such a teaser.” Abby reached for his hand, and together they made their way up the pier and toward the house. “You shouldn’t do that. I really thought something was wrong.”

They were halfway up the yard when it happened again. This time John had no doubt about what he was feeling. This was no phantom pain, no memory of previous sensation. He felt a burning twinge in his toe. And this time something else happened. Something he could barely keep to himself.

His toe moved!

John had no idea what that meant or why it was happening. But he had the strangest sense that something—or Someone—was working on his spine. It didn’t feel like the hands of a doctor or a therapist.

It felt like the very fingers of God.

Twenty-four

C
HUCK
P
ARKER HAD JUST WALKED IN THE DOOR WHEN
the call came in.

He was an insurance broker, and this past winter had been busy— busier than any in his life. Not only was business booming, but with Casey’s driver’s license suspended for a year, Chuck or his wife had to drive the boy everywhere he went.

The worst part about being so busy was that Chuck hadn’t had time to stage the meeting. Ever since finding out about Coach’s paralysis, Chuck had wanted a group discussion at school about the way they’d handled Coach Reynolds this past season. He’d made a handful of phone calls, but no meeting had materialized. The trouble was time. With so much on his plate, the idea had simply gotten away from him.

But no worries. As long as he and the other parents had backed off from pressuring Herman Lutz, Coach Reynolds’s job was safe. Maybe they didn’t actually need a meeting. When Coach returned next fall, certainly he’d see that everyone had changed after what had happened. The players, the students. Even the parents.

The phone rang three times before Chuck grabbed it. “Hello?”

“Mr. Parker? This is Sue Diver down at Marion High.”

Sue Diver . . . Chuck wracked his brain. Oh, right. Sue. The secretary at school. Carried a whole-life policy he’d written up for her back in ’98. He glanced at his watch. He had three evening appointments starting in thirty minutes. “Hey, Sue . . . what’s up?”

“A letter came into the office today.” Her voice was low, troubled.

“Okay . . .”

“I don’t know if I’m supposed to be telling you this.”

“I’m sure it’s fine, Sue. Otherwise you wouldn’t have felt the need to call.”

His words seemed to work. He could hear her take a quick breath. “It’s a resignation letter from Coach Reynolds. He’s resigning effective immediately. Says that the game has passed him by . . . and that the parents no longer respect him.”

What? Chuck felt as though the floor beneath him had given way. Why hadn’t he scheduled the meeting sooner? Now it was too late. If Herman Lutz read the letter, he’d have Coach Reynolds’s job posted on the state listing in twenty-four hours. Probably believing it was what everyone wanted.

Only that wasn’t true at all. Not anymore.

He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. “I’m gonna need some phone numbers, Sue. Can you get me the names and numbers of all the guys on the team?”

“I think so.”

“Good.” He looked at his stack of appointment files. “I’ll make the calls tonight. What’s the next available time on the school calendar?”

The sound of rustling paper filled the background. “Today’s Monday, let’s see . . .” More muffled paper sounds. “How about Thursday night?”

Chuck looked at his calendar. He had four appointments scheduled for that night. “Perfect. Let’s set it for seven o’clock. In the auditorium.”

“Okay. I’ll run it by the administration, but it shouldn’t be a problem. Parents are allowed to use the building for school-related meetings.”

Sue sounded worried, like she was trying to convince herself. But it didn’t matter. After months of procrastinating, Chuck had the meeting scheduled. Now all he needed were the phone numbers. “You have those numbers nearby?”

“Uh . . . can I fax you the list?”

“Absolutely.” Chuck rattled off his fax number. “I’ll be waiting. And, Sue, thanks for the tip. We’ll have to get together one of these days and see if we can’t upgrade your policy.”

“Sure, Mr. Parker. Listen, I have to go.”

The moment Chuck hung up, his fax line began to ring. Chuck made three quick calls to cancel his appointments. Then, when he had the phone list in hand, he took a deep breath and began to call.

John refused to get Abby’s hopes up.

But that night, before they went to bed, he casually mentioned that he needed to see the doctor. Soon, if possible.

“Why?” Abby had helped him into bed, and now she was getting ready.

“I’m just concerned about my legs.” John forced himself to look relaxed. “They’re too thin.”

“Honey . . .” Abby stopped and gave him a sad look. “The doctor said that would happen. It’s normal.”

John searched for a way to convince her. “Not this thin . . . and not this fast.” He pressed the blankets down against his legs. As he did, his right toe moved just a bit. “I’m wasting away, Abby. The doctor needs to hear about it.”

“Really?” A puzzled look came over her face. “Well, if you think so. I’ll call Dr. Furin in the morning.”

The next day after breakfast John was drinking coffee in the kitchen when Abby found him. “He can see you at eleven today.”

“Good.” He blew at the steam rising from his cup. “I’m sure there’s something he can do.”

“Mind if I drop you off?” Abby was a blur of motion, straightening the kitchen and sorting through a stack of papers on the counter. “We need a few things at the store.”

“Sure. Fine . . . I’ll be in the waiting room whenever you get back.” John couldn’t believe his good fortune. The last thing he wanted to do was talk about his toes moving in front of Abby. As hard as the past few months had been on her, there was no point getting her hopes up now.

Two hours later, John was in the examination room when Dr. Furin walked in. “John . . . I understand you’re worried about the wasting process in your legs.”

John gave a short laugh. “Actually, that’s not it at all. I just . . .” He reined in his enthusiasm so he could think more clearly. “I couldn’t tell Abby the real reason I wanted to see you. I didn’t want to get her hopes up.”

“Okay.” Dr. Furin set his clipboard down near the sink. “What’s the real reason?”

“Doc—” John’s smile worked its way up his cheeks—“I’m feeling something in my right toe.” John held up one hand. “Not constantly and not a lot. But several times yesterday and again today. Sort of like a burning feeling, a flash of pain, maybe. And a few times I’ve felt the toe move.”

Dr. Furin’s mouth hung open. “You’re serious?”

“Completely. You’re the only one I’ve told.”

The doctor stood and paced to the window and back, taking slow, deliberate steps. “When we checked your X rays the first time, it looked almost as though you were one of the lucky ones. Your break was in an area where people sometimes regain feeling. But usually that happens within a few days, after the swelling goes down.”

He paced a bit more, stroking his chin and staring vacantly at the floor. “Your feeling didn’t come back, so we took more pictures, did more tests. And after that it looked like I was wrong. Like the break was just a hair into the area where paralysis is permanent.”

John studied the doctor, trying to understand. “So, why am I feeling something in my right toe?”

“In all my years working with people who’ve injured their spinal cords, I’ve never treated a patient whose break fell so close to the dividing line. A fraction higher, you walk again. A fraction lower, you’re in a chair for the rest of your life. But maybe . . .”

John waited until he couldn’t stand it another minute. “What?”

“Recent research has shown that in a few rare cases, a break is so close to the separating line that surgery can be done to wire the spinal cord back together. Sometimes, after surgery, feeling can be restored. Even when it appeared that a person was paralyzed for life.”

The news was more than John had hoped for. His hands shook as he stared at Dr. Furin. “And you think maybe I might be one of those people?”

“We’ll have to do tests, but if I remember right, the first symptom is feeling in one or more toes. And I’m already certain your break happened in the area where research is being done.”

John wanted to shout, to raise a fist in the air and holler at the good news. Instead he stayed quiet and turned his thoughts heavenward.
God . . . thank You. Thank You for this second chance.
He couldn’t wait to begin the tests. Whatever needed to be done, he wanted to do it. Because if a surgery might restore feeling to his legs, he was ready to go under the knife that afternoon.

“Can you stay awhile?”

John laughed. “Operate on me now, Doc! I’m ready.”

“You need to know something.” Dr. Furin frowned. “Even if you’re a candidate for the surgery, there’s no guarantee it’ll work. The research is too new. So far it looks like only about half the people who undergo surgery ever regain feeling in their extremities.”