A Time to Dance/A Time to Embrace (71 page)

“Look, Doctor, those odds are a whole lot better than what I had before I came in here. When can we start testing?”

“I’d like to take more pictures and run a few more specific tests— tests that must be done in the hospital. Normally it takes weeks to schedule these types of pictures, but I had a cancellation today.” He hesitated. “I do think you need to tell your wife what’s going on. The tests will take most of the afternoon, and she’ll need to drive you to the hospital so you can take them.”

John nodded. How would she react? Would she be afraid of being disappointed? Anxious? Excited? Either way, the doctor was right. It was time for her to know.

Dr. Furin took a set of X rays, and thirty minutes later, John was in the examination room when Abby walked in. “Sorry.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “It took longer than I thought.”

“Abby . . . sit down.” He motioned to a folding chair against one wall. “We need to talk.”

Her face went slack, and he knew it was from fear. But she did as he asked, and when their knees were nearly touching, she swallowed hard. “What’s wrong? Don’t tell me there’s something else.”

He couldn’t keep her waiting another minute. “Abby, yesterday . . . when I told you something strange was happening . . .”

She thought back and then remembered. “When you invented that new dance step?”

“Right.” He reached out and she took his hand in hers. “Well, that wasn’t exactly what was going on.”

Her chin fell a little, but she said nothing.

“The truth is, I was getting pains in my right toe.” His voice grew soft. “I was feeling it, Abby. I really was. Then when we walked into the house, my toe moved.” He glanced around the room, looking for a way to describe how it had felt. “I thought maybe I was imagining it . . . like maybe it hadn’t really happened. But then I felt it again before we went to sleep and again this morning.”

“That’s why you wanted to come today?”

John nodded. “I had to tell Dr. Furin. Because everyone had told me I’d never have feeling like that again. Phantom pain, maybe. But not real feeling. And there was no doubt this was real pain . . . real movement.”

“So—” Abby ran her tongue over her bottom lip—“what’d Dr. Furin say?”

John did his best to explain the situation, how once in a rare while a certain type of broken neck could be operated on and feeling, possibly restored. “It’s still a long shot, Abby. He wants to do more tests this afternoon. If I’m a candidate for surgery, he’ll know after that.”

Abby’s mouth hung open, her eyes wide as she took in the news. She leaned forward, grabbing his chair with both hands. “You’re
serious?”

“Completely.” John loved the hope in Abby’s eyes.
Please, Lord . . . get us through this. Give us a miracle.
There was no audible answer, not even a still, silent whisper in his soul, but John was suddenly overwhelmed with an indescribable peace.

“Okay, then. Let’s get you over to the hospital.”

The tests took five hours and were as exhausting as they were long. Abby contacted Nicole midway through the day and asked her to pick up Sean when school was out.

“What’s going on?”

“I’ll tell you later.” Abby hurried through the conversation, anxious to rejoin John. “I promise.”

Dr. Furin arrived near the end of the day and began reading the results with a team of spinal cord specialists. Finally, at six o’clock that evening John’s doctor met them in the hospital lobby.

John prided himself on being able to read a person’s expression, but Dr. Furin could’ve made his living playing poker. It was impossible to tell the results from the look on his face. He motioned for them to follow him to a quieter corner where they wouldn’t be distracted.

Abby held tight to John’s hand, so tight he could feel the pulse in her fingertips. “What’d you find out?”

Dr. Furin allowed just the hint of a smile. “John’s a candidate for surgery. His injury is almost textbook perfect, the kind they’ve done research on.”

For a moment, John let his head fall. He’d been granted a second chance! An opportunity, no matter how slim, to have his legs again. It was more than he could imagine, more than he could bear.

When he looked up, he saw that Abby had covered her mouth with her free hand. Small soblike sounds were coming from her throat, but her eyes were dry. She was probably in shock, like him. Who’d have ever thought it possible? After so many months of being paralyzed?

John had never heard of such a thing. “When can we do the surgery?”

“No time soon.” Dr. Furin folded his hands and leaned forward. “I’ll want the nation’s top experts to perform the operation. I’ll assist, but since it’s their research, they should do the surgery.”

“They’ll come here?” John still couldn’t believe he was having this conversation. “I thought with specialists you have to go wherever they’re based.”

“They do most of their work in Arizona, but they’re willing to travel for an extraordinary case. I’d say yours fits that description.”

“So when, Doctor?” Abby’s palms were damp. “How soon?”

“It’s March now. I’d say four weeks. Sometime in mid-April. It’d probably take that long to pull the team together.”

“Is there anything we can do between now and then?” John eased his arm around Abby’s shoulders and hugged her close. The feeling of hope was so strong it was almost a physical assault. If the doctor hadn’t been there, John would’ve pulled Abby onto his lap and held her until they were ready to talk about the possibilities.

“Yes.” Abby’s teeth chattered. “Anything we can do so the surgery will be more successful. A special diet or exercises? Anything?”

“Yes.” Dr. Furin looked from Abby to John, and back again. “In a situation like this, there’s one thing I’d recommend.” He paused and his eyes shifted to John’s once more. “Go home and pray. Have your kids and your friends and your family pray. Get the whole town praying. Pray for us . . . pray for yourself . . . pray for a miracle. After that we’ll put you under the knife and do our best. It’s the only chance you have.”

Dr. Furin explained a bit more about the operation, and then he left. The moment he was gone, John turned to Abby and held out his arms. She climbed on his lap like a child who’d been lost for a week. Then, unconcerned with whoever else might be in the waiting room or passing by in the hallways, John and Abby brought their heads together and prayed. Not just because it was doctor’s orders, but because a miracle was standing on the front porch of their lives. And John intended to beg God night and day to open the door and let it in.

Jake Daniels had a funny feeling about his mom and dad.

His hearing was in one week, the one where he and his attorney would agree to plead guilty to a list of charges, things A. W. and the district attorney had agreed on. His dad had extended his leave of absence from work and was still staying at the hotel in town. But Jake wondered if sometimes he might be really sleeping on the sofa downstairs.

There were nights when his dad was there, talking to his mother, long after Jake turned in. And in the mornings, his father would be in the kitchen making coffee. The whole situation felt strange. After all, his folks were divorced. But sometimes—when Jake wandered downstairs before breakfast and found his dad in the kitchen—it was sort of nice to pretend that his family had never really split up. Or that they’d somehow gotten back together.

It was possible, wasn’t it? After all, they were out together tonight.

Jake flopped down on his bed just as the phone rang. He caught a glimpse of the alarm clock on his dresser. Nearly nine o’clock. Only a few people could be calling this late. His attorney, or his mother.

In fact, Jake was almost positive it was his mom. Lots of times when his mother was out late with his dad, she’d call and give him some kind of explanation. Dinner was served late . . . or they’d gotten into a long conversation.

Jake didn’t care.

As long as they were together, there was a chance they’d work things out. He stretched across his bed and grabbed the receiver.

“Hello?”

“Jake . . . Casey Parker.”

Casey Parker? “Hey.” Jake sat straight up and dropped his face in his hands. He hadn’t talked to Casey since the accident. “What’s up?”

“I shoulda called you sooner.” There was a hitch in Casey’s voice, like he was trying not to cry. “Listen, Jake. I’m sorry. About asking you to race and all. Really, man. I’m . . . I don’t know what to say.”

Jake searched his mind, trying to imagine why Casey would call now. “We need to move on, I guess.”

“You’re out at that continuation school, right?”

“Right. It’s okay. I’ve got straight As.”

“You gonna get to come back to Marion in the fall?”

It was the question his mother asked him at least once a week. The counselor had said it was okay, as long as he wasn’t in a juvenile detention center. By then Jake would be finished with his mandatory house arrest—a time when he wasn’t allowed to go anywhere but to continuation school and home again. If he wasn’t locked up, he’d be involved in community service, telling teens at other schools why they needed to avoid street racing.

Everyone seemed to think he’d be better off at Marion in the fall, spending his senior year at his own school, being a living reminder to his peers that racing could have tragic consequences. But Jake wasn’t sure. It was one thing to talk with Coach Reynolds in a courtroom. It would be another entirely to watch him wheeling his way around Marion High.

“I’m not sure.”

“Yeah, well. I don’t blame you. It’s tough being at school.” Casey hesitated. “Coach is still at home. Everyone says he’ll be back in the fall.”

“Yep.” Jake felt sick to his stomach. Where was the conversation going? “Hey, thanks for calling. I gotta get some rest before—”

“Wait.” Casey’s voice was urgent. “That’s not why I called.”

“Okay.”

“We’re having a meeting for Coach Reynolds.”

“A meeting?” Jake’s heart skipped a beat. “What kind of meeting?”

“I guess Coach sent in a resignation letter, saying he was done with football because he didn’t have—” Casey’s voice cracked some and it was a while before he could speak again. “He didn’t have the support he needed.”

Jake’s heart broke at the news. Not only did Coach have to deal with his injury, but he had to live with the fact that right before he’d gotten hurt, the parents had ganged up against him. “What’s the meeting for?”

“A lot’s changed since Coach got hurt, Jake. We’ve had a chance to . . . I don’t know, maybe look at ourselves a little closer. I think we realized—even the parents—that it wasn’t Coach after all. It was us. You know what I mean?”

“I do. So it’s a good meeting?”

“Absolutely. Anyone who wants Coach to stay with the Eagles next year is supposed to come and talk. The guys’ll start spreading the word tomorrow at school. I think a lot of kids are gonna go. A lot of parents, too.”

Jake was certain he could get permission from the judge to attend. He had just one question. “Has anyone invited Coach Reynolds?”

“Well . . .” Casey paused. “We were kind of hoping you could do that.”

After all that had happened, Jake felt nothing but honor at the chance to call Coach Reynolds and invite him to the meeting. “I’ll do it as soon as I hang up.”

“Okay. The meeting’s Thursday night at seven.”

“See ya there.”

Jake hung up and imagined Coach Reynolds surrounded by a huge room full of people who loved him. The thought gave Jake more peace than anything had in months. He smiled to himself, thinking of what he’d like to say if he could get up the courage. Then he did something he never expected to do again as long as he lived.

He dialed Coach Reynolds’s phone number and waited.

Twenty-five

T
HE
M
ARION
H
IGH AUDITORIUM WAS FILLED WITH
police officers.

Chuck Parker took the microphone and started to talk, but the officers threw things at him and shouted for John. Slowly, uncertainty in his eyes, John wheeled himself up onto the stage, but the entire auditorium booed him. The moment he reached for the microphone, a dozen officers rushed the stage and handcuffed him. One of them looked at the crowd and said, “Coach Reynolds knew his players were drinking . . . he knew they were street racing. Now it’s time for him to pay.”

They pushed John off the stage, and not once did he speak up for himself.

“John . . . tell them what really happened!” Abby stood and yelled at him from the back of the room. “Tell them you didn’t know about those things.”

But John only turned around and waved at her. “It’s my fault, Abby . . . it’s my fault . . .”

She tried to run after him, but an officer grabbed her arm and began telling her something about having a right to remain silent.

“Don’t
touch
me! My husband did nothing wrong . . . nothing! This whole meeting is a setup and—”

Something caught her attention. A buzzing or a hum of some kind. It grew louder and louder . . .

Abby sat straight up in bed, gasping for breath. She glanced at John. He hadn’t been taken away by police. He was asleep beside her. The sound came again and suddenly she realized what it was.

John was snoring.

She fell back against the pillow. The week’s emotional chain of events was almost more than Abby could bear.

First, the doctor’s determination that they could operate on John’s back, and the knowledge that maybe—just maybe—he might regain use of his legs. Then the call from Jake Daniels. The team, the parents . . . nearly the entire school planned to turn out for a meeting on John’s behalf.

But what exactly did they want to say? Abby felt her heart rate return to normal. Obviously she was worried about it. Whatever it was, the idea of meeting with the very people who had tried to ruin John did not sit well with her.

The day passed in a blur of housework and other errands until finally it was six o’clock and the meeting was in just one hour. John was shaving upstairs, and Abby stared at the telephone. There was time for a quick call to Nicole. The poor girl had wanted desperately to go to the meeting, but she’d already made plans to have Matt’s parents over for dinner. Besides, she was seven months pregnant and more tired than usual.