Capture the Wind for Me (43 page)

“I know you do. And I feel bad. I do the concert, and then I am just mad. The guys have a party with lots of girls and beer. They tell me to forget you and just get drunk.” His voice pitched higher as he cried. “I drink and drink until I don't care about anything. I do nothing with the girls, but everyone sees me drunk. Me! The one who tells them I do not get drunk because I serve God. Now what do they think of me? I have no right to tell them about being a Christian anymore, Jackie. The first time things go bad, I fall down!”

He let out a sob, and my heart thought it would break. I leaned my forehead against my bedroom wall and cried along with him, both in relief and empathy. And then thought how selfish it was for me to feel relief that he'd done nothing with a girl, after the way I'd been with Derek.

“Oh, Greg, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry I haven't been there for you. I feel terrible! Everything will be all right. Everybody makes mistakes once in a while, even you. That doesn't mean you're no longer who you are.”

“It is too hard to be a Christian in this business, Jackie. I just can't do it right. Maybe I don't sing anymore.”

Neither of us could speak for a moment. I knew how deep Greg's remorse must be to cause him to say such a thing.

“Greg, listen to me. I love you. You say you fell down, well, you can get back up. Tell the guys you're sorry, that you made a mistake. Maybe it will help, who knows? Maybe they needed to see you're not perfect.”

We fell silent again.

“Jackie?” Greg ventured after a moment.

“I'm here.”

“Do you . . .” He hesitated. “Do you still love me, really? Always now you are with Derek. I wonder—”

“Greg, stop it.” I could not bear to hear the words spoken aloud, not now, not ever. “I love you, understand? You. And I promise you”— my desperate denial caught in my throat—“you have
nothing
to worry about.”

The lie sat like acid upon my tongue. My fingers cramped from gripping the phone. I couldn't believe what I had just done.

We could only talk for a few more minutes. I continued trying to soothe Greg, saying again and again that I loved him, that I believed in him. That he would get through this. And how sorry I was that I'd forgotten his birthday.

I can tell you this: his remorse was no greater than mine. There he was, worrying about his Christian witness. And there I stood, betraying him. Now I'd even lied to him. His mistake was minuscule next to all of mine.

As I reluctantly hung up the phone to dress for church, his voice echoed in my head.
I do nothing with the girls.
Even with his defenses down from alcohol, Greg had upheld his pledge to me.
My heart separates me from that,
he'd said after the concert.
My heart is with you.
If he ever found out what I had done, where I had let my heart go, it would kill him.

I promised myself that morning that he never would.

chapter 48

S
unday, Monday, Tuesday. Derek did not improve. His lungs were filling with fluid, and new antibiotics didn't help. Everyone was on edge. Daddy and Katherine had little time to work on their issues. Greg really needed me as he tried to redeem himself in front of his friends, and I worked to be as attentive through e-mails and the phone as I could. He deserved no less. At the same time, the sicker Derek became, the more obliged I felt to visit. I would drive to the hospital, feeling the pull of Greg, determining not to touch Derek in a way that would betray him. Then I would look into Derek's eyes and see the love for me there. And I knew I couldn't deny him whatever he asked.
When he's better I'll straighten this out,
I kept telling myself. While deep within, I knew I could not imagine that day—for his sake or mine.

I do not know how I stood myself. Even now, these memories wrench me.

On Wednesday Derek moved back into intensive care. Because of the move, I did not see him that day. Katherine stopped by our house on her way home from the hospital that night. She hugged Daddy, breaking into exhausted tears. “I can't stand to think of all the years I was away. How I left him when he was just a kid. Now look at him. He
has
to get better!”

Clarissa cried just from watching Katherine. I comforted my sister, fleetingly thinking it was good to see how much Katherine needed Daddy.

Thursday evening I joined Derek's family for the ten-minute visits every hour. Derek looked so weak and pale, barely able to speak. Dr. Namon stopped by on rounds and promised us they were doing everything they could for him. He expected that Derek would strengthen once more. But by Friday we saw no improvement.

Early Saturday morning, the doctor called the Kings with further bad news. Derek's body had gone into shock. It was a secondary complication—a delayed reaction to all that his system had endured. His kidneys were failing, and they would have to start dialysis. The Kings rushed to the hospital, Katherine taking the day off work. She asked Daddy to come sit with them. I stayed home with Clarissa and Robert, hoping to go in later. The whole town was praying, phone calls going out by the dozens on the Methodist and Baptist churches' prayer chains.

The morning dragged on. I felt miserable for Derek and miserable for me. The sicker he became, the more I knew he would reach out for me. How could I not be there for him in the coming weeks, months?

Greg called on his cell phone around noon. They'd just boarded the bus. I couldn't stay on the phone long in case someone tried to call from the hospital. I'd thought my tears were spent, but hearing his voice made me weepy all over again. “Are things goin' okay?” I asked. “You have more chances to talk to the guys?”

“Yes. You know I pray a lot this week, Jackie. And you are so helpful to me. I don't know what I do without you.”

At his words, a sob wrenched deep in my gut. I could not go on like this. “I miss you so much! I need you right now, and you need me, and I
hate
being apart!”

He soothed me, asking if anything in particular had happened. “You do not sound good,” he said.

I gazed into the family room. Robert sat on the couch, watching me. I turned away. “It's Derek.” My guilt forced the name into little more than a whisper. “We got news today that he's really bad. Would you . . . pray for him, okay?”

“I will.” Greg's voice sounded tight, heavy. “I am praying now. I wish I could be with you. Help you.”

“Oh, Greg, me too.”

He paused. “You still have my ring around your neck?”

“Of course,” I replied, stung. “Why wouldn't I?”

“I don't know. I'm silly to ask that. I love you.”

I fingered his ring, lying on top of my knit shirt. “I love you, too.”

Daddy called some time after 1:00, his voice like lead. At his mere greeting, I sank into a chair at the kitchen table, limbs wooden. I'd heard the tone before—when Mama's health had skidded so badly at the last. Of course that had been different. We all knew Derek would live.

“I have some very bad news,” Daddy told me quietly. “The doctors say Derek now has somethin' called ARDS. Acute respiratory distress syndrome. His lungs are failing. They've put him on a respirator. Jackie, there's . . . there's nothing else they can do.”

“What do you mean there's nothing they can do!” I cried. “What more does he need? I mean, they'll just help him breathe until he gets stronger, right?”

“It's not like that, Jackie.” Pain throbbed in Daddy's words. “Derek's body is exhausted. It's been through too much. And it's just . . . shutting down.”

I still could not grasp it. “But he's goin' to be okay, right? He
will
pull out of it.”

Daddy breathed into the phone. “Honey. He's dyin'.”

“No!”
The stunning words propelled me out of the chair, across the kitchen. I careened into the counter and leaned against it, pushing the heel of my hand into the tile. “No, he's not, Daddy, no, he is not! We're goin' to pray. God's goin' to bring him through, he
will!”
Air gusted from my mouth. Daddy said nothing. Anger at his silence fisted in my gut. He was supposed to tell me I was
right.
“Is he conscious?” I demanded.

“Barely.”

I burst into sobs, loud and ugly and deep. Crying for Derek, crying for me. For his family and for us.
No, God, he can't die, he can't die, he can't die!

“Jackie,” Daddy whispered, his voice snagging, “I'm so sorry.”

“I have to come in there, Daddy,” I wailed. “I have to see him!”

“I don't know if you can see him now, with all that's happening. Jessie and Lee are here. And even the Kings—”

“I
have
to see him!”

Derek just needed to hear my voice, I screamed to myself. If he saw me, maybe he would find the strength within him to get better, keep his promises to me.

“I'm gonna call Grandma,” I declared. “So I can come.”

“No, I don't want you drivin' when you're so upset.”

“I
have
to come, Daddy!”

“Then let her bring you. Call Grandma Westerdahl to come over. And if she can't, just let Robert stay with Clarissa for a while; they'll be all right.”

Grandma Westerdahl came to stay with the kids while Grandma Delham drove me into Albertsville. I scarcely remember the ride to the hospital. Not until we had parked, and Grandma Delham and I were hurrying inside, did I realize what I had done. Greg's ring hung over my knit top, which was too form-fitting to hide it underneath. “Oh!” I gasped, sliding to a stop. Looking down at the ring, thinking what should I do. I grasped the ring, head swimming. Then before I could change my mind, I did what I'd sworn to Greg—and to myself—that I'd never do. I unclasped the chain and slid it from my neck.

“Here.” I held it out to Grandma. “I forgot my purse. Would you keep this?”

My wonderful grandma never said a word. She just took the ring and chain, and dropped them into her purse. As if she hadn't just dropped my heart in with it.

Around the corner of the waiting room, I stopped to breathe, rearrange my face. Derek's family was hurting worse than I. They needed my support.

I did not expect the pall in the room. I've known it intimately—that beast that greedily suspends itself over those awaiting a loved one's death. Looking to devour. Sucking up oxygen, stretching faces with disbelief. Somehow in its terrifying presence, hope stubbornly shines, as it did within me. But the beast pulses, making hands rub foreheads, eyes stare at the floor. I knew every feeling and action, every glimmering, wretched one. I'd lived through them once, and I was not going to do it again.

I
knew
Derek would pull through.

Jason King bent forward on the couch, elbows on his knees, his face haggard. Miss Connie spoke softly to Miss Jessie. Derek's Uncle Lee stood like a giant against the wall, muscular arms folded, eyes closed. Daddy sat with Katherine. Without even thinking, I flew to her. She slid her arms around me, shuddering a cry. We held each other, rocking. “He's gonna be okay,” I whispered. “He
will.”

Dr. Namon entered, looking somber, small. Katherine pulled away, back arched, waiting. “He's losing consciousness,” the doctor told us quietly. “If you want to talk to him, you should go in now. You can all go, a few at a time.”

We sat like statues, trying to absorb the words.

No,
I told myself.
No, no, no.

Mr. King helped Miss Connie to her feet. “Let's go, hon.” Katherine rose, too. I clutched Daddy's hand as she and her parents shuffled out the door. Grandma paced the room, praying. Lee walked over to hug Miss Jessie.

The minutes crept by. I focused on the ridiculously bright yellow pillow on the chair across from me, reliving moments with Derek. The day I'd first seen him without his glasses. Laughing with him at the Fourth of July parade. Kissing him. He
could
not die. Because suddenly I couldn't imagine life without him. Daddy said nothing, throat clicking each time he swallowed. Grandma paced. Finally, Katherine reappeared, her parents behind her. Tears tracked down Miss Connie's cheeks. She sank onto the couch, Mr. King beside her. No one said a word. Miss Jessie and Lee sidled out to see Derek next. Then Katherine went again, Daddy at her side, elbow under her arm. When they returned, her face was pale.

“Come.” She beckoned me.

At that moment, the truth hit me in one, giant wave, and the hope to which I had clung churned to froth. Somehow I pushed to my feet and followed Katherine into the ICU. The nurse caught my eye, her face etched in sadness, then looked away.

In Derek's compartment, a respirator whooshed, a gut-churning sound added to all the equipment bleeps. Its tube disappeared into Derek's mouth, his lips forced open around it. He did not move, his eyes closed.

“Go on.” Katherine pushed me forward. “He's drugged, but he's still awake.”

I shot her a look of abject fear, then eased to the bed. “Derek.” I took his hand. “It's Jackie. Can you hear me?”

His fingers flinched in mine. His eyes did not open. I drew a ragged breath, looking over my shoulder for Katherine's approval to continue. She was gone. Stupidly, I stared at the spot where she'd stood. She'd purposely left us alone.

I leaned over the bed rail and placed my mouth close to Derek's ear. I told him that we were all counting on him to get better. That I could not bear to think of going to school the entire year without him. That I was mad at him, and who did he think he was, anyway? Telling me he loved me, giving me wonderful kisses, only to go and get so sick? He was supposed to be getting
well.
He'd made me two promises, did he remember? I certainly did.
Both
of them.

His hand twitched. I saw the smallest movement in one corner of his mouth.