Easter Blessings (16 page)

G
reg opened the passenger door to help his mother exit.

“I hope you’re a gentleman with all the ladies,” she said with a grin. “I taught you right.”

“That you did, Mom.” He gave her shoulder a pat, then took her arm and guided her up the walk.

Greg rang the bell, and in a moment, Emily greeted them and inched aside to give them entrance. “Welcome. Glad you could come.” She gave Greg a teasing glance. “And you, too.”

He chuckled and squeezed her arm, wanting so badly to kiss her flushed checks. He could tell she was flustered, trying to prepare the dinner. Her short copper-toned hair framed her usual translucent skin. Today it was a warm pink.

“We finally meet,” the woman said. “I’m Rose, Greg’s mother.”

“Emily Casale, and I’m so happy to meet you, too.”

“Greg told me about your lovely garden.”

“It’s only lovely because of Greg.” Emily touched his
arm and gave it a squeeze. “And thanks so much for the tubers. They’re in bloom and beautiful.”

“Greg knows his way around a trowel,” Rose said.

Greg shushed her. “Don’t give away all my secrets.”

Emily’s face brightened with their banter. “Please—” she gestured through the archway “—let’s sit in the living room. I didn’t mean to keep you planted next to the front door.”

Thank-yous and chuckles blended as they made their way into the living room.

“Your home is lovely, dear,” Rose said, settling into a floral print easy chair. “Everything is so cozy.”

“Thanks.” She turned her attention to Greg. “Would you mind carrying in some iced tea or lemonade while I check on dinner.”

“We could look at the garden while you finish,” Greg said. “Unless you prefer to join us.”

“No. Go head. Use the back door. It’s closer.”

He figured being out of her way was a good idea. They followed her into the kitchen, wrapped in the scent of herbs and chicken.

“Something smells wonderful,” Rose said. “And what a pretty kitchen.”

“Thanks.” Emily motioned to the oven. “I made chicken divine. I hope you like it.”

“We’ll like anything you make, Em.”

She did a double take hearing the nickname. “I haven’t been called that since my mother died.”

“It’s a nice name,” Rose said. She walked to the window beside the table and gazed outside. “Such a lovely view from here. I’m sure you could sit right here and look at the view all day long.”

“I’ve been known to do that…in my more depressed moments.”

Though she grinned, Greg suspected there had been more truth than humor in her comment.

“Let’s take a look and let Emily finish dinner,” he said to Rose.

His mother agreed and followed Greg through the back door. He took her arm and helped her down the steps.

When they stood at the edge of the garden, Rose spread out her arms at her sides and drew in a lengthy breath. “Smell the fragrance, Greg? Emily put a great deal of effort and love into designing this garden. It’ll be wonderful when she can enjoy it again.”

Agreeing, he breathed in the scented air while the weight of his mother’s words pressed against his heart. “I don’t understand how she sat here day after day and didn’t fight to walk. When I first met Emily, she broke my heart.”

They wandered along the path, Rose pausing occasionally to admire a flower, then ambling on again.

Rose paused in the center of the garden and eyed Greg. “You’ve fallen in love. It’s obvious and so nice.”

He laughed and wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “Thanks for telling me, Mom.”

“It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Love finds us wherever we are…even if we’re hiding,” she said. “I’m not sure why you’ve fought loving someone for so long.” She patted his arm. “But God guides our stubborn steps and gets us to the right place eventually…when we stop struggling.”

“I haven’t been avoiding romance. I’ve just been busy helping people get well.” He gave her a lopsided grin. “And even spent a little time with my mother.”

“That’s a job, Greg…not a life.”

Her wisdom nailed him to the grass.

She patted his arm and pushed him along the path. “But things are different now. I’m so glad you found
this woman. She’s lovely and a good person. All she needs is a little nudge of confidence to get on with her life.”

“And you have a plan, I suppose?” Greg knew his mother.

“It’s God’s plan.” She faced him and reached up to put her hands on his shoulders. “I’m just the instrument to help it along.”

His mother’s sly smile made him chuckle.

Before they ambled back to the house, Rose stopped to inspect the dahlias. “They look good.” She lifted her sparkling gaze to his. “I guess you did learn something from your mom.”

“I learned lots from her. Didn’t have much choice.”

“You!” she said, giving him a playful swat. “I was too good to you.”

Their laughter greeted Emily’s ears as she opened the back door. Their family love filled her and squeezed at her heart. What would she do if Greg walked away? He’d awakened her spirit, but he’d also made her vulnerable—a feeling she feared.

“Just in time,” Emily said, motioning them to the table by the window.

“Smells great,” Greg said, shyly nestling his arm around Emily’s waist.

Heat rose to her cheeks. She knew it wasn’t the oven, and so did Rose, evidenced by her smiling eyes.

“The flowers are beautiful, Emily. I couldn’t believe the number of butterflies. You do have a way with them.”

“Thanks. It’s a butterfly garden,” Emily said. “Many of the flowers attract butterflies.”

“Sounds lovely, and I’m sure that’s not the only thing in your garden that’s alluring.” Rose gave Greg a knowing look.

“Mom has a sense of humor,” Greg said, arching an eyebrow toward his mother.

“Thank you, dear,” Rose said, looking as guilty as a jaywalker.

“Anyway, it’s the flowers.” She swallowed her embarrassment. “Not me.”

His mother chuckled and changed the subject. “I think I’ll buy one of those garden benches. Such a nice place to sit among the blossoms and watch the birds.”

Emily couldn’t help but grin at the wiry woman. “Greg brought just about everything back to life.”

Everything back to life. Even her, in so many ways.

“Some things take longer to rejuvenate than others,” Rose said. “But with a little nurturing…and prayer, all things work together for good who love the Lord.”

A fitful silence settled over the room, and Emily wondered if Rose were talking about something other than flowers.

Greg cleared his throat, breaking the quiet.

Drawing herself from her muddled thoughts, Emily motioned again to the table. “Please. Find a seat.”

Greg held a chair for his mother, and when she was seated, Emily handed him the chicken casserole and the garden salad. When the dinner rolls were on, Greg took his place, and Emily lowered herself into the chair with a confined grimace and slid the walker against the wall.

They had waited for her with folded hands. Emily bowed her head and asked a blessing on the food and her company. “Help yourselves,” she said, passing the salad.

They filled their plates, murmuring an occasional comment while concentrating on their food. Emily sidled a look at Greg and his mother, realizing how lonely her life had been. The kitchen chair where Emily sat had become her place of solace. The landscape and birds brought evidence of the changing seasons, life moving past her window.

Moving past. That’s what she’d done for so long—let
life pass her by. God willing, she would walk again—not run perhaps, but she’d keep up with life.

“I imagine you’ll be happy to get this surgery over with,” Rose said, as if she’d read her mind. “It takes courage.”

“That or stupidity.” Emily grinned, but fear churned in her stomach.

“Wisdom,” Rose said. “You’ll be walking before you know it. Greg can vouch for that.” She motioned toward him with her fork. “And you know I’ll keep you in my prayers, dear.” Compassion etched Rose’s voice.

“Thank you.” Emily had been caught off guard by her kindness.

“And let Greg know if you need me after surgery,” Rose added. “I’ll be here for you.”

Shame scooted up Emily’s spine. Rose had offered her prayers and her help while Emily had done so little for herself. She’d left God right out of her dilemma. She’d always believed…but she hadn’t trusted.

“Are you all right?” Greg asked.

She jerked her head upward. “Yes. I’m fine.” She turned to Rose. “I was thinking how I’m always trying to stand on my own feet…and with bad knees at that.”

Her words brought a smile to their faces…and to her own. She needed to smile. She needed Greg and his mother.

And she needed God.

The light blurred above Emily’s head as she lay on the table in preop, waiting for the orderlies to wheel her away. Warmth rose up her arm where the needle sent a calming liquid to her consciousness.

“Getting sleepy?” Marti asked, seated at her side.

“Mmm-hmm,” she said, trying to stay in focus. “What
time is it?” Emily’s mouth felt drier than sand, and she struggled to push the words to her lips.

“Eight. They should be here in a few minutes. Then I’ll see you in a few hours in your room.” Marti’s cool hand pressed her arm. “Now relax.”

“How’s the patient?”

With foggy eyes, Emily gazed at the parted curtain. Greg stood at the foot of the gurney, dressed in his hospital smock.

“Greg.” Her eyes closed and she tugged them open.

He stepped to her side and covered her hand with his. “How are you doing, Em?”

“Okay.” Her voice sounded thick in her ears.

“Did Pastor Ben drop by?” he asked.

“Just for a few minutes,” Marti answered. “He said a wonderful prayer and told us he’d come back in a couple of days.”

“Good.” Greg leaned down and pressed his warm lips to her icy cheek.

“I’m so cold. Am I…dying?” Emily asked.

Their snickers rang distantly in her ears. Greg squeezed her hand. “You’re drifting into twilight, just like I told you. Let yourself go, and the next time you open your eyes it’ll be over.”

“Do like he says.” Marti’s faraway voice echoed into Emily’s fading thoughts.

Greg took a last look at Emily’s sleeping form and left the preop room, his mind a jumble. Who would have thought his feelings would have grown so deeply for Emily in the short time they’d known each other? But they had.

“Time for coffee?” Marti asked.

He checked his wristwatch. “Sure. I have about twenty minutes before I have to be back on the floor. We’ve been a little slow today.”

She nodded, and they walked in silence to the elevator, then to the first floor. In the Mackenzie Cafeteria, Greg insisted on buying the coffee, and he added a couple of doughnuts to the tray. The large alcoves were near empty, and they found a quiet corner and sat.

“What do you really think?” Marti asked after a thoughtful length of silence.

Her surprise question yanked Greg from his own concerns. “She’ll be fine, Marti. More than fine.”

Tension slid from her face, and a grin appeared. “I should be ashamed, I suppose. Where’s my faith now?” She lifted the cup and took a sip, but held it poised for a moment as if in thought before returning it to the table. “I worry so much about Emily. She frustrates me, but I love her dearly.”

“She knows you’ve been concerned about the wedding. She wants—”

“That’s part of it, I suppose.” Her gaze drifted away for a moment before returning to him. “It’s more than that.”

More than that? Greg considered all the effects of Emily’s disability on Marti’s life. “It would be hard for her to be alone…without you at the house.”

“True, but she’s strong and I know she’ll adjust.”

Marti’s words hung before him like a puzzle. Playing guessing games didn’t sit well with Greg. What was the problem? What worried her?

Marti lifted the coffee to her lips, sipped and replaced the mug on the table. “Emily was a different person before the accident. Different in many ways.”

More pieces of the puzzle. Greg watched tears rim Marti’s eyes and glisten on her lashes.

“I want only the best for her,” she said. “She’s been through so much.”

“She has,” he said, feeling his own sorrow rising to the
surface. Greg thought of Emily’s lost husband and her life in the wheelchair. “Once she’s walking again I think her life will get back to normal.” He lifted the cup and watched the coffee swirl around the rim before taking a sip.

“Normal?”

Cupping his mug in his hand, Greg peered at Marti. What could he say? Not normal with artificial knees perhaps, but leading a fulfilled life. A husband and family. That’s what he meant. The vision pressed against his heart. Despite his conviction to remain single, Greg knew he wanted to be that man.

He loved children, and though he’d struggled for years over Aaron’s death, he knew the time had come to deal with it, then move on with his life. A life with children. Lots of children.

Calming his thoughts, Greg lowered his coffee. “By normal, I meant…getting married again. Having a family.”

“Probably not,” she said, her eyes focused through the window.

When she turned back, Greg saw sadness in them.

“She may marry,” Marti said, “but she may never have children.”

“Never…have children?” The news hit him like a punch in the solar plexus. He thought about Emily with the kids at Special Olympics. The way her eyes sparkled when she talked with them. The joy that brightened her face. He couldn’t imagine Emily never having children.

“The accident, Greg. Doctors warned her she’ll probably never have a child.” She lifted the coffee cup to her lips and poised there as if waiting for his response.

Unable to speak, Greg only stared at her.

O
n the way back to her room following therapy, Emily’s legs throbbed, and today she missed Greg. He’d become so important to her, and the truth scared her.

Since the surgery he’d seemed different, and she wondered if his friendship had been motivated by her disability and not by his feelings for her. It was too late now. He’d already tied himself to her heartstrings, and she’d be lost without him.

Today Greg had a day off, and she had to deal with another therapist’s treachery. Greg had become her favorite tormentor, forcing her to bend her leg to ninety degrees. A feat she’d once thought easy now seemed impossible. He insisted she lay on her back and lift her legs into the air, lowering them an inch a minute. And then she tackled stair climbing. Absurd, but she did it anyway.

The orderly scooted the wheelchair down the drab hallways while Emily clung to the chair arms, wondering if someone would step from a doorway and fall over her aching legs.

Her fourth day of therapy had come and gone, and if
the doctor agreed, she would go home tomorrow. She could hardly believe it. Still pessimistic thoughts bounced through her head, hard and reckless like a tennis ball.

How would she manage all day alone while Marti worked? And what about Greg? He’d told her he cared about her, but could she trust him? Would he vanish from her life once she could walk again?

Walk again? Would she ever really walk again? After four days, each step seemed a mile of pure torture.

Dashing through the doorway, Greg clutched his cumbersome package and looked at the empty bed. Therapy, he thought. Setting the gift on the hospital table, he felt pleased he’d used the ponderous time to buy her a surprise.

He needed something to fill his mind. Activities. Anything. Since Marti had told him about Emily’s accident and the prognosis, his happiness had faded like sunshine behind storm clouds.

No children.

The sad image pressed against his heart. Sadness for Emily…and for himself.

Realizing he’d hidden his feelings from nobody but himself, Greg faced the truth. He loved Emily and wanted her to be his wife…to share his life and love…to bear his children. His chest tightened and sorrow formed in tears behind his eyes.

Glancing at the empty doorway, he pulled up a visitor’s chair, but before he could settle down to wait, the bathroom door opened, surprising him.

Emily stood at the threshold, leaning against her walker. Her hair looked freshly combed while color rose on her cheeks.

“Greg.”

He turned, opening his arms. “I missed you, Em. You
look wonderful.” He leaned across the walker to brush a kiss on her cheek.

“I combed my hair. It’s amazing what that can do.”

“I figured you were at therapy, getting a workout.”

“I just got back.”

“How was it?” he asked.

“Terrible. I did the stairs today and all the leg lifts. I’m tired and miserable, and I just want to go home.”

“You’re depressed, Em. It’s natural when you’ve had major surgery. It won’t be long and you’ll be home. Maybe tap dancing.” He managed a lighthearted smile.

“Is tap dancing another form of torture?” She moved the walker toward him.

Greg backed away and let her maneuver toward the bed. Instead, she stopped at the armchair. “I think I’ll try sitting a little.”

“Do you have something to prop under your leg?”

“I’ll be fine for a few minutes.” She looked past him toward the hospital table. “What’s that package?”

“A present.” He grinned and handed her the long cylindrical object.

She eyed the gift and felt beneath the paper, giving him a knowing smile.

“You guessed,” he moaned, sinking onto the bed’s edge and pretending disappointment.

She tore off the wrapping and gazed at the hand-carved cane, running her fingers along the polished wood. “It’s beautiful.”

Greg had admired the cane more than any he’d seen. Winding from top to bottom, an intricate design of flowers and leaves had been worked into the deep-toned wood. “It’s cherry. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“It’s a work of art. Almost too lovely to use.”

“But I expect you to use it…once you’re strong enough.
When you don’t need it anymore, you can prop it in your antique umbrella stand.”

“Thanks.” She ran her finger over the elaborate design. “Here I figured I’d have to waddle around with one of these generic metal contraptions…with three prongs.”

“You look more like a four-prong type to me.”

Her face glowed with his teasing. He yearned to draw her against his chest and feel her heart beat in rhythm with his. More than anything, he longed to tell her that he knew the secret sorrow she kept inside, but he couldn’t. He knew Emily too well. She had to be the one to open her heart.

“When will you go home?” he asked.

“Tomorrow, if the doctor signs the papers. I’ve already spoken to the home care rep. I’ll have a visiting nurse and one of their physical thera—”

“And your own
private
therapist.”

“I didn’t know you made house calls.”

Greg looked at the empty bed on the other side of the room and threw good sense to the sky. He rose, braced his hands on her chair arms and kissed her.

Drawing back, he gazed into her misty green eyes. Never in his career had he been attracted to even the most lovely patient, but today he had to admit, Emily was the woman he loved with all his heart.

Tears pooled in Emily’s eyes as she sat in the recliner in her living room, her legs propped on the raised footrest. She’s longed to return home and now that she was here, she was miserable. Lonely. Sad. Discouraged.

She eyed the bruise on her arm from the transfusion she’d received before convincing the surgeon to release her.

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself,” Emily said aloud. She’d gotten her wish to come home. But for the past five days, she’d almost longed to be back in the hospital where
people brought her meals, nurses came when she pushed the intercom, visitors arrived bearing flowers and life pulsated around her. Now, Marti was working, and Emily felt semistranded, a prisoner in her own home. No driving. No stairs without assistance. No Greg.

Greg had let her down. He’d called a couple of times and stopped by late one evening on his way home from a meeting, but that had been all. He’d promised to see her yesterday, but an emergency at the hospital caused him to work a double shift. Was this the beginning of what she’d feared?

Emily shook her head to dislodge her pity party. Her sister had done the best she could. Before Marti left for work, she’d fixed juice and cereal for Emily’s breakfast. She’d had yogurt for lunch. Strawberry, not even a favorite flavor like key lime or raspberry. A little better than bread and water for the prisoner.

And now Marti had called to say she’d be late. Hearing her apologetic voice, Emily told her not to worry and that she could handle a can of soup for dinner. But no one understood how difficult it was to carry anything when both hands were grasping a walker. She hated struggling to stand on two alien knees. Knees that felt as if they belonged to someone else. She shook her head, tired of her whining.

The doorbell rang, and she hesitated. Tuesday. She wasn’t expecting anyone. The visiting nurse had come in the morning, and her home care therapy wasn’t due until Thursday.

With apprehension, she pushed her body from the chair, feeling helpless and vulnerable. When she pulled open the door, her pulse skittered.

“Greg. I wasn’t expecting you.” She shifted from his friendly face and focused on his arms, burdened with two large grocery bags.

“Can I come in?”

Realizing she and her walker blocked his entrance, she stepped aside. “Sure. Come in.” She closed the door. “I’m just surprised. I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I know. I’m a little late.” He grinned. “About twenty-four hours to be exact, but last night couldn’t be helped. Those are situations we never count on.”

He stepped to her side and gave her a perfunctory kiss. “Now, I want you to sit while I make dinner.”

“You what?”

He nodded toward the two bags clutched in his arms. “You didn’t think I brought my laundry, did you?”

Confused, she shook her head while her mind dwelled on the fleeting casual kiss.

He headed for the kitchen as she returned to the recliner. In a moment, Greg came back to the living room, his arms empty.

“In case you’re wondering,” he said, “I called Marti at her office to tell her about my idea to cook dinner. She said she had to work so it was a great plan.”

“She knew you were coming?” Emily was surprised Marti hadn’t hinted at least.

“I told her not to tell you.” He hesitated, eyeing her position in the chair. “Why aren’t you keeping your legs elevated?”

“I am, Mr. Therapist.” She pulled the lever on the recliner and her feet rose.

“I think you need a pillow under them, too.” He pulled a toss pillow from the sofa and slid it beneath her calves. “Let me have a look.”

She rolled up her pant legs while he eyed the staples.

“Looks good. Do they hurt?”

“No. They feel wonderful. I hope to have staples in my legs forever.”

“Good attitude,” he said, ignoring her sarcasm. He
stepped back. “And now you can watch my transformation from therapist to chef.” He winked and hurried from the room.

Emily listened to the cabinet doors slamming, the pans banging and dinnerware clinking. She’d expected Greg to call out a million questions, but he managed without asking one. Longing to watch, she harnessed her curiosity and remained with her legs on the pillow as Greg had ordered.

Finally, a savory aroma drifted into the living room. Her stomach rumbled as the tempting odor stirred her taste buds and aroused her appetite. When she thought she could wait no longer, Greg came through the doorway.

“Time to eat,” he said, crossing to her chair to help her rise.

Using the walker, Emily made her way into the kitchen. When she reached the doorway, she eyed the table set with place mats, china and in the center, a tossed salad. But before she could reach the kitchen chair, Greg had moved to her side.

“I’ve been longing to do this,” he said, supporting her as he slid the walker to the side. He enveloped her in his arms and nestled her to his chest. “You don’t know how I’ve yearned to hold you.” His eyes sought hers and held them captive. “The hospital didn’t seem the right spot for an employee to cuddle one of the patients.”

“Probably not,” she said, recalling how she longed to be in his arms despite her pain.

He tilted her chin upward, then drew his finger along her lower lip and caressed her cheek. His hand slid to the nape of her neck and rested in her hair as his mouth met hers.

Warmth radiated through her. Her loneliness and concern melted away as she nestled in his arms. When he drew back, his tender look sent a sigh fluttering through her chest.

“Is it warm in here?” he asked, his cheeks dimpling with his grin. “You’d better sit before the chef ruins his gourmet dinner.”

An easy chuckle bubbled from Emily’s throat. It felt good. Days had passed since she felt cheerful enough to laugh.

Greg helped her sit before taking the steaks from the broiler.

“I knew I smelled something wonderful.” Emily eyed the thick, perfect filets.

He pulled two large potatoes from the microwave, split the tops and daubed them with butter. When he settled into the chair, he clasped her hand for the blessing.

Guilt rose in her again. All her plans to place her burdens on God fell by the wayside. Her commitment vanished from her thoughts.

Following the amen, Greg kept her fingers in his. “I’ve neglected you, Emily, and not by choice. So many things have gotten in my way.”

His gentle expression enveloped her. “I’ve been feeling sorry for myself. It seems everyone wanted me to have this surgery, and now—”

“I know.” He bent down and kissed her fingers. “I persisted and then like an uncaring soul, I let things get in my way. I vanished.”

“You didn’t vanish.”

“No, but I’ve made cameo appearances. I hadn’t meant for that to happen.” He eyed the neglected steak and grasped his fork. “Enough excuses. Time to dig in before our food gets cold.”

Hearing his apology, she relaxed and lifted the fork. His gentle manner made her comfortable. Yet against her will, nagging fears continued to dominate her thoughts. Once she had loved and lost. Could it happen again?

Stark reality smacked her. If Greg loved her, what did she have to offer? Only herself…and was that enough?

Ashamed of her continual worries, she pushed them into the far corner of her mind. Tonight Greg sat beside her, sharing a meal that he’d prepared. What more could any woman want?

She dished up the fresh garden salad, then sliced into the pink steak. Perfect.

Emily ate in silence, enjoying the meal and the quiet. Filled, she pushed back her plate. “I can’t eat another bite.”

“But I brought dessert.”

“You thought of everything,” she said.

“It’s from the bakery. A peanut-butter cheesecake.”

Her favorite. Greg’s thoughtfulness overwhelmed her, and her receded tears found their way into her eyes. She blinked to push them back. “How about later?”

“Sounds good. We’ll have it after a little P.T.”

“P.T.?” Emily raised an eyebrow. She knew P.T. meant physical therapy, but she had no thought of it today. Thursday was her day.

“I’ve neglected you. Remember…I’m your personal therapist. You have to exercise everyday so why not—”

“Because I’d rather do it alone.”

He shook his head. “I know. Then you can cheat and don’t try as hard.”

She jutted her chin upward in defiance. “I do, too, try.”

“You look as guilty as sin.” He gathered plates from the table and carried them to the sink. “You prop up your leg in the recliner, and I’ll be there as soon as I clean the kitchen.”

Realizing she’d never win the battle, Emily did as he asked, waiting for her handsome tormentor to ply his wiles on her legs.

When Greg returned to the living room, he brought
along a kitchen chair. “Let’s start here.” He patted the seat.