In Your Embrace (6 page)

Just as his arms begin to give out on him, he hears her yell and the cabinet slams to the ground.
 Sweat trickles into his eyes as he falls back and sees Iris cradled in the stranger’s arms.  She strokes the bloody strands of hair out of his neighbor’s face, whispering to her.

“She doesn’t look too good,” Timothy mutters as he crawls to their side.
 Iris is far too pale.  Her face is riddled with dark bruising.  Blood seeps from her nose.  Her arm hangs at a sickening angle over the girl’s lap.  No other immediate injuries can be seen but he fears that unseen damage may still exist.

“We need to get her to a hospital.”
 Tears spill over and roll down her cheeks as the girl stares at the fragile woman in her arms.

“I’ll get my truck ready. Are you ok to stay here with her?”

The warm smile that meets his questions chases away his hesitation.  He nods and rises, rushing back through the darkened house and out through the kitchen door.  Glass crunches underfoot as he rushes toward his house.  He yanks on his wooden gate and cries out when it comes free in his hand and tumbles to the ground.  Stomping over the broken gate, he rushes into his backyard and slides to a halt with his heart sinking into his stomach.

What was once a two-car garage doubling as extra storage for his tools has been reduced to splinters and rubble.
 The towering tree in his backyard has smashed straight through the garage and taken out both his personal and work truck.

Timothy barely has time to mutter a curse before he hears a scream come from within Iris’ house.
 He turns and sprints back through the kitchen door and finds his neighbor passed out in the girl’s arms.  “What happened?”

“She started seizing.
 I tried to hold on to her but she was stronger than me.  Is she epileptic?”  She asks, rubbing a growing red patch on her face, evidence of Iris’ flailing arms.

He tries to think back, to pinpoint any moment in the past seven years living beside Mrs. Stevens that he has ever heard her mention this condition.
 “I don’t know,” he finally says and kneels down, scooping the frail woman into his arms.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking her to the hospital.”  He rises and tightens his grip, fighting to keep from thinking of how fragile Iris feels in his arms.  He knows her health hasn’t been the best these past few months, but after he lost Abby, Timothy lost a part of his heart along with her.  The part that remained kept everyone at a distance, no matter what.  Guilt riddles him as he pushes through the front door and rushes down the front path.

I should have taken care of her.
 Abby would have done that.  Would have expected it of me.

“Aren’t you going the wrong way?”

He looks back over his shoulder to find the girl glancing at the driveway that separates the two yards.  “My trucks are gone.  Darn tree took them out last night.”

“What about her?”
 She rushes to catch up to Timothy.  “Doesn’t she have a car?”

“That old thing hasn’t been started in nearly three years.
 Iris has a bit of a temper when she drives.  When her car started giving her grief, her son felt it best to let that aspect of her independence go.”

“So you’re just going to carry her
?  Isn’t it a long way?”

He nods, trying not to think of just how many miles lie between him and help.
 Maybe they will come across a friend with a working vehicle.  Maybe they will pass a fire truck or policeman that can offer assistance.  Timothy doesn’t know how he is going to get Iris to the hospital, only that he owes it to her to try.

She falls in step beside him and after only a moment she begins to hum.
 “What are you doing?”

“Oh!”
 Her eyes widen. “I’m sorry.  Am I disturbing you?”

“I wasn’t referring to your humming.
 What are you doing here…with me?”

“You needed my help.”

“And I’m very grateful, but you can’t seriously plan to walk with me the entire way.”

The girl wipes her forehead and her shoulders rise and fall with an indifferent shrug.
 “Seems to me like you could use some company on the walk. Besides, I need to check on my aunt.  She’ll be beside herself with worry by now.”

His mouth falls open.
 He starts to speak, although what it is that he wants to say seems to escape him.  Instead he clams up and walks, focusing on keeping his footing sound as they cross another block off their end goal.

“It’s beautiful, you know?”
 Timothy turns, confused.  The girl looks up from wisely paying attention to the debris in the road before them and smiles.  “Her name, Iris, like the flower.  It’s one of my favorites.”

“You never have told me yours, you know?” He grunts and shifts Iris in his arms.
 Although she can’t weigh much more than a hundred pounds soaking wet, the ache in his arms begins before he reaches the end of his street.

“Oh!”
 When she laughs, Timothy is surprised to find it appealing.  Most girls he knows tend to over-exaggerate their laughs.  The girl walking beside him seems down to earth, genuine.  “How silly of me!  My name is Hannah.  Hannah Green.”  Timothy stops walking to readjust Iris again and Hannah follows suit.  “And does the hero have a name?”

He fights to ignore the trembling that has begun to rise in his arms.
 He has worked far too many strenuous hours this past week to be able to tackle a feat like this.  “I’m Timothy Lewis, though you might have a few people around here call me Tim or Timmy boy.”

Hannah grins.
 “I think Timothy is a lovely name.  It’s one of my favorites, too.”

He casts a glance over at her to see if she is being coy and is surprised to see that she’s not looking at him
and batting her lashes like some of the other girls in town have taken to doing over the past few months.  Although he has never been considered the sexiest man in Rodanthe, he does have a good, honest business, a home, and an empty side of the bed that apparently people feel needs to be filled.  Instead of ogling him, Hannah stares at the homes around him.

“You seem to have a lot of favorites,” he muses.
 Sweat drips into the back of his collar, winding its way down his spine and into the waistband of his pants.  A cloud crosses over the sun, casting them in shadow.  Timothy glances up and frowns.  The wall of clouds seems to be on the move again, and they look none too friendly.

“Sure,” she shrugs.
 “Isn’t it better to appreciate the small things in life rather than mope about things that can’t be changed?”

Timothy purses his lips.
 She looks over at him and then quickly lowers her gaze.  “Sorry.  I tend to run my mouth when I’m upset.  It’s a family trait.  One that I’ve been diligently attempting to squash out, but as you can see, it’s still a vice.”

She does talk a lot, but Timothy would hardly consider that a bad thing.
 At least so far. He’s only spent a few minutes with her after all.  “You’re not from around here, are you?”

“Why do you ask?”

“No real reason.  It’s just unusual to meet people who speak so politely.  I can’t possibly be more than a couple years older than you, and you speak to me like I’m my dad.”

“I was taught to respect my elders…no matter how much older they are.” Hannah laughs and Timothy finds her smile to be infectious.
 Her hair shifts in vibrant waves over her shoulders despite the sun being hidden behind the clouds.  “I’m a California girl.  Born and raised, though I’m sure some would say that’s not such a great thing to claim.”

“Why not?”

She wrinkles up her nose.  “Most people out that way are…well, they’re not like folks around here.”

“How so?”
 He listens to his feet beat the pavement, counting his steps to keep from thinking of the pain gathering in his lower back.

“You are all so polite and warm.”

“And people from out west aren’t?”

“Oh no,” she rushes to shake her head.
 “I’m not saying there aren’t well-meaning people out that way.  There are for sure!  It’s just…” she pauses.  “I guess I don’t get to be around a lot of them.”

The wistful tone in her voice calls to Timothy.
 He knows a thing or two about feeling lonely.

“So what kind of girl leaps out of the back of a moving ambulance to give aid to a complete stranger?”

Hannah appears to think over the question before her face turns serious.  “What sort of person wouldn’t run to a stranger’s aid?”

He is surprised by her response, so much that he can’t seem to find an answer.
 How many people does he know that would have done as she did?  People he grew up with or lived beside for years who might not have answered his call for help.

“You’re something special, aren’t you?” Timothy says, realizing even as he says it that his words are true.

An appealing blush rises in her cheeks.  “My aunt and uncle like to say that.  I guess they think if they say it enough times I’ll start to listen…” she trails off.

When she doesn’t say anything more Timothy glances around Iris’ head to see that Hannah has become unusually withdrawn.
 “Are you ok?”

“Yeah,” she tries to offer him a smile but it falls flat.
 “I’m just worried about my uncle.”

“Was that him in the back of the ambulance?
 The one who Charley said was hurt?”

When Hannah glances away he realizes that she has begun to choke up.
 He wishes that he could reach out and offer her some small ounce of comfort.  “It all happened so fast.  There was a terrible ripping sound and then the water flooded in.  I don’t even really know how it happened.  We found him lying on the ground with a spear of wood embedded in his stomach.  He was so pale…” Her lips begin to tremble and she falls silent.

Charley was right to leave me behind.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, understanding what Hannah is unable to say, and vows to get them both to the hospital as soon as possible.

SIX

Rescue

Hannah walks in silence, lost in her thoughts and fears about her uncle.
 
Andrew is strong.  He’ll pull through…God willing.

That’s always the kicker.
 Is God really willing?  Hannah finds herself wondering that more and more.

Having grown up in church, she knows all too well that praying for selfish reasons usually doesn’t turn out well.
 Questions seemingly go unanswered.  Sick people still die, even when their loved ones hang on to faith for dear life.  Homes get destroyed.  Jobs vanish and bills pile in to suffocate well-meaning people.

Life is hard and usually doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.

Glancing at the man walking beside her, Hannah can’t help but admire the strength Timothy possesses.  Although he is obviously physically strong, it is his drive to protect his neighbor that she admires most.  What man would go to such lengths to carry an elderly woman this great distance?

Although Hannah is admittedly not the most athletic person
, she prides herself in having a fairly decent stamina; however, this walk is kicking her butt. The heat beats down on her.  The winds have begun to rise.  Her shoes are soaked from sloshing through drenched yards and flooded gutters.  Her lower back has begun to pinch with pain.  Her soiled white eyelet shirt sticks to her clammy skin.

She doesn’t know how Timothy is managing.

“I hope I’m not being too forward, but I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone like you before,” Hannah says.

Timothy turns to look at her over the older woman’s shoulder.
 His face is reddened and glistening with sweat.  The rising winds toss his dark hair about his forehead.  “Is that a bad thing?”

“Oh!
 No.” She smiles, shaking her head.  “Not at all.  It’s just that not many men would do what you’re doing for Iris.”

He seems to ponder this for a moment.
 A queer look crosses his face before he looks away.  “It was the right thing to do.”

“Of course it is.
 Doesn’t mean other people would be too eager to do it though.”

Timothy glances over at her again.
 This time his gaze looks far off.  “I’m not a hero.”

“I beg to differ,” she asserts. “I’m sure you would have done the same for me.”

His eyebrow hikes.  “How do you know?”

Hannah shifts her gaze toward the woman cradled gently in his arms.
 “Because of her.  We’ve been at this for what…three miles now and you haven’t complained once.  I know you must be hurting.  I sure am.”

His gait slows to a halt as he turns to look at her.
 “We can rest for a moment if you need.”

Hannah smiles.
 “See?  You immediately put the needs of others before yourself.”

Storms clouds build, darkening his expression as he turns away and resumes walking.
 “Not always.”

He says nothing more as he walks and Hannah lets the silence stand.
 He obviously has something sensitive in his past and she isn’t one to pry, especially with a complete stranger.  Though she finds herself wondering what sort of pain could cause a man to look so easily broken.

She likes Timothy.
 Hannah has always had a good sense about people.  Though her father has always scolded her for being naïve, she prefers to think of herself as optimistic about people’s personalities.  Everyone has a streak of evil in them.  It’s just human nature, but there is almost always a silver lining.  With some people you just have to work a bit harder to see it.

Timothy is kind of like her.
 Not devastatingly handsome or flashy in any sense of the word.  In fact, some people might consider him to be more on the plain side, though that is a trait she finds rather attractive in a man.  Someone whose heart is able to show through their exterior.

His angular face is tanned and his smile, though rare at the moment, appears to be genuine.
 He has a strong jaw and wide, expressive brown eyes, warm like melted milk chocolate.  Small laugh lines circle his eyes, evidence of a time when he had fewer burdens on his shoulders.  His jaw is lined with stubble, a couple of days’ growth that enhances his slightly rugged appearance.

He wears nothing more interesting than an old black t-shirt and jeans, and seems perfectly comfortable in them.
 There is an air of confidence rather than cockiness about him.  His stride is long, and yet he seems to be holding back a bit to allow her to keep up with him.  Although Timothy towers over her, she doesn’t feel intimidated by him as she has in the past with other men.

Hannah’s reverie is broken by the approach of a siren from behind them.
 She glances back over her shoulder as an ambulance rounds the corner.

“Is that the same ambulance?” she questions as Timothy smiles and raises an arm to flag the vehicle down.

“Charley always keeps his word.” He rushes around to the back door.  It swings open and two paramedics jump out and take Mrs. Stevens from his arms.

Timothy’s shoulders curl inward as he stretches his arms out before him.
 Hannah can see a slight tremor in his hands before he shoves them into his pockets.  
He must be exhausted.

“Care for a ride?” Charley calls back through a small opening in the cab.

“Sure is great to see you.” Timothy grins and offers Hannah his hand to help her into the ambulance.  The doors slam shut, and a short time later they pull to a halt in front of the ER doors.

Timothy leaps down first and helps Hannah jump the distance.
 Her feet ache when she lands, but she gives no sign of her discomfort.  She watches as the paramedics retrieve the stretcher and roll the elderly woman inside.  Hannah breathes a sigh of relief.  
She’s in good hands now.

Looking at Timothy, who stands to the side speaking with Charley, she realizes that Iris was already in good hands.

She watches as Timothy’s smile fades.  His hands tighten against his arms where he has them crossed over his chest.  Shadows seem to grow under his eyes as he slowly turns to look at Hannah.  There is pain in his gaze and a new awareness.

A sick feeling creeps into her stomach as she takes a step back, finding herself pressed up against a wall.
 Timothy clasps Charley on the arm then starts toward her.  His gait is heavier than before.  “Timothy?” she asks, with a shaky voice.

He glances at the ground, his hands plunged deep into his pockets.
 “You didn’t tell me Andrew was your uncle,” he says.

“I…I didn’t know that you knew him,” she whispers, feeling the cold blanket of dread begin to spread.

He nods and kicks at the curb.  “Small town.  Your uncle was the one who helped get me started with my construction business a few years back.  He’s a good man. Honest.  Trustworthy sort.  I’ve always liked him.”

Timothy says nothing more, but she can tell that the news about her uncle isn’t good, and it has hit the man before her pretty hard.
 He clears his throat and runs his fingers through his hair.  “Charley says Andrew’s in surgery.  Gonna be there for some time.”

She swallows, realizing how parched she has become.
 “Will he make it?”

Timothy looks up and she can see the uncertainty in his eyes.
 Wrapping her arms about her waist, Hannah holds herself.  “I’m sorry,” he whispers.  “If I had known, I would have insisted that you stay with him.”

She shakes her head and smiles a pained but genuine smile.
 “No.  He would have told me to help Iris, that she needed my help far more than he needed my fretting.”

The corners of his lips tug into a knowing smile as he nods slowly.
 “Yeah, that sounds about right.”  He glances over at Hannah.  “He’ll make it, you know?  He’s too bull headed to leave your aunt.”

Hannah blows out a slow and unsteady breath.
 “Sometimes that’s not enough.”

He opens his mouth, as if to reassure her, but appears to decide against it.
 The sudden retreat doesn’t go unnoticed by Hannah, but she says nothing.  There is pain in his past.  That much is obvious, but it appears to still be raw.

She feels weak in the knees as she leans back against the wall, watching nurses and paramedics scurry about just inside the doors as they struggle to keep up with the work load.
 People with various injuries seem to be walking through those doors in a near constant flood.

So many people hurt. So many lives devastated by this storm.

“Let’s get you upstairs,” he says, and she realizes that he’s placed a hand on her arm.  Blinking, she looks up into his face and sees compassion.  She nods and allows him to help guide her through the maze of people to find her aunt in an upper floor waiting room.

Claire surges to her feet the instant she sees Hannah st
ep out of the stairwell.  “Oh, thank God!  I was wondering if you would be able to get here.”

Hannah sinks into her aunt’s embrace, soaking in the comfort she offers.
 Claire draws back to look at her and Hannah notices the exhaustion weighing her aunt down.  She looks beyond Hannah’s shoulder and smiles.  “Timothy.”  She reaches out a hand to clasp his arm.  “Thank you for taking care of her for me.”

“I think she did a good job of taking care of herself, Mrs. Matthews.”

Hannah watches a small flicker of light enter her aunt’s eyes.  “Been trying to get him to call me Claire for months now.  Stubborn man refuses.”

Timothy starts to respond, but Hannah cuts him off.
 “I don’t think it’s stubbornness at all, Aunt Claire.” She turns to smile at Timothy and notes a hint of a blush rise along his cheeks at her direct gaze.  “It’s just who he is.”

Claire nods in rapt agreement.
 “Well said.  Is Iris going to be ok?”

Hannah isn’t surprised to hear that her aunt knows Iris.
 Claire is the type of person who never met a stranger, especially in a small town.  No doubt she has met and fallen in love with every person in this town.

“The doctors are checking her out now.
 In fact, I should probably head down and sit with her for a bit.”  He offers a small wave and turns to leave but glances back.  “It was nice to meet you, Hannah.  I hope everything goes well for Andrew.”

“The Lord willing,” she says, almost without a thought.

He pauses and then nods.  “Let’s hope that He is.”  With that he turns and heads for the stairs.  Hannah watches him until the door slams shut behind him.

“I know that look.”

She turns to see her aunt staring at her.  “What look?”

“The look of admiration and I’m here to tell you that there’s no finer man in this place than Timothy Lewis.”

Hannah glances back at the door.  “Do you know him well?”

“Well enough.”
 There is an unusually pinched tone in her aunt’s voice.

“Meaning?”

“Meaning he keeps to himself for the most part these days.  He works hard, from sunup till sundown.  He’s a driven man now.”

“Why is that?”
 Hannah can’t help but sense there is something more to this story than her aunt is letting on.

“Now, you know I’m not one for gossiping.
 Timothy’s had a rough go of things these past few months.  Life’s been pretty tough on him, but he’s hanging in there.  Maybe someday he’ll tell you about it.”

Claire wiggles her eyebrows suggestively and makes Hannah laugh.
 It’s a small laugh that soon fades away as a doctor comes through a set of double doors at the end of the hall. In unison they suck in a breath and hold it, waiting to see if the doctor will seek them out or one of the many other people waiting in the room.

When he turns to speak with a middle aged couple, Hannah releases her breath.
 “Have you heard anything yet?”

Claire’s disheveled hair falls about her shoulders.
 Her fingers lose color as she grips her arms tightly across her chest and the mood shifts once more, taking on a very somber feel.  “Nothing yet.”

“You want anything?
 Coffee?  Snack?”

“No.
 I don’t think I could keep anything down right now.”

Hannah can sympathize.
 Ever since they found Andrew severely injured on the living room floor this morning, the room hasn’t stopped swaying for her.  Her stomach clenches at the thought of what life would be like for Claire if Andrew doesn’t pull through.

No. I won’t think of it.
 Not until I have to.  
Instead she sinks into a two-seater couch beside her aunt and holds her hand, giving her what little comfort she can spare.  From time to time she lifts up prayers.  Some are silent and are nothing more than a single sentence plea for help.  When words aren’t enough, her tears take over.

The lights flicker overhead, drawing Hannah from her thoughts.
 Claire’s grip on her hand increases.  “The generators will hold,” Hannah soothes.