Mend the Seams (20 page)

I pick up my phone and dial Savannah’s number sure that hearin’ her voice will settle me right down. The phone rings several times before switching to voice mail. I think nothin’ of it, she’s probably readin’ or nappin’. She did say she wasn’t feelin’ well, although we both know that was her copout to get some time away from me to clear her head. Damn, I hope she’s seein’ clear as crystal by the time I make it back to her house.

I toss my phone to the side then set back to work. I place a few inventory orders, check the Employee time logs and print off the new work schedule and hang up by the time clock. Jenny steps into the office for a few minutes after the lunch rush to pencil in time off during the holiday since the kids will be outta school. She makes small talk for a bit, then quickly realizes she’s wore out her welcome and shuffles back to the front.

Pickin’ up my phone I call Savannah again-a failed attempt. Something’s not right here. I’m sure I’m an overthinker, but dread suddenly fills me and I can’t fight the feelin’ that something terribly wrong has happened. I jump to my feet, snatch my keys and phone from the desk and haul ass to Savannah’s.

Redial-voicemail. Redial-voicemail. I call her continually, never getting a response. “Damn it, Sav!” I yell slingin’ the phone onto the floor board trepidation fueling me. Stop signs and school zones didn’t much matter in this moment. My foot never relents from the gas pedal as I clutch the friggin’ steerin’ wheel in a damn death grip to keep control of the truck as I hug the tight curves. The strong scent of smoke grows stronger and it feels like my mind is playin’ tricks on me, connectin’ the overpowering smell to my anxiety like the two blend as one. I brace the curve before Savannah’s house and black smoke clouds the sky, causin’ my damn heart to drop into my stomach. 
Please God, don’t let it be her house.
I silently pray as fear wracks through me. The smoke grows thicker and by the time I turn into her driveway it’s bellowing so high into the sky, fiery flames waving from rooftop and windows of her house. I slam the truck in park and swing the door open wide, jumping out on unsteady feet.

This can’t be friggin’ happenin’.

The memory of losin’ Alyson and Sawyer flashes through my mind, and I relive that moment briefly, letting the terror consume me before realizing I need to react. I lost every damn thing I loved once before and I’ll be damned if I’ll lose Savannah too, not after fightin’ so damn hard to get her to begin with. I failed at savin’ Alyson and Sawyer, but I’ll be Savannah’s hero if it frickin’ kills me.

Every damn thing I’ve ever learned about fire rescue escapes me and I react on instinct. A man on a mission to save the woman he loves. I rip the screen door back and using the heel of my boot I splinter the weak door from the frame. Flames snake up the walls, slithering across the ceiling of the living room and my greatest fear stares me in the face, mockin’ me. “Savannah!” I call out, coverin’ my face with my shirt trying my best not to inhale the thick smoke. I hunker down, tryin’ to stay low and away from the scorching heat searchin’ out Savannah. Damn it, I’ll die in this house before I leave it without her.

I continue to call out to her scootin’ on my knees through the fiery wake, but I can’t find her. My throat feels tight as the heavy smoke blankets over me. I feel lightheaded and my vision begins to blur as I crawl my way into the foyer, but I refuse to give up. The blaze cracks loudly and I look up at the orange blazed ceiling just as the yielding rafters give way, wood and sheetrock splintering beneath the pressure of the flames, trapping me in their fiery cage. I try to wiggle free from the heavy wood but my legs are trapped. I squirm and fight to break free, calling out to Savannah, to anyone who might hear me. Sirens screech in the distance, alertin’ me that help is on the way, but the smoke fills my lungs and the fiery blazes fades into Sawyer’s smiling face.

Carly and I are on our way to pick the kids up from school when her phone rings. She answers it casually with her chipper tone, then her face pales, her hazel eyes widening in shock. She slows the Tahoe and quickly whips it around in a U-turn, slamming the phone down against the console. Tears spill over the brim of her eyes and I grip her hand, quietly asking what happened. I wasn’t prepared for her response, no matter how hard I’ve been trying to steel my strength, this brought me to my knees. “It’s Luke, Sis. It’s really bad.”

So many scenarios flash through my mind as I try to prepare myself for what Carly is about to tell me.
He fell off of a ladder while working at his house, fracturing several bones; wrecked his motorcycle. He ran into Drew Varney and things got ugly.
I steal Carly’s strength, trying to prepare myself for the news but it’s not enough. “Savannah, he was just pulled from your burning house. I’m so sorry, Sis.”

Woah, what?
My burning house?

“Carly, please, please tell me he’s okay!” I shout, choking back a sob.

“All I was told is he’s at the ER.” Her voice is apologetic and broken.

Upon arriving at hospital, Carly drops me off in front then leaves to pick up the kids, promising to return as soon as she can. My legs quiver with each step I take, but I will myself forward knowing Luke needs me. He’s been my anchor all this time, pulling me through the wreckage. Now it’s time I anchor him. The receptionist is very uncompassionate and rude. I lie, telling her I’m Luke’s girlfriend just to get any information on his injury.

She shows me back to the triage room they have Luke in and tells me she’ll let the doctor know his family has arrived before she pulls the door together for privacy. Sitting in the teal vinyl chair next to Luke, I look him over accessing his injuries. His large body is too big for the bed, his feet uncomfortably hanging over the edge. A sheet covers his prone form and I can’t help but to pull it back checking him over. Small burn marks litter his tan skin just up to his elbows and a few mark up his face and neck. Black soot blankets his body, thick rings around his mouth and nose from inhaling the thick smoke. I hover my hand over his, scared to touch him, but a light tap on the door stills me momentarily. I look up to see the doctor waving me out into the hallway. He explains everything to me with a hopeful tone, assuring that they are doing everything they can to treat Luke with the utmost care.

Luke was pulled from a structural fire where he was pinned beneath a wooden beam. He was unconscious when the firemen pulled him to safety, and was immediately transported to the ER. He tells me they are unsure of how long Luke was in the fire, but he could be unconscious for a few hours or as long as thirty six hours. They are running several tests-chest x-ray, blood gases, CBC and a CT scan for good measure, sparing all costs to ensure an accurate diagnosis and precise treatment. The quicker he wakes up, the less risk he will be in for dangerous infections.

I know the survival rate for smoke inhalation, the complications one faces-Pneumonia, brain damage due to lack of oxygen, Acute Respiratory Distress Syndrome-just to name a few. Explain all of that to your ordinary person and their hope diminishes grimly. But I’m a nurse. It sounds scary, but you have to understand the statistics and the treatment. You have to have faith. I know that Luke is a fighter and he will pull through this.

Making my way back to Luke, I stop mid-stride, tilting my head as I look at him lying lifelessly in the bed and it’s like I’m seeing him for the first time. His skin is red and heated from the fire, marked and blistered which will leave everlasting reminders of the day he nearly sacrificed his life to save mine. His dark brown hair is wild and unruly like he was raking his fingers through it all day as he worked. His beard is neatly trimmed, but thick-covering his tanned, delicate face. A tribal flame tattoo stretches from the top of his right shoulder to just above his elbow, and although I have seen the ink peeking out the edge of his sleeve before I was never curious about the design, but now I wanna know what it symbolizes. My eyes trail down his chest to see a beautiful script peeking from his ribs and I can only make out the words
Christ strengtheneth me 4:13.
Scripture? 4:13-I chant over and over to myself, committing the numbers to memory. I glance over him one last time and a single tear trickles down my cheek when my eyes fall upon the tattoo etched over his heart. My memory flashes back to Braden squalling that Luke was a superhero, Superman-Braden’s very idol. It didn’t make sense at the time, and I was so mad at Luke that night I didn’t want to know what Braden meant, so I never thought to ask. But now, knowing Luke’s story it all makes perfect sense:

“Superman was his favorite superhero because he could fly, bend steel, and he always knew when someone needed him. To Sawyer, I was his Superman.”

“Sawyer was right, you are a Superhero. Please wake up.” I mutter through heavy tears.

I cry silently for what feels like hours. The Superman tattoo on Luke’s chest guts me. This man-this amazing man who’s life has been tragically wrecked with abuse, devastation and loss-has never given up, never quit fighting. Somehow through all the hurt, pain and anguish he’s lived through he continues to grow stronger-relentlessly living because he knew he served a purpose. I just wish I understood his strength, his empathy-him, because he truly amazes me.

They move Luke to a regular room and tell me that his oxygen saturation levels aren’t stable and they’re concerned he may have burned tissue in the lungs. So they want to monitor him, checking his blood gas levels until he wakes up when they can take a better assessment of him. Even though he’s on oxygen his room air is unsteady, registering at only eighty percent and that worries me the most.

Carly and Colton show up just as the sun sets and I’m a bit relieved to see familiar faces. My mind is swirling in wild circles, racing endlessly in thought. Colton offers to sit with Luke while Carly and I go to the café to get some coffee. I feel like I’ve been running on auto pilot since I got to the hospital. I fill her in on what I know so far. She’s a rattled mess, worried about her best friend.

“Sis, I talked to the fire chief and he said the Fire Marshall would be in first thing in the morning to investigate the fire. The house is a total loss. The structure is still intact for the most part but the damage is too extensive to try to repair it.” She gulps back a sob, trying to hide the tears that flow freely from her eyes. “That was home, Savannah. My God, every memory from our childhood, of Daddy – just stolen from us.”

“Carly, please. I can’t focus on that right now. For the second time in just a matter of months my family has lost everything. Our homes, our personal belongings, and family photos-those can never be replaced. But damn it I nearly lost my Luke!” My voice rises an octave as the emotions swallow me whole. “His life is worth more than anything that we’ve lost!”

“I know, Sis. I’m so sorry! Luke is the strongest man I know. He will pull through this.”

“He will, Carly. He’s gonna come back to me.” I swipe my face roughly, so angry and mad and just frickin’ broken that this happened.

Carly links our hands together and passes me a knowing look. “Let’s get you back to Luke, sweets. He needs you now more than ever.”

With tragedy, we always ask WHY. I always wondered what right we have to ask, to question God’s will, but it’s simple human instinct and we’re all guilty of it. So instead of questioning God’s intentions I’ve just been talking to Him, praying silently, talking out loud-He hears it all just the same in my book. I just feel like there is a missing piece of the puzzle that I’m not seeing and I’m trying very hard not to be so angry. Luke and I both have suffered so much, we deserve a break.

I raise my head up to study his breathing pattern and my gaze instantly falls on the ink trailing across his ribs.
Christ strengtheneth me 4:13.
I reach in my purse and pull out my cell phone and enter the words in the search bar, curious what his tattoo means. I click the first link and smile to myself, knowing I was right as I read :

Philippians 4:13 King James Version (KJV)

13 
I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.

I find comfort in the scripture. With all that Luke has been through, it’s the perfect reminder to look to God when you feel weak, keep your faith in Him and you’ll find your strength, which is exactly what Luke has done over the last two years – he’s clutched onto his faith.

Suddenly I remember a conversation I had with Luke about when he lost his family and it’s like the pieces of the puzzle just fall into place.

“Fact of the matter is, the good Lord called them home, together. It was just all a freak accident, really. I understand that you blame yourself, but consider this-God didn’t take you for a reason. Why? I don’t know, but He has a plan for you, Luke, that will eventually come together and when it does, although you’ve suffered a great loss, it will all make sense.”

I’ve just recovered from a life shattering wreckage finding the other half of my heart through the storm. Luke saved me from Josh then held me at bay, keeping me afloat through the vehement waves. I grip Luke’s hand a little tighter and pierce my teeth through my lips, fighting back my loud sobs as the striking realization hits me that Luke lost his family, so he could find me.

“You were meant to save me, Luke. Please come back to me.”

Luke still hasn’t woke up, but I’m clutching to faith and praying that God will let me keep him. The nurses make regular rounds checking his vitals which seem to be stabilizing. I’ve not slept a wink. My mind just won’t shut off but exhaustion is quickly setting in. My heart thuds, echoing loudly in my ears, the only harsh reminder I have that this wretched body is still clinging to life-struggling to find the beauty in it all.

“Luke, you have to come back to me. You fought too hard to save me, to protect me. You can’t leave me now. I don’t think I can let you go. Please, just open your eyes.” I whisper, feeling defeated and lost. I won’t give up on him like this. I ease onto the bed, hovering over him and cup my hands around his face. “Luke, please.” I can’t stop the tears from flowing. So much I want to say to him, the words begging for release. I lean in and brush my lips over his delicately, my heart swelling with emotion leading me in this moment. “I love you, Luke.” I didn’t want to tell him like this. I lay my forehead against his, silently praying that he can sense me, feel my touch – that my love-anything will bring him back. Just being close to him right now, is comforting. I trail my fingers through his beard, and choke back a sob as I sit back down beside him. I just wanna curl into his arms, feel his embrace around me one more time. I curl my arm around his, and rest my head on the bend of his elbow as I watch his chest rise and fall slowly-the movement causing my heavy eyes to drift no matter how hard I fight it.