My Name Is River (14 page)

“I'm sorry!” Billy yells. “I don't think I'm doing good enough.”

I forgot about his arm. I pull Tilly over to the side of the road and tell Billy to switch with me.

His voice is panicky. “I've never driven before.”

“We don't have time to worry about that. You just have to do it.” I jump in the back of Tilly, next to Gram, and push on her chest hard and fast. “Come on, Gram. You can't leave me.” I tip her head back, plug her nose, and then blow two big breaths into her lungs. Breaths of life. No death, Gram, only life. I do it over and over and over.

When we reach the church, Billy gets out and runs for help while I keep trying to save Gram. Before I know it, Pastor Henry's in the driver's seat, squealing Tilly's wheels, and racing to the hospital. When we get there, he backs Tilly up to the emergency department, and a bunch of doctors and nurses rush out to help. They lift Gram out of Tilly, place her on a stretcher, and wheel her away before I can tell her goodbye.

I'm still on my knees in the back of Tilly, crying harder than I ever knew I could.

Pastor Henry, Billy, and I sit in the waiting room. There must not be any other emergencies in Birdsong today because we're the only ones waiting. And that's a good thing because there's only three chairs.

Pastor Henry puts his hand on my shoulder. “Would you like me to pray for your grandmother?”

I nod. I figure if God helped us get an awesome camera when Billy prayed, then God will definitely help Gram if Pastor Henry prays.

The three of us hold hands. Since Billy's at my left, I take hold of the hand on his dangling arm (which I've never touched before). It's soft, warm, and squishy—kind of like pizza dough.

Pastor Henry bows his head. “Dear heavenly Father, we need your help. We ask that you be with River's grandmother and that
you'd give the doctors wisdom as they make medical decisions. And if it be your will, we ask that you'd keep her with us for many years to come. But if you choose to take her, we ask for the strength to go on. We pray this in your name. Amen.”

I have to be honest. Even though I'm grateful Pastor Henry prayed, I actually think it would've made more sense to just ask God to make her better. Because, really, that's what I need.

Pastor Henry takes my hand. “River,” he says softly, “God doesn't always answer our prayers like we want. We can pray for things to turn out a certain way, but the decision is ultimately up to him… and we won't always understand that. But because God is God, we need to trust that his ways are good.”

I nod, trying to understand, but there's no space left in my brain for that because there are two very big thoughts taking up all the space: the first is wondering if Gram will get better, and the second is knowing my parents need to find me fast. If Gram doesn't make it, I'll have no one.

Pastor Henry leans back in his chair, staring out the window. Then all of a sudden, he sits up straighter than a two-by-four and starts asking a million questions (I think he finally realized Billy drove Gram's truck). “How much traffic was there? Did you stop at the main intersection and look both ways? Did you even consider how dangerous that was? What would you have done if you got in an accident?”

Billy looks scared to death. He's probably wondering what Pastor Henry's going to do. And all I can do is sit here wondering if Billy's ever been grounded before.

Gram's doctor pushes the waiting room door open and walks straight at me. My whole body's tight, and everything inside me is shaking. I don't want to hear what he says, but he bends down
right in front of me so I don't have a choice. “She's a lucky lady to have a granddaughter like you,” he says. “If you hadn't done CPR and gotten here as fast as you did, she wouldn't have had a chance.” My body can't make up its mind—it shakes, it cries, it laughs, and it cries some more. It's never had to make so many decisions.

The doctor says Gram needs to stay overnight so he can monitor her and make changes to her heart medicine. As he starts to leave, he turns around. “You know,” he says, “your grandmother started to explain what happened. She said she was hopping down the driveway to get her mail, but then she closed her eyes and fell asleep. She never finished explaining. Anyway, I thought the whole hopping thing sounded strange, so I'm wondering if you have any idea why she would've been hopping when most folks her age walk.”

I tell him about her nincompoop therapist.

18

A Plan of Our Own

O
ne good thing about Gram being in the hospital is that I get to spend the night at the Whippoorwills'.

When Billy and I read the little Whippoorwills a story before bed, they beg us to read a Bible story about a giant fish that swallowed a guy named Jonah. It's an interesting story (and Billy swears it's true). The story begins with God asking Jonah to do something, but since Jonah doesn't want to do it, he tries running away from God (which is a stupid thing to do if you ask me). Jonah thinks he outsmarts God and takes the first boat out of town (that's because they didn't have cars back then). But God doesn't let Jonah get away, and he makes a storm happen. When the waves become wild, Jonah gets tossed overboard and swallowed by a giant fish (Jonah actually stays in its stomach for three days). Well, Jonah finally gets smart. He asks God for a second chance, and lucky for him, he gets one. God tells the fish to spit Jonah out on shore, which it did (even the fish knew enough to obey God). Sometimes people have to learn the hard way.

After we finish the story, I help tuck the little Whippoorwills into bed. Each one of them says a prayer for Gram. Even little Forrest.

In the morning Mrs. Whippoorwill makes everyone breakfast. She has a huge pot of oatmeal simmering on the stove, she's poured a whole jug of orange juice into a counter full of glasses, and she's used an entire loaf of bread to make the tallest stack of toast I've ever seen.

Pastor Henry takes a piece of toast off the top and wipes the last bit of oatmeal from his bowl. He says to me, “I'll bring your grandmother home from the hospital at eleven this morning. That will give her time to rest before you get home from school.”

I don't think Pastor Henry knows Gram that much because Gram's not real good at resting. Even if the doctor gives her strict orders to stay in bed, she's bound to start up with all her hopping, galloping, milk-jug-leg-lifting, ballet moves (and heaven only knows what else).

Billy and I ask Pastor Henry if we can go with him, since we want to bring Gram home too, but he shakes his head and insists we go to school.

When asking doesn't work, we beg.

He shakes his head and says, “Not a chance.”

I try sitting through math class, but I can't concentrate. I couldn't care less about long division. All I want is to get Gram and bring her home.

Later during English, Ms. Grackle instructs us to sit with our partners. “By the end of this class,” she says, “the goal is to have your project essay completely outlined and approved by me.” But Billy and I come up with our own plan (which is definitely not the same as Ms. Grackle's). We suddenly (and suspiciously) come down with terrible stomachaches, so Ms. Grackle sends us straight to the nurse. Billy and me walk down the hall, holding our
stomachs and making the best groaning noises we can. We reach the nurse's office, gripping our stomachs and bending over in pain.

Billy talks first. “Miss Nightingale, River and I don't feel good. Our stomachs feel awful.”

I give Miss Nightingale more information. “I think it has something to do with breakfast.”

“She's probably right,” Billy says. “We drank sour orange juice, ate toast made with moldy bread, and our oatmeal was horribly lumpy.” I nod my head and agree.

Miss Nightingale scrunches her nose like she'd just stepped on a dead mouse. “Well,” she says, “there's no doubt about it—the both of you need to go home immediately.” She picks up the phone while asking Billy for his number.

“That's okay, Miss Nightingale,” he says. “There's no need to call my parents. I don't want to be a bother to them. My mom's home with all the little ones, and my dad's busy preparing Sunday's message. I can walk home.”

When Miss Nightingale asks for my number, I explain, “Gram couldn't pay the phone bill, so ours is shut off” (this is true, so just like Gram, I didn't lie… except about my stomachache… and I also agreed it was caused by sour orange juice, moldy toast, and lumpy oatmeal). I wonder if God forgives people if they have a good reason to lie.