Reconciled for Easter (8 page)

She wasn’t part of his church, but Daniel was still just doing his job.

“So did they tell you how long you have to stay?”

“Overnight at least, so they can observe me. I was unconscious for longer than they like. But hopefully I can go home tomorrow. No permanent damage.”

“Thank God for that,” Daniel murmured. “Would you feel uncomfortable if I prayed for you?”

“Of course not,” she said. “Thank you. I can use all the prayer I can get.”

So Daniel prayed for her, and Abigail prayed silently, and she appreciated that he didn’t try to turn the prayer into a private little sermon aimed at her, the way the pastor she’d grown up with always had.

“Thank you,” she said again, when he finished and said “Amen.”

“You’re welcome. Now what can we do for you?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, what can we do for you? Me, the church. What do you need from us?”

“Oh,” she stammered, feeling awkward and resistant for the first time. “I go to another church.”

“I know. But Thomas is part of our church, so we’d like to help too, if you’ll let us. What do you need from us?”

“Nothing. I’m really fine.” She shifted in the bed, suddenly wishing Daniel would leave. “I don’t need anything.”

Daniel frowned. “You don’t need anything, or you don’t want us to help?”

“I don’t need help,” she said, feeling trapped and too weak to deal with this sort of thing right now. “I don’t like for people to help me. I’m really fine.”

“Why don’t you like people to help you?” The question was conversational, almost casual—as if he was genuinely interested. It wasn’t pushy or like an interrogation.

And, for some reason, Abigail answered it. “I do okay on my own.”

“No one does okay completely on their own. That’s not how we were created.”

“I know that. I just mean I prefer to be as self-sufficient as possible. I’ve had…I’ve had some bad experiences with dependence.”

Daniel’s forehead creased, as if he were concerned.

Suddenly, Abigail was afraid he’d think she was saying Thomas had been a bully or something, when that wasn’t at all what she meant. “I mean my father,” she explained. “He was…he was very strict. And very big on authority. He wanted me and my mother to be…to be completely dependent on him and feel ashamed every time we crossed a line. So I got used to never feeling good enough.”

Daniel nodded, as if he understood what she was saying.

So she went on, “And then I kind of felt that way in my marriage too. Not that Thomas was ever like my dad or… But when you’ve spent so long feeling that way, it’s hard when someone seems to keep affirming it. Anyway, it’s just in the last year that I’ve felt like I’ve really worked through a lot of those spiritual struggles.” She sighed. “I guess that all sounds kind of crazy.”

“No. Not at all.” Daniel gave her a sad, little smile. “In fact, my first wife—she died, if you didn’t know—my first wife was raised with that kind of background too. She struggled with something similar—about never feeling good enough but always desperately trying.”

Abigail felt oddly better, oddly validated—as if her own experiences weren’t so strange. “Yeah. That’s just what I’ve had to go through. Anyway, I really do think I’m in a better spiritual place now, but I’m still afraid of falling back into my old patterns. And feeling….feeling dependent seems to drag me back into that old place.”

She blushed hotly, suddenly wondering why she’d spilled all of that to someone who was practically a stranger. Daniel had probably heard a lot worse, but it just wasn’t something Abigail shared.

His dark eyes were sober as he finally said, “I can see how it would be hard for you now to feel dependent, if you don’t think the help or support comes from love.”

Abigail nodded, once again feeling
heard
. “It is. So it’s nothing personal or anything. I mean, I really appreciate the offer to help.”

“I guess my only question is if you want to stay there, after how far you’ve already come.”

“Stay where?”

“Stay where you connect help with shame, when that isn’t what you were created to be.”

Abigail should have been angry or offended, since she’d never asked for a sermon or a counseling session. But he wasn’t being pushy or offensive. He seemed to be asking an honest question. “I…I don’t know. It’s easier said than done, you know. To get over…something like that.”

“I know it is. But God mends what is broken, and that includes our hearts.”

She nodded, believing what he said but not sure what to do with it. She hoped he wasn’t going to press the issue, since she didn’t physically feel up to dealing with it right now.

“I heard Thomas was quite the hero,” Daniel added, obviously recognizing the need to change the subject.

“What do you mean?”

“At the accident. The story is going around about how he got you out the crashed car and had you stabilized before the ambulance came.” Daniel was smiling, as if he was pleased with Thomas’s crisis management. “Evidently it was a sight to see.”

“Oh.” Abigail could picture it vividly. Thomas with his cool head and skillful hands and absolute commitment to taking care of her. He would never even tell her about it. He’d never once asked for or expected any thanks for any of the lives he saved every day.

He was so amazing. And it felt like she could see how amazing he really was more now than ever.

Daniel got up, reaching over to pat her arm. “You look tired, so I’m going to take off. I hope you feel better. And please reach out when you feel like you’re ready.”

Abigail mumbled out a goodbye, and she thought about the conversation for a long time after he left.

***

“The doctor says you need nothing but rest for the next few weeks,” Thomas said in a low, insistent voice. “And you can’t use your right arm. And you have to take it easy on your ribs. How exactly are you planning to get by like normal?”

“I’m not planning to get by like normal,” Abigail said, trying to think clearly and be reasonable when she was really tempted to huddle under the covers and let Thomas completely take care of her. “But I can get by.”

“Can you? You can take care of Mia? Get her to school every day? Take care of the household chores? Do errands? Manage your own care, which I promise will take up far more time than you realize. All with a broken arm, cracked ribs, and the aftermath of a severe concussion?” He was angry. She knew he was angry because his lips had gone white.

“Fuck you, Thomas.” She never used that kind of language, but there were no other words to fully embody her feelings at the moment. She was trying desperately not to melt into a puddle of emotion and weakness, and he seemed to be intentionally trying to make it worse.

“Very constructive comment.”

Abigail wished she wasn’t so dead tired. It was only nine o’clock in the morning. She was supposed to be discharged later that afternoon. They’d only kept her overnight to monitor her symptoms, but she showed no signs of lingering brain injury. Her headache had faded quite a bit, but every other part of her body hurt. And her arm was itching under the cast, in a place she couldn’t possibly reach.

“Well, maybe you could try to listen to me,” she burst out, “instead of charging ahead on your own all the time.”

Thomas froze, clearly taken aback by the words. “What?”

Feeling bad about the spontaneous outburst, Abigail glanced away. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound that way. I know you’re trying to help, and I really do appreciate it. But it feels like you’re doing your own thing right now and not really hearing what I’m saying.”

It had happened over and over again during the years of their marriage—that feeling of her voice not really being heard. She felt a familiar exhaustion rise up at recognizing it yet again—one of those things that wouldn’t ever go away.

He sat still for a moment, obviously thinking over what she’d said. Then he leaned forward on the chair next to her hospital bed and reached over to tilt up her chin so he could meet her eyes. “I’m listening now. Tell me.”

She took a deep breath, strangely affected by the look in his eyes and the feeling that he really was listening. “I know it’s going to be hard, but I don’t want Mia to go stay with you while I recover. It will throw off her entire routine. She’s upset by all this already.”

“I know that,” Thomas said, visibly relaxing and lowering his hand. “And that wouldn’t be my first suggestion anyway. It would still leave you with the difficulty of managing your own care.”

Abigail closed her eyes, the knowledge finally catching up to her that the car accident would have effects stretching out over a long time. “I suppose you want to hire a nurse or something to help me out.”

“That would be one option.”

“We can do that if we need to, but Mia doesn’t do well with strangers. I think it would really stress her out.” Frowning, she asked, “What are the other options?”

“You and Mia both could come live with me temporarily.” Thomas said the words as if they were natural, as if they weren’t of any real significance. “Or I could come live with you.”

“What?”

Thomas shrugged off her obvious shock. “It’s a logical solution. I’m not a stranger, and Mia wouldn’t be uncomfortable with me. My presence could help her through the awkwardness of the transition.”

Abigail’s belly was suddenly fluttering with nerves, for no good reason. “I’m not sure we should stay with you. I think it would confuse Mia. If we were all living there for a while...”

He nodded. “That makes sense. So what do you think of my staying with you for a couple of weeks?”

She couldn’t do anything but gape at him in absolute bewilderment. “I don’t understand. You’re going to take off work for two weeks to help me do laundry?”

“I wasn’t planning to take off work completely. But I can scale back a little—I’ve got someone who can cover for me now, if necessary—and then we can get help from our families. I could be there to help in the mornings and evenings with anything you needed, but I wouldn’t be in your hair all day long.”

That actually sounded much better than she’d initially thought. And he was right. She would need help. And Mia loved him.

He’d seemed to genuinely hear what her concerns had been and not tried to barrel through them, and that meant more to her than even his offer of help.

She kept hearing what Daniel had said earlier, about her somehow now connecting help with shame in her mind. She didn’t want to do that. She didn’t want to stay there.

“All right. I think we can make that work. But please try not to boss me around. I know you’re used to taking charge, but it’s my house. I need to be able to make decisions.”

Thomas nodded calmly. “About everything except your health.” Before Abigail could argue, he went on, “I know you, remember? I’m not going to let you get in the way of your own recovery because you’re too stubborn to see sense.”

Abigail glared at him but, because she secretly knew he had a point, she didn’t object.

Lifting his eyebrows, Thomas asked, “Any other terms?”

“No bulldozing.”

“Understood.”

“And there’ll be no more drinking wine or fooling around on the couch,” Abigail concluded. Despite her wry tone, her cheeks burned at the memory that was still so vivid, even though she’d lost most of the morning that had followed it.

Thomas’s mouth twitched up a little, but she thought his cheeks might have flushed a little too. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

But then he belied his pious tone by adding, “I’m not sure how well you could balance above me in your present condition anyway.”

Abigail woke up groggy and confused, conscious of nothing but the pain in her body.

Her ribs hurt every time she took a deep breath, and her head ached with a dull pounding, both on the point of impact and behind her eyes. She had other aches and pains, from the cuts and bruises that covered her. Plus, she couldn’t seem to think clearly.

She tried not to move, since moving made everything worse. And gradually her vision cleared and the fuzz dissipated a little from her brain. She remembered leaving the hospital earlier that day, coming home with Mia and Thomas.

Doped up on medication and too exhausted to do anything else, Abigail had gone right to bed and fallen asleep within minutes.

A slight turn of her head showed her it was almost seven. It took her several minutes to figure out that it must be the evening of the same day.

She had to pee, so she started to climb out of the bed. But she almost immediately gasped and froze in place. It just hurt too much to move.

It hurt everywhere—particularly where her ribs were fractured.

The doctor had told her it was only a minor fracture and they’d heal on their own in a matter of weeks.

But it hurt like hell. Every time she coughed, sneezed, breathed. Or moved the wrong way.

Abigail was all alone in her bedroom. She couldn’t hear any noise from the rest of the house. Mia and Thomas had evidently forgotten about her, abandoned her to her misery. They were probably having a grand time without her.

For a moment, she felt so pitiful she wanted to cry.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so horrible. No, that wasn’t true. She did remember.

The last time her body had hurt this much had been when she’d given birth to Mia.

The memory was a little fuzzy now—all of the pain and stress of childbirth having blurred over a bit in the joy of finally having her baby to hold. But it had hurt so much, everything had hurt so much, before they’d finally been able to give her the epidural. Thomas had been with her the whole time, but he’d been strangely quiet, strangely stiff. He’d been wearing his work clothes, and pretty soon his shirt was sticking to his skin in a sweaty spot on his belly and in the middle of his shoulder blades. He’d let her hold his hand, however, and he didn’t complain or pull it away no matter how brutally she squeezed it.

He hadn’t relaxed until she’d been given the epidural and her pain had miraculously faded. Even then, he hadn’t said much.

Abigail remembered being so anxious, discreetly scouring every detail of his face, trying to read his expression. Even in the midst of giving birth to Mia, she’d been so scared Thomas wasn’t really happy about this disruption to his plans to not have children before they were settled.

So, when all of it was finally over, when she held Mia—tiny and wriggling—in her arms, Abigail had burst into tears when Thomas sat next to her bed and smiled.

In that moment, she had experienced hope—as pure and blinding as light—hope that Mia might change the things that felt not-quite-right between them.

A lump of emotion lodged in Abigail’s throat as she forced herself to dispel the memories. The way she felt right now didn’t hurt nearly as much as childbirth had.

Of course, there was no joy waiting at the end of it either.

Holding herself very carefully, she tried to pull herself up once again. It was hard, with only one working arm and a body that ached with every slight movement. But she pushed through it.

She sat on the edge of her bed for a few minutes, taking breaths as deep as she could bear in an attempt to overcome the dizziness. Eventually, she was able to limp to the bathroom.

Then, feeling utterly pathetic, she made the long, slow trek down the hall. She was wearing a loose t-shirt and a pair of old sweats, and she hadn’t looked in the bathroom mirror, too afraid of what she might see.

When she reached the living room, she heard voices from the kitchen, and her heart relaxed a little as she heard Mia say, “Can’t we wake Mommy up yet?”

“She needs to rest,” Thomas replied, his voice low and mild. “When someone has been hurt like she has, sleep is the best thing for them.”

“She’s been asleep forever. She’s gonna miss the pizza.”

“We haven’t even put it in the oven. She’ll probably wake up before it’s done.”

Intrigued, Abigail resisted the urge to announce her presence as she made her clumsy way to the entrance of the kitchen. There, she saw Thomas’s straight back, firm butt, and long legs in his casual trousers and black t-shirt. She also saw Mia from behind. The girl wore a little pair of jeans and a purple top, and she was standing on a chair so she could reach the counter.

Both of them were working on a half-made pizza, and neither yet realized Abigail was there.

“I think that’s enough mushrooms, don’t you?” Thomas asked, neatly slicing a green pepper.

Mia frowned disapprovingly at her father and kept carefully placing pieces of mushroom on the pizza. “Mommy likes lots of them.”

“Okay. What about some peppers?”

“Yes,” Mia said, nodding her pigtailed head. “She likes those too.” She reached over and started precisely positioning the green peppers in the small spaces left between the scattered mushrooms.

“Should I put the pepperoni on now?” Thomas asked, putting a supportive hand on Mia’s back when the girl reached too far across the counter.

“No. I’m making it for Mommy. I’m the one who thought of it to help her feel better.”

“Right,” Thomas murmured, a slight smile in his voice. “My mistake.”

Mia carelessly wiped her hands on her jeans to get rid of the moisture from the peppers. Then she patted Thomas on the shoulder. “That’s okay, Daddy. I can do the pepperoni now.”

Abigail was torn between snickering and melting into a puddle of sentiment, but she didn’t dare do either—since it would reveal her presence and she knew it would hurt too much.

As Mia meticulously laid out the sliced pepperoni on her pizza, Thomas’s eyes rested on the girl. Abigail could only see one angle of his face, but his uncharacteristically soft expression shocked her. As did the gentleness of his hand as he reached over to stroke stray wisps of hair back from her face.

“Ouch,” Mia said, frowning up at him again. “You pulled my hair.”

“I’m sorry. How did I do that?”

“A hair got caught in my glasses,” she explained gravely, “And you pulled it.”

“I’ll try not to do it again.”

Mia inclined her head. “Okay.”

For no good reason, Abigail’s eyes started to burn and the lump in her throat from earlier returned with even more force.

A few years ago, she would have given anything—anything—to see Thomas be a father this way, to see him act with such obvious affection and show their daughter such focused attention. A scene like this might have transformed Abigail’s whole world back then.

Even now, this concrete proof of how much he’d changed was threatening to buckle her knees.

For a moment, she stood in the entrance of the kitchen and practically strangled on emotion. She gripped the edge of the wall and hung on, afraid she might actually fall down.

Then, before she’d gotten herself under control, Mia wiped her hands on her jeans again and turned around to hold onto the back of the chair, in the process of climbing down. “Mommy!” she exclaimed, when she saw Abigail.

Thomas turned around quickly, obviously taken by surprise.

“Hi, sweetie,” Abigail managed to rasp, still too overcome with almost-tears to speak naturally. “I finally woke up.”

Thomas’s brows pulled together into four little lines as he scanned her face and body.

“We’re making pizza for you!” Mia came running over and beamed up at Abigail. “It has mushrooms and peppers and pepperoni just like you like. We have to put it in the oven now, but then it will be ready to eat.”

Abigail was still struggling against her flood of emotion, but she tried to smile down at her daughter.

“Are you all right, Mommy?” Mia blinked up at her in concern.

“I’m fine.” But Abigail’s voice cracked and she suddenly felt dizzy. Her own weakness—both physical and emotional—did nothing to help her desperate attempts to pull herself together.

Thomas did help. He walked over and put a bracing arm around Abigail’s waist, skillfully avoiding her painful ribs. “Mia, do you mind running to the bedroom and getting a couple of pillows so we can make Mommy comfortable in the chair?”

“Okay.” Obviously pleased to have a duty, Mia scurried out of the kitchen.

“Damn it, Abigail,” Thomas muttered, as he walked her into the living room. “Why didn’t you ask for help?”

“I’m fine.” Abigail shook helplessly now, overwhelmed with everything all at once.

“You are not fine,” he insisted in a low, urgent voice. He settled her into a comfortable chair, his hands both strong and gentle. “You’re about to fall apart.”

Silent sobs ripped up through Abigail’s throat, and she contorted her face in an attempt to restrain them.

Thomas’s face twisted too. He made room for himself on the edge of the chair and leaned over toward her. “Abigail,” he murmured thickly, “Baby, try to pull it together. You’re going to scare Mia if she sees you like this.”

Sitting in the chair hurt. Crying hurt. Her whole body hurt. “I know.” Abigail bent her neck and hid her face against Thomas’s shoulder. “I’m trying.” She squeezed out of a few hot tears against his shirt and breathed in the familiar masculine scent of him.

“Here they are,” Mia announced. “I brought...” Her voice trailed off and, with a pang of dismay, Abigail realized why. “Does it hurt that bad?” the girl asked in a broken voice.

“No, sweetie,” Abigail said quickly, every maternal instinct in her nature screaming at her to snap out of her little breakdown. “It doesn’t hurt that bad. I’m just being silly.”

Mia came closer, dragging three pillows and holding the little fan she kept beside her bed under one arm. She peered at Abigail suspiciously. “What’s silly?”

Abigail swallowed, feeling more in control now, although still desperately weak. “You remember how I cried at that dog commercial a few weeks ago? That’s how I was crying now. It was just so nice to see you making a pizza for me after being away from you in the hospital.”

Mia thought for a few moments, the little wheels in her mind obviously spinning as she considered this information. Then her face relaxed. “That’s silly, Mommy.”

Giving a huff of laughter—although even that was painful—Abigail agreed, “I told you I was silly.”

“Thanks for bringing the pillows,” Thomas put in, his natural voice moving them away from the precarious moment. “Can you hand them here so I can make Mommy comfortable?”

Mia handed Thomas one pillow at a time. The first he edged between her and the side of the chair, to support her broken forearm. The second he used as extra support for her ribs. They didn’t really need the third pillow, but since Mia had brought it, he stuck it on the floor beneath Abigail’s feet.

“I brought my fan, in case you were hot,” Mia explained, offering the little red fan like a gift.

Abigail wasn’t the least bit hot—in fact, she was grateful for the throw Thomas was tucking around her lap—but she wouldn’t have refused the fan for the world. “Thank you. That was very sweet of you.”

“Do you think you can get Mommy a cup of water?” Thomas asked, looking over at Mia, “So she can take her pills?”

Mia hurried into the kitchen, and Thomas turned back to scan Abigail’s face. He really was very close to her. And for the first time she noticed that he looked strained and little tired, beneath his neutral composure. “You all right?” he asked in an undertone.

It hit her then how incredibly grateful she was that he was here. There was no way she could have managed on her own.

She wasn’t sure what she would do without him, even when she was well.

“I’ll live,” she managed to say. “But, if I happen to pass out, you’ll carry me back to bed, won’t you?”

***

At nine-forty that night, Abigail stood in her bathroom, bracing herself with one hand on the sink counter.

She’d stayed up the whole evening, lounging in the chair in the living room in an attempt to feel a little more human. After dinner, Thomas and Mia had read out loud on the couch while Abigail listened and dozed. Then Mia had gone to bed, and Abigail and Thomas had watched some news.

At nine-thirty, when Thomas went to check on Mia and turn off the light, he returned to inform her that the girl was already asleep.

Exhausted and in considerable pain, Abigail decided she would go to bed too.

But first she had to get ready for bed. It shouldn’t have been a big deal.

It was.

For one, Abigail still didn’t feel very stable on her feet—the pain medication, on top of a blow to the head, left her mind constantly spinning. Plus, she only had use of one arm. And bending down in any way caused sharp jolts of pain from her ribs.

But she felt like crap—dirty and disgusting—and she wasn’t going to bed until she’d cleaned up a little.