Song of Renewal (9 page)

He picked up a mail package on the foyer table and turned it over. He hadn’t checked through the mail since the accident. The package was addressed to Angel. From Troy. Surrealism descended in a horrific avalanche.

Will she live to open it?
Doubt nearly suffocated him. He clawed against it and shoved the package angrily onto the foyer closet shelf next to his briefcase. Troy’s memorial service lay before them on this lovely warm day. Wouldn’t you know the blasted
sun would be shining? Yet he knew rain would be worse, with clouds and mist darkening an already unbearable situation.

Neither he nor Liza wanted to leave their daughter’s bedside, but for the moment, her condition remained unchanged. Penny had arranged to stay at the hospital and vowed to call Garrison’s cell phone immediately in the event that anything happened.

We owe Troy’s parents.
Garrison couldn’t get past that fact. June and Rocky Bailey were good, hard working people who’d lost their only son.

That possibility hit him like a sonic blast, right in the heart. He closed his eyes and collapsed against the foyer door, face burrowed in hands.
God, Liza. Why did you let them go? I did all I could to protect Angel. And it wasn’t enough!
The pain inside him roiled and swelled to bursting.
Daddies are supposed to take care of their children. I tried, Angel. I tried in my own way to protect you. Maybe not always like you thought I should. But I always had your best interests at heart. With everything in me, I wish I could have prevented you from going that night. Troy would be alive. You would be moving around. Well. Whole.

In that moment, a vision of a small toddler boy zoomed in. “My name Twoy.” Little Troy, grinning from ear to ear, shaking Garrison’s hand on that long-ago day when Rocky Bailey had hired Garrison at the dairy farm, bailing him out of a penury existence.

Troy. Dead.

Troy was being laid in the ground today because Liza had overruled his judgment. And Angel lay at death’s door. Why? Anger blazed through him like a wild inferno and he threw his head back and clenched his teeth to stem a roar like a thousand cannons.

“Aargh!” He burst into sobs, and that’s how Liza found him, slithered to the floor, head between knees, in the grips of unholy, masculine weeping.

Liza dropped to her knees beside him, and he felt her reach to console him. Instinctively, his arms flew up to ward off her touch. When she persisted and attempted to embrace him, he curled himself away from her. The movement was primal, the survival kind.

“Oh, darling,” she sobbed, rocking back on her heels. “I don’t know what to do. I’ve caused all this suffering. I’m...so… sorry.”

Then she cast her arms outward and raised her face to the ceiling, tears coursing down her face. “What have I done? Please, God. Forgive me.”

Garrison heard her heartrending cry, knew she needed his forgiveness, his comfort. He tried to open his mouth and say it, but he could not. God help him. He could not. That place inside him, where mercy dwells, was as empty as an ancient, deserted cave. He had nothing left to give.

While birds sang outside their window, the two of them pulled themselves to their feet, and together, yet far, far apart, they did the right thing. They honored Troy’s memory.

After the memorial service Garrison drove them straight to the hospital. They’d exchanged a few comments along the way, though to Liza, it was like gouging out molars to engage Garrison in conversation. She still gave it her best attempt.

The only exception was when he pulled his cell phone from his suit coat pocket. “I forgot to turn it off vibrate. Looks like I missed a call from the office.” He snapped it shut and put it back in his pocket. “I’ll call Gwen from the hospital. Traffic’s heavy.”

Encouraged by that small concession, Liza said, “ Troy’s mother asked about Angel. Know what she said?” Not even expecting a response, she went on. “She said, ‘he loved her, you know.’” The divulgence had touched Liza’s soul. “I know how hollow she and Rocky feel inside, but they are so brave.” Liza had merely wept with the grieving mother, whose pain matched – no, surpassed her own. June had no hope.

Liza still clung to it.

Garrison was silent for long moments as their black Jag swung into the ICU parking lot. He cut the motor and looked at Liza and her heart leaped from her belly’s cold floor to her throat. Lightness flooded her, hope fluttered.

Then he said quietly, “It hasn’t hit them yet.” He got out of the car, slamming the door behind him, echoing her heart’s thud. Liza felt the weak, warm stinging of tears in her nose and throat but with great effort pushed them back.

He came around and opened her door, a courtesy from which his Southern gentleman upbringing wouldn’t release him. Even now, when Liza knew it was the last thing he would choose to do, he practiced civility. Walking through the hot, humid, ninety-three degree July day and through the entrance doors, she noted that he dodged even the tiniest brush with her.

She sighed and murmured, “At least they don’t have any regrets.”

“What?” Garrison asked with a ring of annoyance, walking briskly, forcing her to hasten her pace.

She shrugged. “Troy’s folks. At least they won’t wrestle with regrets.”

He gave a tiny huff of exasperation. “Regrets? They buried their son today. Yeah. I’d say they regret having to do that.” His sarcasm cut her deeply, as did his implications.

Regrets. She carried enough of them for Troy’s parents, Garrison, and the whole danged world. Humor had always
gotten her past dark times. Had enabled her to wheedle and tease Garrison out of his sporadic artistic melancholy, occasions that culminated with them rolling on the carpet, laughing like doofuses.

Garrison had once told her, “I love your sense of humor. It’s one of the things that drew me to you from the first. There’s something so
pure
in it. So spontaneous. I love that, like you, it’s so real and uncontrollable, even in the most serious of times.”

This time was different. A hovering Death specter obliterated humor, disarming her of the one weapon to which Garrison might respond.

Inside the ICU waiting area chatting with Penny was Garrison’s redheaded assistant, Gwen. She embraced them both, murmuring, “I’m so sorry about all this. Is there anything I can do? That is,” she apologetically pulled an envelope from under her arm, “besides getting your signature on these forms?”

Penny said, “I’m going to get a snack in the cafeteria. Want me to bring you something?”

Liza smiled tiredly. “No, but thanks. I’m good.” Her rumbling stomach reminded her that she and Garrison had not eaten since early that morning. With the midday funeral, emotions had run high, driving back appetites. Vaguely, she watched Penny, dear Penny, leave.

Garrison’s smile was warm and welcoming as he sat beside Gwen on the sofa and, heads bent together, they went over pertinent data. He signed each of the documents.

“Thanks, Gwen,” he said softly, gratitude and apology vibrating from his deep voice. “I’m afraid I’m not much good at handling business right now.”

She shook her head. “No problem. I’m at your beck and call 24/7.”

Then she smiled encouragingly at Liza, who’d taken a chair across from them. Gwen apologized for intruding and Garrison
apologized for his phone’s inaccessibility. Liza noted his openness and camaraderie with his assistant, and everything in her heart and soul keened for even a morsel of it. Aloneness attacked her anew.

Shut out. I’m shut out
. The awfulness of the thought hung there, palpable and terrible.
I…am…shut…out.

Penny returned, carrying a bag and drink tray. She placed the drinks and sandwiches, Wakefield favorites, beside their respective tables.

“Thank you,” Liza said, her eyes moist. In that moment, Penny’s
being there
elicited a primeval, surging gratefulness, one that brings one to one’s knees. “Here.” She reached for her purse.

“No,” Penny insisted. “Please, Mrs. W., let me do this. I’ve saved most of my allowance lately. No big deal.”

“But Penny – .”Garrison, too, reached for his wallet.

“No,” Penny persisted desperately. She shook her head. “Please, I want to do this. There’s so little I can do.” Her voice broke. “Don’t you see? I can do this.”

“Excuse me,” Garrison murmured to Gwen and moved to sit on the other side of Penny, his gaze tangling with Liza’s in a moment of affinity. “Of course you can do this, Penny. We appreciate it from the bottom of our hearts, don’t we, Liza?”

“You bet,” Liza agreed.

Garrison spoke gently. “It’s just – look, can’t I repay you at least?”

“No.” Penny looked at him and her tear-brimmed green eyes seemed bottomless. Liza’s heart nearly broke when she saw Garrison’s moisten, too. “Please,” Penny whispered as a tear rolled down her cheek and her trembling hand swiped it away. “I want to do this. You see,” two more huge tears spilled over, “it’s like I’m doing it for Angel.”

Garrison gave a big, watery smile. “I get it.” He reached out to hug the thin shoulders and rasped, “Thanks, Penny.”

“You’re so thoughtful,” Liza added, blinking back tears. “Thank you.”

Liza peeled the wrapper from the sandwich and took a couple of obligatory bites. She watched Garrison walk Gwen down the corridor. At the elevator, they talked intensely for long moments and then Gwen stretched up and hugged Garrison. The gesture was warm and Garrison’s arms returned the embrace.

Liza rewrapped the remainder of the sandwich, appetite gone. A tiny alarm shrilled inside her and a memory corked to the surface. She’d recently dropped by unannounced at the Wakefield Creations office, needing Garrison’s consultation on a benefit seating arrangement. Upon entering, she’d seen Garrison at Gwen’s desk, leaned over her shoulder in a conspiratorial way that seemed, in Liza’s wifely estimation, a bit too cozy. But working on graphic designs brought them into close contact, didn’t it?

So why did she feel so threatened now?

Because today was different. She felt vulnerable. Alone.

It wasn’t the chaste embrace; it was the spontaneity that tore at Liza’s heart. Why did Garrison behave so affectionately with Gwen when he refused even to tolerate Liza’s touch? To hardly ever even look into her eyes?

But she knew the answer.

Anger.
She headed for the ICU to be with her daughter.
Garrison blames me.

In the unit, Garrison joined her. “I don’t believe her face is as swollen,” he said hopefully.

Liza watched him lean to kiss the ashen cheek. “I think you’re right.”

He straightened quickly, peering intently at the inert form. “Did she flinch?”

“No, she didn’t. The doctor said that the Dilantin puts her even deeper into the coma. She won’t be moving at all, much as we want her to. This protects her brain from further injury. Gives it time to heal.”

He gazed into space, that glimmer of something building in the dark depths of his eyes. He looked at her and she saw that it was despair.

“She’s going to come back,” she said with compassion, and saw the darkness in his eyes shift. Lift. Then she leaned and softly murmured in Angel’s ear, “You’re brave and strong. Hang in there. You can do this.”

They knew, quivering on the perimeter, the Grim Reaper hovered.

By silent consent, they agreed upon one thing: they would pay it no heed.

chapter six

Voices…Mama... “You’re brave and strong. You can do this.”

What, Mama? What can I do? Not ballet, please....
Nonono.

Troy sat beside her on the golden pine needle carpet floor… the hue of him seemed to blend with the gold as he murmured, “It’s okay, Angel.” His arm slid around her and it felt so good. She felt so safe. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. Not now.”

She looked into his dark eyes, so gentle in their regard of her, so…concerned. He could read her thoughts and she could read his. “How do you do that?” she asked without saying it aloud. “How do you know what I’m thinking?”

He smiled and joy, like a tidal wave, washed up in her throat. Love flowed into her, a love so powerful she thought it would consume her. Yet it was not like anything she’d ever felt before. It was pure and peaceful and gripping all at once.

“It’s this place.” The thought flowed to her in his velvety voice. “Here you simply are. There’s nothing to prove, Angel. You simply be yourself…at peace.”

In the distance, Mama and Daddy sat on a rustic, sun-bleached, silver-gray wooden bench beneath the pines, talking quietly. They watched her as they chatted. She couldn’t hear
much of what they said, only caught snippets of conversation, but somehow she knew it involved her. “Drug helps sometimes …Penny said the team… Dr Abrams says she….”

Angel couldn’t wrap her mind around any of it. Right now, whenever now was, she would simply
be.
With Troy. She smiled at him, snuggling closer.