Stay With Me (24 page)

Rebecca had never thought to ask him how to pray on
the beads, and now she wished she had. She wrapped them around Chris’s hand and
let the crucifix lay on the sheet beneath his hand. Where had she seen that
before? She remembered being a little girl and visiting the funeral parlor and
seeing her elderly neighbor, Mrs. Kennedy, lying in the casket, her hand
wrapped in pearlescent beads with a silver crucifix. She had never known Mrs.
Kennedy to go to church, but looking back now, she realized she must have considered
herself a Catholic.

Chris was not going to die.

Rebecca unwound the beads wrapped around Chris’s
hand then pressed them into his palm, closing his fingers around them.

She knew only one prayer they shared in common—the
Lord’s Prayer, so she said it, first slowly and then at a more normal pace, at
least a dozen times in all. Then she sang it. From there she moved on to
“Amazing Grace,” repeating all the verses she knew three times. She thought
she’d had enough of her own voice until she thought of another song. One that
she hadn’t sung before and one to which she didn’t know more than a few words.

Her voice sounded high and fragile, even to her own
ears. “Keep circling back to me. Stay with me.”

***

He hurt. His head. His chest. Chris opened his eyes,
blinking a few times as he adjusted to the light in the room. A hospital room.
It took him a few seconds to process, and then he remembered the accident. How
badly was he hurt? Everything looked okay from this vantage point, but his
feet—he couldn’t move them. Couldn’t move his legs. Couldn’t even feel them.
That couldn’t be good.

Silence filled the room. It must be night. He
raised his head off the pillow, and then he saw Rebecca. Her head lay on his
legs, but he couldn’t feel it. Her hair fanned out on the sheets, and he lifted
his hand to stroke it, releasing the rosary beads that he’d unknowingly held.
He ran his hand over her head once, twice, and then whispered her name as he
did it again. She lifted her head, and her eyes appeared tired and bloodshot.
She blessed him with the most beautiful, joy-filled smile in spite of the
puffy, red splotches that dotted her face and the tangled, matted mess of her
hair.

“You’re awake.”

He nodded.
Ouch.
Everything hurt.

“Thank God. How do you feel?”

“Sore. Tired.”

“I should call the nurse, and tell her you’re
conscious.” She had pushed her chair away from the bed, but Chris’s next words
stopped her from getting up.

“Rebecca, stay with me a minute. I’m scared. I
can’t feel my legs.”

“Are you sure? Maybe they’re stiff or—”

“No. I can’t move my toes.”

“Let me get a nurse.”

“In a minute. Can you tell me what happened? How
did they find you?”

“I heard the crash.” She told him how she’d found a
bystander with him, then recounted what they thought were his injuries. “Your
family will be on a plane home as soon as they can. They might already be in
the air.”

Rebecca called for the nurse, who came immediately,
followed in a short while by a doctor. After evaluating Chris again, they took
him for an MRI. The doctor suspected that Chris’s paralysis was temporary due
to swelling around his spinal cord, but time would tell.

When Chris was returned to the room it was nearly
four o’clock in the morning. He held his eyes open, but just barely, and no
sooner had they gotten him settled in bed than he closed them again. Rebecca
scooted next to the bed and fished for his hand that had been buried beneath
the covers.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said before he fell
asleep again.

***

The sun slid under the window blinds and right onto
Rebecca’s face as she slept in the pull-out chair. It took her a few seconds to
register where she was. Although the quiet of early morning offered no clues,
the smell of antiseptic cleaners gave away her location—the hospital.

Pushing out of the makeshift bed, she shuffled to
Chris’s side. He hadn’t woken up yet this morning. Again, she nudged back the
hair hanging on his forehead and ran her hand along his face, feeling a day’s
growth of beard beneath her fingertips. A small bandage stuck to his right
cheek where he had an abrasion.

She reached then for his hand, squeezing his
fingers between hers. His warm skin sent a wave of relief through her. He
wasn’t in danger of dying, she knew, but seeing him lying so still unnerved
her. She wished he would squeeze her hand, whisper her name, open his
eyes—anything that would offer a connection to him. She stood there for a few
minutes, and as she studied his face, the familiar rush of attraction came over
her just as it had the first time they met and he expounded on the bountiful
varieties of yogurt available.

She smiled and then prayed for him with as much
deliberate thought as she could muster. Then she prayed that his family would
have a safe return trip.

Unlike her relationship with her dad, Chris’s
family was supportive and nurturing. He would need them here, particularly
if…she didn’t want to think it, but it was a possibility. If he didn’t regain
feeling in his lower body. The thought of Chris being paraplegic made her chest
physically ache, and again she pushed the thought aside, not ready to deal with
it. A sob choked her, and she breathed deeply, trying to expunge thoughts of
Chris never again hiking a mountain trail.

The door opened behind her letting in the noise of
a young family passing through the hall. She stepped back expecting to see a
nurse returning to check Chris’s vital signs. Instead, Father John entered
wearing his freshly-pressed, black dress-thingy. She’d have to find out the
proper name for it. If it weren’t for the worry on his face, she’d have thought
him a man ready to conquer the day.

He touched her arm. “Rebecca, I saw your message
first thing this morning and got here as soon as I could. You could’ve called
the emergency number.”

“He wasn’t in imminent danger. I didn’t want to
wake you.”

“Your message said he was in an accident. What
happened?”

Rebecca stepped back, letting Father John approach
the bed. She told him as much as she knew about the accident and Chris’s
condition.

“When he woke up, he couldn’t…couldn’t move his
legs.”

He winced. “Where are his parents and brother?”

“They’re on their way. They were on vacation in Europe. A family trip celebrating his parent’s thirtieth wedding anniversary. Chris begged
off because he was starting a new job.”

“I remember now. He did tell me about the trip, but
he didn’t name work as his reason for not going.”

Rebecca cocked her head. “He didn’t?”

“He told me he didn’t want to be away from you for
that long. He knew he couldn’t take you along for a whole host of reasons, so
he decided he’d rather stay here.”

Tears stung her eyes again. He passed up an
opportunity to see Europe with his family because he wanted to be close to her.
That was crazy.

She hadn’t thought until then what a wreck she must
seem. She had fled her apartment before she’d taken her shower last night. Then
she had gotten dirty and rain-soaked and spent the night alternately crying and
sleeping in a sorry excuse for a bed. She’d have to clean up as best she could
after Father John left.

“I think Chris is probably the kind of guy that tells
you all the time, but in case he’s not, he loves you.”

“He is that kind of guy.” And what had she given
him in return? Not once had he heard the words “I love you” fall from her lips.
Father John didn’t know how she had failed Chris, never once assuring him of
her devotion. Her body crumpled over Chris’s where he lay on the bed. Her head
rested on his legs, the legs that hadn’t moved at his command since he was
thrown from his motorcycle. The way she collapsed reminded her of a tent whose
poles were pulled out from the pockets. Like a billowing heap, she hit bottom.

A choked cough that could only have come from
Father John reminded her she was not alone. She turned to see him losing his
own battle with his emotions. His eyes were moist, and he cleared his throat as
if by doing so he could swallow away the grief threatening to overcome him.

In an instant, he pulled her into his arms, and she
felt more than heard him succumb to the sobs trying to escape their prison. She
squeezed him tighter, ceding whatever strength she had left to him. His visit
seemed less like the simple duty of a parish priest, and more like a man scared
that his friend’s life may have been drastically and irreversibly altered.

After a minute his breaths steadied, and he rubbed
soothing circles on her back.

“He’s going to be okay, Rebecca. Whatever happens,
we have to trust God.”

Those words transported her back eight years to a
moonless, muggy night alongside a bug-ridden lake. Her legs dangled off the
dock, inches above the murky, algae-covered water. Another pair of legs hung
next to hers—older, hairier, and decidedly more masculine. He put his arm
gently around her and said those same words. “I know it’s unfair, Rebecca, and
it seems like he’s getting off scot-free, but we have to trust God.” When she
looked into his green eyes, nearly obscured by the darkness of night, she was
too inexperienced to recognize what she saw there.

A mosquito landed on her calf and she swatted it. A
second later he did the same to a mosquito on his arm. They laughed, and then
the hum of the cicadas seemed to swell to a roar as he leaned slowly into her
and placed a gentle kiss on her lips.

That memory had lain dormant, lost in her
subconscious for years.  Despite the sweetness of that kiss, there would be no
others, and the summer crush that formed during camp fizzled by the time school
resumed less than a month later.

She was grateful for the innocent moment they had
shared because it bonded her, however subtly, to the man whose black clothing
she now drenched with tears.

“I think God sent you back into my life at just the
right time, John.”

“He’s good at that.” This time a little laugh
escaped his lips instead of a sob.

Being with someone else who cared about Chris eased
Rebecca’s tension. She sensed the man who was still holding her up felt it,
too.

She backed out of his arms, suddenly aware of how
it might look if someone were to come into the room. She wiped her eyes and
accepted a Kleenex from the box Father John held out to her. He pulled a couple
of the flimsy hospital tissues for himself and set the box back on the tray at
the foot of Chris’s bed.

After wiping her eyes and nose a few times, Rebecca
had an idea. “Chris had his rosary on him. I took it out of the bag last night,
and I wanted to pray on it for him, but I don’t know how. Maybe you could teach
me?”

Father John smiled and dug into his pocket. He
pulled a small plastic card out of his wallet and handed it to Rebecca. It had
a drawing of a rosary and all the beads labeled with the appropriate prayers.
He turned it over in her hand and pointed to the back. “This side lists all the
mysteries.”

Mysteries? The whole thing was a mystery to her.
She’d have to ask Chris for a more thorough explanation later.

“Here, why don’t you use Chris’s beads?” He took
the beads that were lying on the nightstand and handed them to Rebecca. “Start
here,” he said, grabbing the crucifix, “and we’ll work our way up and around.
One bead for each prayer. Just follow my lead.”

For nearly twenty minutes, Rebecca stumbled her way
through the repetitious prayers, at last learning most of the words to the
“Hail Mary.” She hadn’t known what it was all about, but by the end she felt a
sense of peace she hadn’t before.

Just as they finished and Father John tucked his
beads back in his pocket, Chris opened his eyes. “Hey. Two of my favorite
people.”

Rebecca took his hand and scooted by Father John to
the side of the bed. “That timing is too perfect. How long were you lying there
awake faking us out?”

Chris gave a weak smile. “Last two decades.”

Father John moved closer to the bed. “How are you
feeling?”

“Tired, achy, out of it.”

“The nurse gave you something for pain last night,”
Rebecca said, stroking the back of his hand. “She said it might make you a
little groggy.”

“Still can’t move my legs.”

Rebecca willed herself not to break down again. “It
might take a while.”

“I’m going to let you two have some time alone,”
Father John said, looking at his watch. “I’ve got a couple appointments this
morning. Can I anoint you before I go?”

“Is it that bad?” Chris asked.

“It’s a sacrament of healing. Doesn’t mean you’re
on death’s door. I’d say the severity of your injuries warrants it.”

Rebecca’s head moved back and forth between them as
if she were watching a tennis match. She had no idea what ‘anointing’ was and
why Chris thought it meant he was near death.

“Okay,” Chris said. “Please do it then.”