Reconciled for Easter Page 7

  I’m right here. Baby, I’m right here beside you. I’m not going anywhere. Please come back to me.

  Four

  Instead of the muffled, echoing voices of before, voices from the past, Abigail heard only silence.

  She was conscious of a fierce pounding of her head, and she saw nothing but blackness.

  For a long stretch of time, this frightened her. The world had turned dark, silent, and unrevealing. But gradually she thought of something she might be able to do about it.

  Very slowly, very carefully, she edged open her eyes.

  The sterile light of the room hit her vision and caused a jolt of pain to shoot through her head. With a gasp, she squeezed her eyes shut again.

  “Abigail?” The thick voice was soft, male, and familiar. It was clearly in the room now, not echoing through her head like before. But she’d never—not once—heard his voice sound like this. “Abigail, baby, are you there?”

  He sounded so anguished she couldn’t bear not to answer. “Maybe,” she croaked, the one word ripping through her dry throat.

  She heard another noise. It still seemed to come from his presence, but this one she definitely couldn’t identify. It was utterly foreign to everything she’d ever understood about him. It sounded choked, stifled, guttural. Broken.

  But it confused and intrigued her enough for her to try to lift her eyelids again. She managed just the slightest crack, her eyelashes shading the worst of the light. This time, it didn’t hurt quite so much, so she raised them a little further.

  Thomas sat in a chair beside her. His face was pale and damp, as if he’d been perspiring, but his expression was composed, just slightly strained.

  “What happened?” She forced herself to shift her eyes around her, and she discovered she was in a hospital room. As instinct caught up to her before anything else, she gasped, “Mia?”

  “Mia is fine. We were in a car accident,” Thomas said softly. “You took a significant blow to the head. You might not remember the accident. That’s normal.”

  She tried to think back, recall anything about being in car accident, but it hurt too much to make her mind work that way. As awareness continued to come back to her, she was suddenly conscious of the way her whole body hurt.

  She glanced down and saw bindings on her arm.

  “You broke a bone in your arm,” Thomas explained. “And cracked a couple of ribs.”

  “Oh.” She swallowed. When she was able to get her eyes focused on Thomas once more, something about his expression made her heart pound in fear.

  He looked perfectly calm, perfectly stoic. But she saw some sort of pained emotion shuddering under the surface of his absolute composure.

  “Am I...” She cleared her voice. “Am I all right?”

  “Yes. Broken bones and some bruises. The hit on the head was the most serious thing.”

  Despite his words, she knew it wasn’t that simple. Her hands started to shake under the blanket. “Am I...Am I disfigured or something?”

  “No. You have some bruising and broken skin, but all of it will heal.” His mouth twisted slightly. “Does it feel like you’re disfigured?”

  “No, but something is wrong. Why do you look like I’m dying?”

  Thomas took a deep breath and exhaled it hoarsely. “You’ve been unconscious since the accident. We assumed it was a severe concussion and you’d shortly become conscious again.” He swallowed so hard she could see it in his throat. “You were unconscious for almost three hours. That’s a really long time for a concussion. I’ve been waiting for you to wake up.”

  And then Abigail understood. Thomas had been worried about her. Worried that she’d slip into a coma or even worse. That was why he looked so stiff and guarded.

  The wave of emotion she experienced at this realization was almost more than she could handle in her current state.

  “I think I’m all right.” She tried moving her arms and legs very slightly. Everything moved. It just hurt like hell, and she was on the verge of bursting into tears.

  Thomas took another shaky breath and then asked, “What’s the last thing you remember?”

  “I remember last night. You and me...” Despite everything, her cheeks burned with embarrassment. “And we talked this morning—I remember that. You said—” She gasped. “Oh no! You were driving! Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Shaken up a little but not injured. You bore the brunt of the impact.”

  She relaxed in relief, realizing how devastated she’d be if something had happened to Thomas. The thought was troubling, and it made her think about something else. “Mia? Where is she? You said she was fine.”

  “She is fine. She’s still at my parents’. I didn’t want her to come see you until you’d woken up.”

  “Did you talk to her?”

  “Yes. I told her you got hurt a little.”

  “Was she scared and upset?”

  Thomas nodded, his face still unnaturally grave. “Yes. I tried to tell her gently, but she’s so intuitive. I must not have done a good job. She was crying on the phone.” He glanced away, as if the memory pained him.

  She closed her eyes, still feeling overly emotional—probably intensified by the head injury. She hated the thought of Mia being so upset and so far away from her.

  Then she sensed a warm pressure on her upper arm that was strangely soothing. Thomas had reached over and put his hand on her arm. “She seemed all right when we hung up. I thought...I thought I should prepare her as much as I could. I didn’t know when you’d wake up.”

  Abigail nodded, even though the small move hurt her brutally pounding head. “Thank you.” Her eyes burned with emotion she still tried to hold back. “They’ll come here?”

  Thomas stroked her shoulder gently. “Yes. I talked to the nurse and Mia can see you. I can call as soon as you’re up to it, and my parents will bring her over.”

  Abigail tossed her aching head restlessly and hoped Mia was okay.

  With one last squeeze of her arm, Thomas cleared his throat and stood up. He reached for his phone. “I need to let someone know you’re awake. The doctor will want to check you out. But, if you feel up to it, I don’t see why you shouldn’t talk to Mia first.”

  Thomas helped her position the phone next to her ear, and Abigail held it in place with her good arm, which unfortunately was her left one. She tried to smile her thanks at Thomas before he left the room.

  On the second ring, a childish voice said, “Hello. This is Mia.”

  “Hi, sweetie. It’s Mommy.”

  “Mommy!” Mia’s voice broke in obvious joy. “Are you all right? Daddy said you got hurt. He acted brave but he was really scared. I knew. We’re coming to see you whenever he says.”

  “I know, sweetie. I’ll be so happy to see you. I hurt myself a little, but I’m all right.”

  “Does it hurt real bad?”

  “Not too bad. I have a headache, and I hurt my arm. But I want to see you just as soon as possible.”

  “Okay. I’ll tell Grandma now, and she’ll drive me right over.”

  ***

  The doctor told Abigail she would need a lot of rest over the next few weeks, but she sure didn’t get any in the hospital. For the next hour, she was constantly interrupted. First by a nurse checking her vitals. Then by a doctor who performed an examination on her focus and motor functions and then pronounced her as having no signs of serious damage. And then by another nurse, checking her vitals again.

  All Abigail wanted to do was hug her baby and then sleep. And instead she kept being nagged and poked and told to look at the light every five minutes.

  And, to make it worse, Thomas wasn’t even with her at the moment to bully away the worst of the intrusions and make sure she was comfortable.

  He had gone down to meet Mia and his parents, and she’d asked him to take them for a quick lunch so he could prepare Mia a little more for the way her mother would look in the hospital bed.

  Abigail really didn’t want her
sensitive daughter to be traumatized by her bruised and bandaged form.

  She’d just managed to close her eyes when she heard a noise from the doorway and smelled a vaguely familiar male scent.

  Before she’d shifted her eyes, she realized the scent didn’t belong to Thomas.

  Jim Foster stood a few feet from the bed, smiling down at her.

  She gasped in surprise, but it wasn’t an unpleasant sight. Just not her family, whom she’d really wanted to see. She managed a weak smile. “Hi. What are you doing here?”

  “I heard you were in a car accident,” he explained, “So I stopped by to see how you were doing. Tell me if I’m intruding.”

  “Oh no,” she assured him, waving with her good hand at the chair beside the bed. “I’m glad to see you. How did you know about the accident?”

  “I have my sources,” Jim said with an ironic half-smile.

  “I was just waiting for Thomas to return with Mia.”

  “I’ll leave as soon as they arrive. I don’t want to get in the way at a time like this. I was just worried. I’d heard you were still unconscious.”

  “You need to get more updated sources,” she teased. “I woke up about an hour ago.”

  He reached out and put his warm hand on hers, which was resting on the bed beside her. “I’m glad.”

  His hand on hers was comforting, pleasant, but her breath hitched a little. “Jim—”

  “I know,” he interrupted with another wry smile. “You’re still married. I might want it to be different, but it’s not. Besides, you don’t really think I’d come on to you in a hospital bed.”

  Something loosening in her chest, Abigail gave him a wobbly smile. “I don’t want things to get weird.”

  “We’ll make sure they don’t.”

  Abigail was so weak and so relieved that her job wasn’t in jeopardy by inconvenient feelings that she might have been smiling like an idiot. “So we’re good?

  He took her hand to seal the deal. “Definitely.”

  The sound a someone clearing his throat interrupted their conversation. Both of them turned to see Thomas in the doorway, Mia against his side.

  Abigail’s expression broke out into a delighted smile at the unexpected sight of her family.

  Jim stood up immediately and gave her hand one last squeeze. “I’ll leave now. Get better.”

  Abigail was vaguely conscious of Thomas’s level, almost challenging gaze as the other man exited the room. But she was too distracted by Mia—wearing jeans and a pink t-shirt, little glasses slipping down her nose, and two, very tightly braided pigtails—to pay much attention when Jim quietly greeted the others and disappeared.

  Mia’s blue eyes were wide and traveled from Abigail to the departing man.

  “Mr. Foster came to say hello,” Abigail explained, “But he’s leaving now because he knows you’re the person I want to see most.”

  “Oh.” Mia nodded gravely, as if this made sense to her. She walked cautiously into the hospital room, gazing around her with what looked like awe. “Daddy said I can’t touch anything that plugs into the wall.”

  “That’s very good advice. Did you get something good for lunch?”

  “Yes. French-fries and chicken strips. Daddy got me a great big root beer too.”

  “Sounds like I missed out on a good lunch.”

  “You did.” Mia stood next to the bed hesitantly, then looked nervously at the chair Jim had just vacated.

  Thomas came over and silently lifted her up into the chair and then pushed it even closer to the bed. “This way you can hold Mommy’s hand if you want. It’s her other arm that’s hurt.”

  Abigail reached out eagerly when Mia extended her little hand. “Oh, sweetie. I’m so glad you’re here. Were you very scared?”

  “A little,” Mia admitted. “But I was very brave like Daddy told me. He said you have bandages on and you have bruises all over you, so you might not look as nice as you normally do. I thought you’d be wrapped up like a mummy!”

  Abigail gave a weak chuckle. “So I don’t look like a mummy?”

  “No. You still look pretty.”

  “Thank you, sweetie.” Abigail looked over toward Thomas and saw him leaning against the wall with one hand in his pocket. She thought he looked more tired than usual and oddly distant.

  It worried her.

  ***

  Late that afternoon, Abigail was alone, since Thomas had taken Mia back to his parents’ to stay for the night.

  She felt sore and drugged and uncomfortable and itchy, and her head was still pounding, and everyone in the world seemed to have abandoned her.

  She was just telling herself not to be melodramatic when there was a tap on the door.

  As she turned her head and blinked at the doorway, she registered a man standing there.

  He was in his early thirties and attractive, and she recognized him immediately. Daniel. The pastor of Thomas’s church in Willow Park.

  “Hi,” she said, her voice sounding strange to her ears. “Come on in.”

  “I just stopped by to check on you,” he said. “But I don’t have to stay if you don’t feel up to company.”

  “No, it’s fine.” She waved him weakly to the chair beside the bed. “I feel pretty bad, but I was also just lying here bored. It’s nice of you to drop by. How did you know I was in here?”

  “Lydia called me,” he explained. “Thomas had told her, of course.”

  For some reason, Abigail felt a little strange at this news. She didn’t like people talking about her, but she could hardly blame Thomas for telling his sister something like this. And news of someone in the hospital always got quickly to the pastor. It was normal. Nothing unusual about it. It didn’t speak of any particular intimacy remaining between her and Thomas.

  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.”