Uncle Pete spoke.
“I worry about that boy.”
“So do I.”
“Livin’ the way he does isn’t healthy. He spends all his time at the shop or running back and forth to Brunswick to see Christine. He’s got to be lonely.”
“He has us. And Kit’s family.”
Uncle Pete brushed that aside. “You know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I know,” Andrew said with a sigh. “But he loved Christine, Pete. He still does. And he won’t go on with his life as long as he feels she needs him.”
“Sometimes it sure is hard to figure why the good Lord gave him such a cross to bear,” Uncle Pete declared, shaking his head.
“I don’t expect we’ll ever find the answer to that one.”
“No, I don’t suppose we will. But it sure does seem a waste. He’s a fine man with a fine heart. He should be going home to a wife and a family every day, not spending time in that depressing extended-care facility.”
“I agree,” Andrew said. “We just have to pray and trust that the Lord will resolve this situation in His own way and in His own time.”
“You’re right,” Uncle Pete conceded. “But sometimes I wish He’d just get on with it.”
The jarring jangle of the phone woke Grant instantly, and he fumbled for it in the dark as he peered at the face of the digital clock beside his bed. Two-thirty in the morning. He squinted at the caller ID, and a surge of adrenaline shot through him at the familiar number. It was the extended-care facility in Brunswick.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Kincaid?”
“Yes. I have caller ID. What’s the problem?” he said tersely.
“This is Walter Jackson. I’m the physician on call this evening. I’m sorry to tell you that your wife appears to have suffered a stroke. We did an initial evaluation here, but we’re having her airlifted to Portland for more extensive testing.”
Grant felt as if someone had kicked him in the gut, and for a moment he couldn’t breathe. Christine’s condition had been the same as always when he’d visited the previous afternoon after eating lunch with his dad and Uncle Pete. There’d been no indication of any problem. His grip on the phone tightened, turning his knuckles white. When he spoke, his voice was taut with tension. “How bad is it?”
“Her vitals are still relatively stable, but there has been a significant change in brain activity. Until more testing is done, I’m afraid that’s all the information we have.”
The man was dancing around the real issue, so Grant voiced the blunt, unspoken question that hung between them, steeling himself for the response. “Doctor, is this a life-threatening situation?”
There was a telling pause before the man responded. “It could be.”
Closing his eyes, Grant sucked in a deep breath. “Okay. I’m on my way.”
As he pulled on his jeans and threw on a shirt, Grant placed a quick call to his father, as well as to Christine’s parents, who lived in Portland. In ten minutes flat, he was in his truck and heading south at a speed far faster than was prudent on the icy roads.
Grant had made the drive to Portland countless times, especially right after the accident. But when it became apparent that Christine’s coma might be of longer duration than indicated by the initial prognosis, Grant had moved her to a medical facility in Brunswick, which was much closer to home. Still, the route to the medical center in Portland was etched on his mind, and he made the drive on autopilot, all the while struggling to rein in his panic.
Please be with me, Lord, he prayed. And with Christine. Please don’t let her suffer anymore. And please give me strength to deal with whatever waits for me in Portland. I’ve lived in dread of this day for two-and-a-half years. Help me to cope with this situation and guide me in whatever decisions I have to make.
Christine’s parents were at the hospital when Grant arrived, and the looks on their faces as he strode into the waiting room made his stomach lurch.
“I worry about that boy.”
“So do I.”
“Livin’ the way he does isn’t healthy. He spends all his time at the shop or running back and forth to Brunswick to see Christine. He’s got to be lonely.”
“He has us. And Kit’s family.”
Uncle Pete brushed that aside. “You know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I know,” Andrew said with a sigh. “But he loved Christine, Pete. He still does. And he won’t go on with his life as long as he feels she needs him.”
“Sometimes it sure is hard to figure why the good Lord gave him such a cross to bear,” Uncle Pete declared, shaking his head.
“I don’t expect we’ll ever find the answer to that one.”
“No, I don’t suppose we will. But it sure does seem a waste. He’s a fine man with a fine heart. He should be going home to a wife and a family every day, not spending time in that depressing extended-care facility.”
“I agree,” Andrew said. “We just have to pray and trust that the Lord will resolve this situation in His own way and in His own time.”
“You’re right,” Uncle Pete conceded. “But sometimes I wish He’d just get on with it.”
The jarring jangle of the phone woke Grant instantly, and he fumbled for it in the dark as he peered at the face of the digital clock beside his bed. Two-thirty in the morning. He squinted at the caller ID, and a surge of adrenaline shot through him at the familiar number. It was the extended-care facility in Brunswick.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Kincaid?”
“Yes. I have caller ID. What’s the problem?” he said tersely.
“This is Walter Jackson. I’m the physician on call this evening. I’m sorry to tell you that your wife appears to have suffered a stroke. We did an initial evaluation here, but we’re having her airlifted to Portland for more extensive testing.”
Grant felt as if someone had kicked him in the gut, and for a moment he couldn’t breathe. Christine’s condition had been the same as always when he’d visited the previous afternoon after eating lunch with his dad and Uncle Pete. There’d been no indication of any problem. His grip on the phone tightened, turning his knuckles white. When he spoke, his voice was taut with tension. “How bad is it?”
“Her vitals are still relatively stable, but there has been a significant change in brain activity. Until more testing is done, I’m afraid that’s all the information we have.”
The man was dancing around the real issue, so Grant voiced the blunt, unspoken question that hung between them, steeling himself for the response. “Doctor, is this a life-threatening situation?”
There was a telling pause before the man responded. “It could be.”
Closing his eyes, Grant sucked in a deep breath. “Okay. I’m on my way.”
As he pulled on his jeans and threw on a shirt, Grant placed a quick call to his father, as well as to Christine’s parents, who lived in Portland. In ten minutes flat, he was in his truck and heading south at a speed far faster than was prudent on the icy roads.
Grant had made the drive to Portland countless times, especially right after the accident. But when it became apparent that Christine’s coma might be of longer duration than indicated by the initial prognosis, Grant had moved her to a medical facility in Brunswick, which was much closer to home. Still, the route to the medical center in Portland was etched on his mind, and he made the drive on autopilot, all the while struggling to rein in his panic.
Please be with me, Lord, he prayed. And with Christine. Please don’t let her suffer anymore. And please give me strength to deal with whatever waits for me in Portland. I’ve lived in dread of this day for two-and-a-half years. Help me to cope with this situation and guide me in whatever decisions I have to make.
Christine’s parents were at the hospital when Grant arrived, and the looks on their faces as he strode into the waiting room made his stomach lurch.
Similar Books
