Before we get to the good stuff, I had some other good stuff. I have a bundle of Beth Moore resources to giveaway. Entry is pretty simple and straightforward BUT make sure you click the link in the entry email to confirm.
No word yet on a release date… Until then (Oh wait, I just realized what a terrible spot I left you in before I took off for Christmas. Yikes. Well, you knew Donna was going to be okay … Anyway, moving on.)
Chapter Eight
We got Mom into the emergency room on a stretcher. She pulled the pillow over her head while Nolan told the admitting nurse what we knew, which wasn’t nearly enough for me. Then they wheeled her through the double “Authorized Personnel Only” doors leaving me and Nolan to pace the waiting room.
“You said she’d be all right,” I said.
“I know.” He slid his hands into his pockets. “Better call David.”
Of course the unspoken question was, if she was going to be all right, couldn’t I just call him tomorrow? Nolan seemed to be waiting on me, so I got my phone out and dialed David’s number. He never even said hello.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nolan and I have Mom at the ER. She had a real sharp, sudden pain in her forehead. Said her eyes hurt. They had to take her in on a stretcher.”
David was quiet for a long time then he said, “I’ll be there in four hours.”
“I’m not sure you need to do that. We don’t know if it’s serious or not.”
“I just lost my dad, Michael. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” I completely understood that feeling. I would have done the very same thing, and no one could have stopped me. But he said, ‘I just lost my dad.’ He lost. His dad. Not we lost. Not our dad.
And I was deeply offended.
I slid the phone back in my pocket. “He’s on his way.”
“You should call your wife.”
“Why?”
Nolan smiled. “Call her.”
“It’s too late.”
“In the marriage? Or in the evening?”
“Both.”
“I don’t think so.”
So contrary to every bit of good judgment and desire in me, I called Stacy. The background noise made it impossible to talk, and the last thing she said was, “Just a minute.” I figured that was the end of it. But she called me back. “Is Christopher all right?”
“He’s fine. It’s my mother.” I explained what had happened.
“Michael, I’m so sorry.” Then she said words she had never said in seven years of marriage. “Do you need me there with you?”
Of course the answer was yes. I needed my wife there with me. I needed her support and encouragement while my mind strained, trying to run wild with fear. I needed her to share what I held as important.
But the answer she wanted me to give was no. She wanted me to justify her lack of presence, and her lack of caring by telling her not to come.
“I would welcome you being here, and I won’t discourage you, but I can’t ask you to do that. It’s a long drive and it’s late, and it may not even be anything serious.”
“Will you call me in the morning and tell me how she is?”
“Of course.” I ended the call wondering how the end of a marriage could be better than the middle or even the beginning. Was she that relieved it was over?
“There will be a great inclination to blame and question God right now,” Nolan said. “Religious logic says you’re getting a divorce so you’ve lost your job and your mother is in the hospital. Clearly God is punishing you.”
I had already connected those dots, in spite of everything that happened on that hillside.
“She will be all right, though,” Nolan said.
“You keep saying that. How do you know?”
“Simple,” he said, and smiled again. “I asked.”
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