16. Andie
The church is quiet today.
Then again, I’m not sure what else I would be expecting given it’s only seven in the morning. Elijah is in surgery, a collapsed lung and internal bleeding thanks to the shrapnel from that bomb they threw into the house.
He’s the one who suffered the damage, but I can barely breathe.
The image of him bleeding on the ground, barely conscious and struggling to breathe, is one I’m not sure I’ll ever get out of my head. I’d remained strong and held pressure until the paramedics arrived, but when it came time to get into the ambulance, I’d refused to go.
I told myself I had to see to Aggie.
But really, it was because I couldn’t handle the strongest man I’ve ever met looking so weak. And just how pathetic does that make me?
Playing with my hands, I try to breathe through the heaviness in my chest.
Two of the men died from their injuries, and two fled from the scene. Lance and Michael saved the man Elijah shot in the leg, and with him in custody, they claim we’ll have answers. But I can see they’re just as afraid for Elijah as I am.
Just as terrified he won’t pull through.
“How are you holding up?” Pastor Redding asks as he takes a seat beside me. The man’s hair is graying at the temples, but he still looks exactly the same as he did when I was little.
It’s strange how some things change and others remain exactly the same.
“Not great,” I reply honestly. “It’s been a long time since I had anyone but myself or Gran to be worried about.”
The pastor reaches over to take one of my hands in his. The contact is comforting, but I consider pulling my hand away. Why do I deserve comfort when Elijah is in surgery, having metal removed from his abdomen?
“Elijah is strong.”
“Strength isn’t always enough.” I know it’s ridiculous, but my mind drifts back to that man my mother had been married to. He’d always seemed so strong—physically anyway—and all it took was one scare, and he’d fallen like a house of cards.
Elijah ended up with only God knows how many nails and other metal shards throughout his body. And that was after he’d fought off three attackers all by himself.
“Have you prayed about it?”
I shake my head. I should have. “I don’t even know that He will listen,” I cry, my shoulders shaking. “If you knew what I’d done. If you had any idea…” I close my eyes and try my best to breathe through the pain.
“Then let’s do it together.” He doesn’t start right away though, just waits for me to nod. I do then close my eyes. “Dear Heavenly Father, please wrap your light around Elijah. Give him the strength he needs to recover, and guide the hands of the doctors tending to him. Please, God, grant us the courage we need to remain strong for him during this time of healing, and lead us with Your light and Your Word. Amen.”
“Amen.” My throat burns as I try so hard to keep it together.
“You’ve had a rough return home.”
I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “You think?”
“Want to talk about it?”
“What is there to talk about? You already know what’s happened.”
“I do,” he admits. “But not how it has affected you.”
I glare at the cross straight ahead, even though it’s not God’s fault. Bad things happen because people commit bad acts against each other. The free will we were granted is a gift that is abused by many, but even as I know that, I struggle with the knowledge that Elijah did nothing to deserve what just happened to him, yet he’s fighting for his life.
“I don’t understand why these things have happened. What happened to Gran, to Rebecca, to Elijah?—”
“And to you,” he says. “Don’t forget that you’ve been hurt too.”
“I don’t matter,” I say.
“You do.”
“No,” I snap. “I don’t.”
“Why don’t you think you matter?”
I get to my feet, pulling my hand from his. “Because I’m still breathing! No matter what I went through, I’m still here! What right do I have to complain? Most of what happened to me, I brought on myself.”
Pastor Redding simply watches me. He’s always been someone easy to talk to. Someone who, even if you didn’t know him well, you’d feel safe telling your deepest, darkest secrets to.
“Elijah is still here too,” he says softly.
I close my eyes. “Those men attacked him because of me. They came for him because of me. And I don’t even know what I did. I have no idea why they were after me. Is it because of my mother? Because of something I did? I don’t know. All Elijah wanted was to be a good person to my gran. That’s all he ever cared about. Yet, he got wrapped up with me, and now he’s—they all die around me. Everyone around me dies.”
Pastor Redding gets to his feet and takes my hands. “Andie.” I refuse to open my eyes and look at him though. “Who dies around you?”
“I killed someone,” I whisper. “When I was a kid.”
“Tell me what happened.” There’s no judgment in his tone, no fear. No anger.
“My mother married a man after she and my father split. He used to love to scare me. Tormenting me with a mask. So, one day, I got tired of it, and I tried to do the same to him.” I meet Pastor Redding’s gaze. “I jumped out, and he had a heart attack.”
“That’s not murder, Andie.”
“I left him there. I didn’t try CPR, I didn’t call 9-1-1. I grabbed my things and ran. What does that make me?”
“A scared child,” he replies.
I shake my head. “Everything I’ve ever done has hurt others. I left Gran to chase after a man I had no business being with, and it broke her heart. Then I was so ashamed I stayed away, hurting her further. And now Elijah—he could die because of me. Why is he being punished for my sins?”
“Oh, child.” Pastor Redding guides me back to the pew. “No one is being punished. You are redeemed. Forgiven by His love.”
“How? I don’t deserve it. I don’t?—”
“None of us deserve it, Andie. But Christ died so that we might find our way into an eternity of peace. That doesn’t mean we won’t suffer while we’re here; it just means we have a better place reserved for us when we pass from this life. But you have to fight for that salvation, child. You have to fight against the enemy telling you that you aren’t enough. That you shouldn’t even bother trying to leave the sin behind because you will be forgotten. You won’t be. And you are enough. No matter what.”
“I don’t know.” I shake my head. “I just don’t see how. I’m so lost.” Pain crushes down on me, fear for Elijah, anger at myself, and—if I’m being honest—at God for allowing him to get hurt in the first place.
“Then let me help you find the way back.” It’s such a simple request, spoken with soft authority and confidence.
“I’m not a Sunday girl anymore, Pastor.”
“Then don’t come on Sundays.” He stands and nods at someone standing behind me. I turn, my heart jumping when I see Michael standing there. I push up, but before I head toward him, I turn back to the Pastor.
“Not on Sundays.”
“Pick whatever day you want, Andie, and just show up.”
I glance back at the cross, and something shifts in me. Not substantial but enough that I feel a bit lighter. So I nod. “I’ve always been fond of Wednesdays.”
He smiles. “Then, I’ll see you then.”
* * *
I standoutside Elijah’s hospital room, staring at the closed door. A gift shop teddy bear is clutched in one hand, but now I’m feeling incredibly dumb about the gesture. I mean, what does one say to a person who just saved their life?
Here’s a stuffed animal?
The door opens, and Lance and his wife Eliza step out of the room. They both stop when they see me, so I try to smile. Based on their expressions of pity, it comes out looking half-hearted at best.
“How is he?”
“Awake,” Lance says. “Looking terrible, but that’s not anything new.”
Eliza elbows him in the side. “He could have died.”
“Fair enough.” He chuckles and wraps his arm around her shoulders. “How are you?”
“I’m okay. I’m not the one who was blown up.” The shrapnel exploded outward rather than down. Only God knows why. Even Lance and Michael both seemed shocked by it. Either way, I was safe in the basement while Elijah fought for his life above me.
“Good. The sheriff has our guy sweating in an interrogation room, so as soon as we know anything, I’ll let you know. Have you called your assistant? Elijah said she was in town?”
“I did. She’s on her way back to New York. I told her we would pick up stuff from my gran’s house later. That it wasn’t safe right now.”
“Smart.”
Eliza steps forward and pulls me in for a quick hug. “Let us know if you need anything, okay?”
“Okay, thanks.” I pull away then slip past them and into the room. Machines beep, and the room is dark aside from a bright light above Elijah’s head. It illuminates the damage to his face, the bruising and bandages on his nose.
I stifle a sob, covering my mouth with a shaking hand.
“Do I look that bad?” he manages, voice gravelly.
Tears blur my vision, and I shake my head. “Can hardly tell a difference,” I choke out.
He tries to laugh, but it comes out more like a strangled cough, so I move closer to the bed. “Is that for me?” he asks, gaze dropping to the bear.
“Yes. Sorry. It’s all I could find.” I set the bear on the bed beside him. His eyes are bloodshot, his forehead stitched just beneath the hairline.
“I’m okay,” he says. “It looks worse than it is.”
I close my eyes as a tear slips free.
“I’ve never seen you cry,” he says. “Not at the funeral, not with Rebecca.”
I should be embarrassed. Angry with myself for crying because the tears make me weak. But I can’t seem to stop. Elijah nearly died. Because of me.
He brushes a tear from my cheek, and I lean into the touch, not ashamed that it feels good to have him touching me. Elijah has slipped right past the walls I built, breaking through the boundaries I’d set for myself.
I don’t know how to stop what’s happening between us. Whether it’s merely attachment given the circumstances, friendship, or something deeper. But I do know that I’m terrified it’s going to end with him just like everyone else…dead.