CHAPTER 42
Rebecca
Outside the hospital room, Granny hugged her and held up a cup of coffee.
“Figured you’d need this.”
“Do I ever.” Rebecca chuckled, took a sip.
“I brought you something else, too,” Granny said as they walked together to the small waiting room, a pretty space with soft shafts of sunlight here and there and calming gray carpet and blue-green walls.
Granny slid the latest Dahlia Weekly from her pocketbook.
Rebecca scanned the headlines, a five-column photo front-and-center of a blanket-wrapped Devon in her arms outside the drain, rescue crews all around.
She flipped through, shaking her head in admiration at what she’d authorized but had yet to see.
Her staff had stepped up and done the entire paper in her absence, Tiff taking the lead in layout with heavy backup from Dinah.
They’d done a remarkably good job—the front page was strong, the calendar layout exactly as Rebecca liked, and the high school football pre-season page was exceptional.
She didn’t even realize Tiff knew her way around layout, but when the young woman confessed over the phone last night that she’d taken a few courses in college and had been sharpening her skills on the side, Rebecca decided to chance it, let them try their hand.
“Sounds like you might be underutilizing that reporter of yours,” Granny said with a wry grin, and Rebecca laughed.
Granny was right. Tiff had grown a whole lot more than she’d ever expected.
Perhaps she’d pegged the girl wrong from the start.
Behind the stilettos, the mousy features, and the breathy voice, perhaps there was a small-town version of Rebecca, the kind of person who’d finesse her page design skills on the sly to wow her boss when she least expected it.
They reached a quiet corner in the waiting room, stood looking out the window.
From the fourth floor of the hospital, they could see some of the damage the storm had done—a couple of washed out roads, a handful of trees on houses, a bit of flooding.
Granny’s church was taking the lead in storm recovery, and Rebecca thought she’d join in on Saturday, help some of the crews muck out the homes closest to the river that had been affected.
It was nowhere near the damage they’d seen on the coast; while the hurricane had passed them by, tornados and flooding had left their mark. But it had certainly done damage.
She bit her lip as she thought of Devon in the hospital bed, beyond grateful that he’d escaped the worst of it.
“How’s he doing?” Granny asked softly, looking over at her.
“Granny, I can’t believe he’s okay. When I saw that storm drain, saw the water pouring out …”
Rebecca shuddered, closed her eyes as she imagined what it must have been like for him. They’d found his bike two miles downstream, a mangled mess of bent metal.
“He must have been in the exact, perfect position, some cosmic stroke of luck or something, in order to survive that.”
“The Lord had his hand on that boy,” Granny murmured.
“Yeah, I know what you mean.”
“No, Becca.” Granny’s voice was soft but there was an edge to it now, and she tucked a finger under Rebecca’s chin, looked her square in the eye.
“Hear what I’m saying. The Lord had his hand on him.
For whatever reason, he kept Devon safe.
He has a plan for that child, and he used all of us—you and Marla and Rev, Josh and JJ, me and everybody else—to make it happen. ”
Rebecca was quiet for a moment, let it all sink in. Granny was right. She knew it in her bones, knew it wasn’t luck or quick thinking or anything else that had saved Devon.
It was God.
It was prayer.
For the first time in her life, she realized, she truly believed. She didn’t believe halfway, or in the possibility.
She believed.
God had done this. God had answered her prayer.
He wasn’t some pie-in-the-sky, mythical figure watching from the clouds. She swallowed as she let herself accept what she’d known deep down all along, but had been too full of pride to admit.
God was real.
Faith is confidence in what we hope for and assurance about what we do not see. The thought popped suddenly into her brain, and she thought she remembered it from one of Granny’s framed scripture verses.
“You know what, Granny?” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “I do believe. I think you’re absolutely right.”
She looked at her granny, there in her cream-colored pants and white button down, clutching her pocketbook and smiling at her in surprise. Turning toward her, Rebecca held out her hands.
“You know that prayer you were talking about, the one where you invite Jesus in?” Rebecca said.
Granny let out a breathless giggle, and then so did Rebecca, and then the two of them were laughing and crying and hugging and she felt something, like a shift in the air or a warm, comforting breeze, settle on them. The most perfect joy she’d ever experienced filled her heart.
This is hope, she realized. This is what it feels like.
And there, right in their own small corner of the hospital waiting room, Granny took Rebecca’s hands in her own and they sank to their knees in prayer.
◆◆◆
“Well, hey, you two,” she heard several minutes later, and she looked over to see Josh and JJ walk over from the elevator, smiling down at them like it was the most natural thing in the world to see two people on the ground in prayer. Maybe it was.
Josh had a cheerful yellow vase of fresh flowers in one hand and a handful of get-well-soon balloons in the other, and JJ had both arms around a giant plastic basket filled with candy, doughnuts, popcorn, a few tennis and baseballs, a small tackle box, one of those jumbo lollipops, and what looked like a whoopee cushion tucked in on the side.
“That looks like every boy’s dream,” Rebecca said, wiping her eyes as she helped Granny to her feet.
Josh laughed. “JJ picked out every last thing in that basket. Right, Son?”
He ruffled JJ’s hair, and JJ grinned widely.
“Hopefully Devon’s got a sweet tooth,” JJ said.
“I thought we’d bring these to his Memaw,” Josh held out the flowers, looked at Rebecca. “Want to join me?”
Granny gave her a sidelong look and smiled mischievously.
“Come on, JJ, let’s go say hi to Devon together.” She took the balloons from Josh and winked at Rebecca as she gathered her pocketbook and wrapped one arm around JJ’s shoulders. “So what do you think he’ll want to eat first?”
They disappeared down the hall, leaving Rebecca and Josh alone.
He nodded his chin in the direction of the room. “Shall we?”
They walked toward the room, their shoes making soft squeaks on the smooth hospital tile. She looked over at him.
“You know, this is the first time I’ve met Memaw.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Really?”
“First time I’ve been out of Devon’s room, actually. At first I was just too nervous, and then, well. I didn’t want to let him out of my sight.”
“I understand.”
They stopped near the end of the hall. Four-fourteen, the sign on the closed door said, with “Robinson” scrawled in dry-erase marker below.
They were quiet a moment, looking at each other.
“Josh—I need to tell you something.”
He blinked. “It’s okay.”
“No, hear me out.” She looked down, swallowed. “There’s nothing going on between me and Erik Wennerman. You didn’t answer my text over the weekend, but—”
“I try not to look at my phone on Sundays …”
“Josh.”
“… and, to be perfectly honest, I needed some time to think.”
She bit her lip. No games. Just real. “I get that. But if you’d given me half a chance to explain, I could have told you he was trying to dance with me, Josh. I was trying my best to back away when he kissed me. And if you’d stayed two seconds longer you would have seen that.”
Now it was Josh’s turn to look down. “He looked awfully comfortable with you.”
“That’s not exactly my fault, is it? You didn’t stick around to see me shove him away.”
A faint flush of red crept up his cheeks.
“Fair enough.” He cocked his head. “You really shoved him away?”
A giggle escaped despite her best efforts. “I did.”
“Go, Becks.” There was a look of admiration on his face, and she realized her own cheeks were warm, too.
Her heart was thudding. But she knew if she didn’t say it all now she wouldn’t say it at all, that it would drag on and on and fizzle into nothing. What was it Gramps used to say during those woodworking lessons? Sometimes you had to flip things upside down to expect different results.
She put a hand on his arm, the one with the flowers for Memaw, and stepped closer.
“Josh, you said it the other night—sometimes we miss the things that are right in front of our face. I’m not ready for dating with a capital D.
I’m scarred and a little messed up, and I don’t know how long it’s going to take till I’m right again.
But—I like you.” She swallowed. “A lot. And I’m not interested in Erik or anybody else. ”
His eyes were steady, and he gazed back at her. “I like you, too.”
“But I don’t want to play stupid kid games.”
He arched a brow. “You got something against Monopoly?”
Another giggle burst from her lips, and then they were both laughing, and he hugged her, arms tight and warm around her, and she knew they were okay again. A long moment passed as they stood like that, his arms around her, her head on his chest. She could hear his heart beat slow and steady, solid.
Safe.
She remembered feeling that way kneeling with Granny in the hospital waiting room earlier—secure. Protected. Like everything really, truly was going to be all right.
“Thank you, Josh,” she said, looking at him. “For believing in me. For making me own up to my worries and my instincts about Devon. For making me feel … worth it.”
She touched his arm again, felt a little buzz when her fingers met his bare skin. “I want to be worth it. I’m new at all this belief stuff,” she waved a hand, “but I’m learning. Learning quick.”
His lips curved. “Does that mean you’ll finally take me up on my Bible study invitation?”
She laughed. “Yes. I’d love to.”
His eyes were warm as they gazed at her. “I’m glad. And for the record?” His voice grew soft, and he looked straight into her eyes like he was seeing the real Rebecca, no walls, no facade, no mask. “You’re definitely worth it.”
And they pushed open the door and stepped into Memaw’s room for a long-overdue introduction.