Family Matters (15 page)

“Well, Doc,” Bill said. “We wanted to do something nice for you. You've done so much for us. And breakfast is our best meal of the day.”

“I believe that,” Michael said.

“Come on out back,” Bill said, scooting his chair from the table. “Come see my horses.”

Michael followed Bill out through the screened-in porch and past about a hundred old fishing rods. They walked out through a rickety grape arbor to the corral. When Bill whistled, the horses whinnied and came running. “This here's Dan. And this mare is Kimbo. Anytime you want to use these horses and go riding, Doc, let me know. That boy of yours looks like he'd make a fine rider. They need somebody to exercise 'em.”

“Cody's ridden some. His mother loves horses.”

“His mother can ride, too. Kimbo's a fine horse for a woman.” Bill stopped and cocked his head at Michael. “You divorced from that boy's mother? I heard somebody talking about that.”

Michael nodded. “It's been four years now.”

“Too bad,” Bill said. “Too bad. Ain't nothin' better than living with a good woman, Michael. Makes you live a
long time
having somebody like Marge taking care of you. I recommend it highly.”

“Yeah.” Michael slapped him on the back. “But you said somebody like
Marge.
”

They went up to the barn, where Bill showed Michael his chickens and his rabbits. “I keep the rabbits around here for the grandkids,” he said. “They're more fun than the cats. The cats out here go wild. The kids can't get their hands on them.”

After a final tour of the house that included a long description with photos of the Josephses' grandchildren, Michael was ready to leave. He hugged Marge goodbye. “You're the best,” he told her. “I don't know of any other doctor who's as lucky as I am.”

“Morning, Bear.” Jennie hugged Cody in his bed. “How'd you sleep?”

He said. “I dreamed you and Dad took me to the fair.”

“We did that once. When you were a little boy. We took you to the Texas State Fair. You ate a corn dog and threw up.”

“I'm sure glad I didn't dream that part,” he said, laughing.

“It was a bad dream,” she teased him. “Believe me.”

For breakfast, she settled him in his chair, gave him a steaming mug of cocoa and a bowl of oatmeal. Then she perched across the breakfast bar from him. “I talked to Art Sanderson this morning, my editor from the newspaper, and we're going to do a big show to help your swim team.”

“Are you serious? That will be
great!
Can I be in the show?”

“You sure can.”

“You think Dad will come and see it?”

“I know he will. He'll be so proud of you, he won't be able to keep away.”

Jennie brought up the next subject with great care; she didn't know how Cody would feel about it.

“We've got to go to the hospital today. Andy wants you to come to a special class.”

“What kind of class?” Cody whined. “I'm so sick of the hospital.”

Jennie took both of his hands in hers. “It's a class so you can learn to use a wheelchair.”

“I don't need that. I don't need a wheelchair.”

“I think you do, darling. Just for a little while.”

“No.”

She couldn't believe her ears. “Cody—”

“I don't want to go.”

As she dressed him that morning, she knew he was still angry with her. But she had no choice. He was getting heavier for her to carry every day.

“My legs are working
fine,
” he said to her as she adjusted him in the car. “I've worked so hard. What do they think? That I'm really never going to walk again?”

“That isn't it at all,” Jennie said, fighting back panic.

“You're getting one of those chairs because you've given up on me.”

Andy did her best to reason with him when they arrived. “You'll be able to get around the house better. You won't have to depend on your mom and dad for so many things. You can even go back to school.”

A nurse pushed the chair in to them. It was entirely different from what Jennie had expected. It folded out, was lightweight, had red metal arms and a bright striped canvas seat. “Cody,” Jennie said. “It's great! Look at it. Everybody at school will want you to give them rides on this thing.”

“No.” Cody was gritting his teeth, his face beet red. “Get Dad. Mom, get Dad.
He
won't make me do this.”

Jennie wanted to shriek at him.
This isn't fair! Your dad is the one who thinks you ought to have surgery! Surgery that could make you worse off than you are! Dad's at his office.

“Dad will not make me sit in that thing like I'm a sick person.”

“You aren't a sick person.”
Oh, Cody,
she thought. “You're a healthy little boy who's getting closer and closer to walking every day.”

“Dad!” he kept hollering. “Get my Dad!”

N
o amount of maneuvering or cajoling on Jennie's part was going to get Cody into that chair. Andy tried, too, and so did one of the interns. But Cody sat there, crying, stubborn as a mule, and refused to unbend his legs. He would have fallen to the floor if he had to so he could prove his point. Thirty minutes later, exhausted and defeated, Jennie finally telephoned Michael.

“I'm sorry,” the receptionist told her. “He's with a patient right now. Can I have him call you back?”

“No.” Jennie was past the point of exhaustion and disappointment, and was almost ready to break.
Isn't it funny?
she thought.
I've handled so many big things with Cody. And it's this little thing—this one day—this chair—that's going to break me.

“This is Jennie Stratton. You have to interrupt him.” She didn't identify herself further. She didn't want to say “his ex-wife.” But she couldn't say “his wife.” “Can you get him on the phone now, please?”

The receptionist sounded dubious. “You may have to wait a while.”

“I'll wait as long as I need to,” she said.

She waited in Andy's office for fifteen minutes. She could still hear Cody crying in the next room. Every three minutes or so, the receptionist came back on the line and asked her, “Do you want to
continue
holding?” and she'd say yes.

Then finally, finally, she heard his voice on the other end of the line. “Jen? Is it you? What's wrong?”

“It's me.”

The sound of his voice almost made her crumple with relief.

“What is it?”

“I need you. I don't know what to do.” She told him about the chair. “I don't know whether Cody's scared he can't do it right or whether he thinks we don't believe in him anymore. Or maybe he thinks we're pushing him back into things too fast.”

“Why don't you ask him?”

“I'm not sure he could answer even if I asked the right questions.” She could still hear Cody crying through the closed door. “He keeps asking for you and saying
you
wouldn't make him do this.”

“I
would.
”

“What if I bring him to the phone? I could try to calm him down enough so he could listen to you.”

“No,” Michael said. “I'm coming down there. I'll cancel everything for the afternoon. You stick with him and tell him I'm on my way.”

True to his word, Michael arrived within the half hour, still dressed in his doctor's coat and the little plastic badge that said Michael Stratton, M.D. He walked immediately toward Cody, stopping only long enough to squeeze Jennie's arm in a gesture of support.

“What's the problem, son?” He stooped down beside Cody.

“I—don't—want—one—of—those—chairs—I—want—to—wa-a-a-lk—” Cody wailed.

“You think if we get you in a chair that we'll stop helping you learn to walk again?” Michael asked.

“Yes. That's what I think.”

“That isn't what we'll do at all.”

“I—don't—want—one—of—those—chairs—” Cody said through clenched teeth.

“Your mom and I have gotten you this far. You've got to trust us a bit, okay?”

“I—knew—you—wouldn't—make—me—do—this.”

Little rivulets of tears ran down Cody's cheeks and Michael handed him a tissue. “Tell me, Cody, when is the last time you wanted to take the easy way out of something? That isn't what you need right now. You've got to try a few new things.” Cody blew his nose.

Michael turned to Andy. “Can you have someone bring in a chair that's big enough for me?”

“That I can do, Dr. Stratton.”

Michael eased himself into the chair as soon as the hospital aide brought it, strapped himself in with the seat belt, and began to manipulate the big, shiny wheels. He went the wrong way at first and winked at Jennie. “I've never actually
done
this before.”

“I didn't figure you had,” Jennie said.

“Dad,” Cody said, smiling in spite of himself.

“You're being goofy.”

Michael kept spinning. “This is fun.” He made himself woozy.

Jennie was getting dizzy just watching him.

“Actually,” Cody commented, still dubious, “that looks like it
could
be fun.”

“It is,” Michael said, grinning. “But, better than that, look how fast I can go.” He shot across the room as fast as he could until he came nose-to-nose with the little boy. “And I can stop on a dime.”

Jennie treasured what Michael was doing for their son. Her emotion was so reassuring, so
certain,
that she didn't even try to chase it away.

It would be so easy,
she thought,
to fall in love with this man again.

“Come here,” Michael said, holding his arms out to Cody. “Let's try this together. I'll let you work the wheels, okay?” He unfastened his own seat belt and lifted Cody with ease. “There you go.”

They sat in the chair together with Cody at the controls, turning the wheels carefully so the shiny spokes moved opposite each other just the way Michael had showed him. Michael whispered something in his ear and, all of a sudden, Cody made the chair shoot forward. Together they banged into the wall.

“No!” Michael said, laughing, as they backed away from the wall and gave it another shot. “No reckless driving or I want off of this thing!”

“Oh, Dad.” In a new singsong voice. “Chicken!”

“I'm not a chicken. I'm just smart. If you're going to drive like that, you get your own chair.” He motioned toward the bright little chair that stood ready, waiting for Cody.

Jennie thought her heart would burst as she stooped down toward Michael to unfasten her son from the big chair. As she hugged Cody to her, she felt so close to his father that she said impulsively, “With you teaching him to drive, we'd better take out extra insurance.”

He looked her straight in the eye, deathly serious. “I don't know of any company around that would consider us a good risk.”

No. A bad risk at driving. A bad risk at marriage.
She looked straight back at him. “I'm sure you're right.”
We aren't a good risk. We never were. But I think we're changing.

When Michael turned back to Cody, he said, “Just because of this chair, you mustn't think either your mother or I have given up on you. We're together on doing what's best for you, do you understand that?”

It occurred to Jennie that if God was in the business of answering prayers, that He had just answered one.

And with her ex-husband's words of support, Jennie's questions about God, her feelings about Michael, didn't seem so staggering anymore.

She lifted Cody, and Andy held the chair steady while she lowered him into it. As soon as they had him buckled in, Cody and his father shot out the door like streaks, shouting about racing each other up the hallway.

It wasn't about choosing sides anymore, Michael kept thinking as he hurried through his daily routine, treating patients, checking e-mail, having his nurse follow up with his clients after they went home, doing his on-call at the hospital. It was about Jennie and him keeping a firm foundation of love beneath Cody. Because of everything that had happened in the past months, that seemed to be getting easier and easier.

Is she beginning to see You, Father?

Michael didn't know what had happened to change Jennie's heart, and she seemed different to him, more confident, more joyous. But one evening when he stopped by to check on Cody, he saw that she had an invitation to a Bible study on the kitchen counter.

“What's this?” he asked, picking it up tentatively.

“Oh, that.” She shrugged as if it meant nothing. “It's something Andy goes to. She thought I might like it.”

“Are you going to go?” He searched her face dubiously.

“I went.” She turned to him, smiling. “It was yesterday.”

Michael didn't dare ask more questions. He didn't want her to think he was hounding her or trying to make her tell him her thoughts. He laid the invitation down and turned to go in search of Cody.

But Jennie said, “The last time I was in a church was the day we got married, did you know that? Do you remember how pretty that little place was? With all those candles and the flowers and the light streaming in all those colored windows?”

Michael
did
remember. He remembered the huge bell hanging in the front steeple. He remembered the redbud trees practically groaning with pink blossoms lining the walk. He remembered the wedding vows he had recited to her.

How long ago all of that had been.

“I remember.”

“Remember your cousin—what was his name—threw the ring pillow at you like it was a football?”

Michael couldn't help laughing. “I don't remember that part. I just remember my brother cracking up because the flower girl picked her nose when she walked up the aisle.”

She gave him a little slap. “Men and their humor. That part I
had
forgotten.”

“That's the real-life stuff,” he told her. “That's the stuff that makes everything good.”

The next Tuesday, while Michael served his on-call at the hospital, he made a detour to the cafeteria. As he slid his tray along the chrome rail and reached for an orange, he glanced across the room and saw Andy buying a copy of the
Morning News.
She didn't take a seat; she shook open one of the sections and scanned the pages as if in search for one article.

When he came up behind her, he saw her reading the sports section.

“Looking for soccer stories?” he teased her.

Andy clutched the paper shut. He saw her blushing.

“The Burn did well last night. They beat the Metro-stars.”

“So I was reading.” And then she laughed.

“Andy.” And suddenly Michael didn't know how to say it, so great was the emotion that settled on his heart. How had so much time gone by, and he had not thought to say this to her? “Andy, I don't even know where to start.”

Her brows narrowed. Her smile widened a touch. He could tell she couldn't guess what he wanted to say.

“What is it, Dr. Stratton?”

“I'm just so…grateful.” His throat constricted. He almost couldn't get the last word out. “For the work you've done with my son. For the friend you're being to my ex-wife.”

She laid the newspaper aside and, by the smile she shot him, he knew he'd surprised her.

“Thank you,” he said. “For everything.”

He could see her looking to wave it off, trying to find a way to say,
but it's my job. It doesn't matter.

He said, “No. You have to accept this, my
gratitude.
It's important for both of us.”

So she did. “You're welcome. People don't often say ‘thank you' here,” she said. “They're so stressed.” She laughed again. “But then, I don't need to tell you that.”

Michael picked up the orange and began to peel it, as if he was unwrapping a gift. “Gratitude is a powerful, healing emotion. I'm learning that.” He offered Andy a half, she took a segment of it, before he popped the rest of it in sections in his mouth and made his way back to the E.R.

Michael's on-call night was typically eventful. The nurses running triage. The waiting room busting at the seams.

A man came in for stitches because someone had broken a glass on his face in a nightclub. A man who told his daughter he'd hit himself with a hammer actually had a needle broken off and buried in his arm. A woman had started premature labor and he admitted her to a room right away.

Then came the teenager who needed wrist surgery because he'd fallen off a skateboard going way too fast and had shattered his growth plate.

When Michael called the orthopedic surgeon to come in, he got Dr. Phillips. As the surgical tech brought in the sterile instruments Dr. Phillips requested and the two of them washed up at the sink, the woman surgeon asked through her mask, “How's that boy of yours doing?”

Michael's hands paused beneath the stream of water. He didn't know why, but he felt uneasy. He wanted to focus on the teen with the green hair who was, at this very moment, going under anesthesia.

He snapped his gloves on and held his hands high and cupped, ready for this next task. “Cody's making slow progress,” he answered at last. “We're proud of him. He's working hard.”

The patient's vital signs had steadied to a deep, rhythmic pattern on the electronic monitor. Somewhere in the background, Michael heard the sound of the automated blood-pressure cuff sighing out its air.