Waiting for Morning (39 page)

“Matt …” She stood up and hugged him, gripping his neck and burying her head in his shoulder.

“Shhh … it’s all right. It’s over now.” He knew the cameras were on them and he pulled away, studying her face. The hatred was still there. And the bitterness and a dozen other emotions with the exception of one: peace.

A reporter made his way over and stood between them. “What’s your reaction to the verdict, Mrs. Ryan?”

She straightened and wiped her cheeks with her fingertips. “I think it’s wonderful. The streets will be safer when we can be confident about convicting repeat drunk drivers of first-degree murder.”

“And what about Mr. Wesley? Do you think he deserves the full sentence, life in prison?”

Matt watched Hannah’s eyes narrow, and he cringed at what was coming.

“Yes. He deserves a life sentence. And then he deserves to rot in hell.”

Hannah was barely aware of her surroundings as she drove home. She had expected to feel something … elation, excitement, the thrill of victory.
Something
. But as she turned into her driveway she felt strangely numb. Exactly the way she’d felt before the verdict. She glanced in her rearview mirror and saw Matt pull in behind her. He had talked her into going for lunch, but he thought they should tell Jenny the news first.

Together they walked up to the house.

Matt waited while Hannah turned the key. “She can come with us if she wants.”

Hannah huffed as she opened the door. “Good luck. Jenny doesn’t do anything that involves me these days.” She headed for the stairs. “Jenny?”

No answer.

“She must be sleeping. Wait here, I’ll wake her and tell her the news.” Hannah trudged up the stairs. She had a throbbing headache and couldn’t wait for the day to end. She entered the hallway and headed for her daughter’s room.

“Jenny, I’m home.” Again, no response. She was wasting her time. Jenny wouldn’t care, anyway. She turned the doorknob to the room, but it was locked.

Hannah sighed impatiently. “Jenny, it’s me. Wake up.”

Nothing. Hannah banged on the door.

“Jenny, come on.” She was shouting now, angry because she knew her daughter was ignoring her.

“Jenny … open the door this instant! Do you understand me?”

Silence.

Suddenly Hannah heard voices from the corner of her memory … The principal … 
“I don’t know, Mrs. Ryan, under normal circumstances a girl like Jenny would never consider suicide … but now …”
Then Matt … 
“I’m worried about her … you don’t think she’d try anything crazy, do you?”

Terror seized her and she grabbed the door, rattling it frantically. “Jenny, open up!”

Twisting the knob roughly, she pushed her shoulder into the door, but it held.
God, no. Please …

“Matt!”

He was at her side in seconds. “What—”

“Jenny’s locked in there! She won’t answer. Open it, Matt. Whatever it takes, just get it open!”

“Jenny, this is Matt Bronzan! Open the door, okay?”

When there was no response, he gently pushed Hannah aside. Then in a single, quick motion he jammed his shoulder against the door, and it flew open. Hannah followed him into the room, and they saw her. Sprawled out on her bed, her skin gray, pills scattered on the floor beside her. At the foot of the bed lay a box with a note on top of it. Matt picked it up, read two lines and dropped it. Instantly he grabbed Jenny’s wrist.

“What’s wrong with her?” Hannah screamed. She bent over Jenny, shaking her.

“I can’t find a pulse!” Matt grabbed Hannah’s shoulders. “My God, Hannah, call an ambulance!”

Thirty-two

So I say, “My splendor is gone and all that I had hoped
from the L
ORD
.” I remember my affliction … the bitterness
and the gall. I well remember them, and my soul is downcast
within me. Yet this I call to mind and therefore I have hope:
Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed
.

L
AMENTATIONS
3:18-22

Sometime between watching Matt perform fifteen agonizing minutes of mouth-to-mouth resuscitation on Jenny, and hearing paramedics radio the hospital to inform them a suicide-attempt was coming in; sometime between reading Jenny’s suicide note in the ambulance, and authorizing doctors at the emergency room to pump her daughter’s stomach, Hannah began doing something she hadn’t done in nearly a year.

She prayed.

Not that she’d had some deep realization that God was real or that his promises were true. Rather she had simply reached the end of herself, of everything she knew about coping.

Her prayers were pure, desperate instinct.

An hour after arriving at the emergency room, Hannah was still uttering the same silent prayer as she sat in the waiting room on a cold, vinyl sofa, Matt at her side.
Please, Lord, please let her live. Don’t let her die, God, please
.

Thirty minutes passed before Hannah heard purposeful footsteps.

“Mrs. Ryan? We need to talk about your daughter.”

Hannah lifted her head, stared at the doctor, and gasped.
Dr. Cleary. The same doctor who had told her the news about Tom and Alicia.

She screamed then.
“No!
Not again! Get away!” She bolted up from the sofa and pushed the doctor out of her way. “Not Jenny!
No!
No more!”

She was screaming, struggling to make it to the doorway, when she felt two firm hands on her shoulders.

“Let me go!”

“Hannah—”

“Nooooo!”
People were watching, getting up and moving their small children away, but Hannah didn’t care. She would not hear the same news about Jenny that she’d already heard about Tom and Alicia. She needed space, needed air, needed out. Anywhere else. She struggled to break free, but now the arms eased firmly around her waist, holding her fast.

“Go away, Doctor! Let me g—” She spun around, and suddenly the fight was gone.

It was Matt. “Matt …”

“Shhh. It’s okay. Calm down.”

She sagged against him, gasping for air. No matter how many breaths she drew in, she couldn’t get enough oxygen. Her words came in short, choppy spurts. “Tell … the doctor … to go … away!”

“Hannah, blow the air out.” Matt pulled a few inches back and spoke to her gently, slowly. “Come on … do it.”

Something deep within Hannah knew she needed to obey him. She pursed her lips and blew out a puff of air that wouldn’t have flickered a birthday candle.

“Again … several times … come on, Hannah, sweetheart.” She sank into him, exhaling three times without taking a breath.
Please God …

Matt met her gaze. “There … better?”

She nodded, but tears filled her eyes as she looked up at him. “Stay with me?”

He nodded and gently led her back to where Dr. Cleary was
waiting. Matt’s arm was wrapped tightly around her shoulders, supporting her.

“Let’s go in another room.” Dr. Cleary started to turn.

“Wait!” Hannah was frozen in place. For an instant her eyes connected with Dr. Cleary’s. She had to know. “She’s dead, isn’t she?”

Dr. Cleary reached out and touched the side of her arm. “No, Mrs. Ryan, she’s not dead.” He looked about the waiting room and saw that they were alone. “Tell you what, let’s sit down right here.”

Matt and Hannah sat back on the sofa, and Dr. Cleary sat across from them. His eyes narrowed with concern. “Mrs. Ryan, Jenny’s in a coma. She was very nearly successful in her attempt to take her life, and we know she was without oxygen for some period of time.” He hesitated and looked at Matt. “Are you the one who performed CPR on her?”

He nodded.

“It saved her life.” His gaze came back to Hannah. “But she’s still in critical condition. Things could go either way.”

Hannah gulped two quick breaths. “What … what does that mean?”

“Breathe out,” Matt whispered, and she obeyed.

“Comas are unpredictable.” Dr. Cleary shook his head slightly. “She could come out of it today, or not for twenty years. Also there’s a chance she may have suffered some brain damage.”

Hannah couldn’t breathe. She gulped huge breaths of air, but it didn’t matter. Matt was telling her something, but she couldn’t hear him. She was growing faint … “No … can’t be … Not Jenny … It’s all my … all my … all my fault …”

Matt caught her as she fell, then she passed out.

Hannah slowly opened her eyes. She was lying on a narrow cot with bright lights glaring at her. She felt woozy, her eyelids
heavy … and she wanted to close them. She glanced around.

Where was she?

Sterile bandages were stacked on a nearby counter, and there was a chart on the wall detailing various views of the human ankle before and after injury.

Then it came back in a rush. She was in the emergency room, and Jenny was somewhere lying in a drug-induced coma. Fear gripped her.

God … please, no!
She sat up too quickly and rubbed the back of her neck. This can’t be happening. Tom and Alicia, dead. Jenny lying in a coma from a drug overdose. She needed to find Jenny and wake her up. She thought of the girl’s suicide note.
You’ve been too busy.… You lost everything that matters.… I’m just in the way.… You can only walk around a museum of memories for so long.… You don’t want me talking about Jesus.… Sometimes I think I miss him as much as I miss Daddy and Alicia.… This is the only way …

A powerful desire swept Hannah then. She wanted to be on her knees, in a chapel. She didn’t understand it, didn’t question it. Just felt the sense as it filled her to overflowing. She looked around. She needed a chapel.

Before she could get her feet on the ground, Dr. Cleary appeared. “Hannah, how’re you feeling?” He came alongside her and took her pulse.

“I need to go—”

“That’s fine. Your vitals are good.”

“How’s Jenny?” Tears filled her eyes and spilled onto her cheeks.

“The same.”

“Matt? Mr. Bronzan … did he go home?”

“No. He’s upstairs with Jenny. Sitting by her bed. He told me about the verdict. I’ve been following it in the papers. I know it must have been very hard for you.” Dr. Cleary paused. “We’re doing our best to make sure the media doesn’t find out about this.”

Hannah nodded, tears blurring her vision as she stared down at her leather heels. She was still dressed in the same skirt and blouse she’d worn for court. Had the verdict been only that morning?

Dr. Cleary interrupted her thoughts. “It was the right verdict.”

She nodded again, silent.

“Listen, Mrs. Ryan, I’ve asked the hospital social worker to stop in if you’d like to talk. You’ve got a lot to deal with …”

Hannah shook her head, but she made sure her tone was kind. “I already have a counselor, Doctor, if you’ll give me permission to go talk to him.”

“Here, at the hospital?” He looked confused.

“Yes.” Hannah’s head was clearing quickly. She sat up straighter, determined. “May I go?”

“Is he expecting you?”

Hannah nodded. “Yes. Can you tell me how to get to the chapel?”

With every step she took, Hannah knew with increasing certainty that God was, indeed, expecting her. She knew it because he was speaking to her.

He’d done so before; she knew it. But she’d closed her mind, her heart. Now … now her heart was shattered, decimated on the rocks of her rebellion and anger. Now her defenses were gone, and all that was left was brokenness … contrition …

“I have loved you with an everlasting love …”

Yes. Oh, yes … I know …

Still, a hundred thoughts battled for position in her mind, both accusing the Lord and assaulting him with questions.
Why? Why if you loved me? Why if you loved them? Why us? Why when so much of life lay ahead? Why, Lord?

The questions came as steadily as the click of her heels on the hard linoleum floor. She was still angry with God, but by
the time she reached the chapel, she was absolutely certain that he knew that. God was listening. He had never stopped. He was as real as the nightmare that had become her life.

“Come, let us reason together …”

I’m coming, Father, I’m coming …

She pushed opened the chapel door and crept inside. Twelve empty, cushioned pews filled the room, and gentle lights shone on a single object at the front. Hannah moved slowly down the center aisle, her eyes fixed straight ahead.

It was not an ordinary cross, but a life-size one of two rough-hewn wooden beams roped together in the center. It stood there, a challenge to anyone who doubted the depth and height and breadth of Christ’s love.

A challenge to Hannah.

Tears flooded her eyes, and she took two steps closer.

She had forgotten about the cross. Oh, it was there on the gold chains people wore at the grocery store, emblazoned across an occasional bumper sticker or novelty T-shirt. But this cross—this symbol of pain and suffering, this weapon of splintered wood and iron stakes slicing into the Lord’s back, ripping through the flesh in his wrists and feet, this reminder of how the Savior gasped for air and asked the Father to forgive his killers—this cross would forever show the world what Hannah had forgotten until now.