The Lewis Legacy Series Box Set: 4-in-1 Special Edition Page 37

  The man eyed Marc with a curious expression. “If I understand you correctly, you think you only get so many favors in your lifetime. Then once you’ve used up your quota, that’s it?” He fingered the straggly white beard. “First off, you’re way too young to think that way. Them’s fightin’ words, and second, if that was the case, I’d have been dead a long time ago.”

  “Why’s that?” Dropping into an adjacent chair, Marc felt the need to talk yet also wanted to be left alone. But what was the sense in that? All he’d do was worry more. Better to focus on someone else instead of wallowing in his own wretched misery. Natalie would be the first to tell him to get a grip on his emotions and think positively. That thought gave him a small measure of comfort. Marc glanced at the man, really looking at him. The lines on his face were deep, well-earned. The thin outline of a scar ran from his temple to his hairline.

  “God gave me a good life.” He fingered the beard again with slow movements. “You want to talk about battles? I fought in the Korean War, but lost my best buddy on a battlefield. Died in my arms, but at least he knew he was loved and somebody cared. No wonder they call it ‘The Forgotten War.’ The rest of the guys took off, but I couldn’t just leave him there.” The man’s voice trailed off for a moment and tears glistened in his eyes at the obvious pain the long-ago memory invoked. “Frank was like a part of me. In the instant I knew he was gone, I felt like he’d taken me along with him.”

  The man elevated a shaky, gnarled hand in the air. “Knew that man as well as my right hand. Went from kindergarten all the way through high school with him. Served as best man in his wedding, and I’m godfather to his son.” He shook his head. “God spared me, but I returned home a bitter, spiteful man. I was full of anger and regret. I also had to face the pain in the eyes of Frank’s widow and two kids and wonder what more I could have done. Maybe it should have been me shipped home in that body bag instead of him.”

  Survivor’s guilt. Marc felt a tug of empathy. The memories seemed as fresh now as they did all those years ago. Perhaps they’d never fade. He lowered his hand on a dry, bony forearm. “I’m sorry about your friend. War’s a horrible thing.”

  “Sometimes it’s necessary, and I never minded fightin’ for my country, son. It’s the war inside a man that’s worse. That’s the war that’ll kill you. I lived in an abyss of misery—purely of my own making—here on earth. Until I met and married the best woman in the world. My Ruthie stood by me when I lost two jobs because of seizures, survived three surgeries, suffered two heart attacks and lost our only child to cancer. We had some tough times, but God brought me home safe from the war and gave me a great life for a number of years. I have no complaints.”

  Closing his eyes, he lowered his head for a few seconds before looking back over at Marc, light-colored eyes bright. “What I’m trying to tell you is that God doesn’t keep track—doesn’t keep score—of all the good and bad, and the right and wrong like we do. He just is. He knows everything that’s gonna happen to us. He’s in control even though we’re bull-headed and think we’re the ones pullin’ the reins.” A wiry hand patted Marc’s thumping knee. “Give her to God, son. It’s not a battle. It’s not God pitted in one corner and you in the other. If that’s the way you feel, you’ll never win. You’ll lose every time until you’re willing to surrender to His will. Only then can you possibly be a winner. Accept His will, whatever that may be. If you can do that, it will give you an almost unbelievable peace. Know this truth: one way or the other, God will take care of your wife.”

  “How can I just accept what’s happened?” Marc said, shaking off the old man’s hand. Rising to his feet, he started pacing the floor again. It was the one way or the other part of the statement he resented. “I will not allow anything to happen to Natalie!” Of all the fatalistic old coots, he had to run into one in the emergency waiting room. “I can’t just give up.” With his jaw rigid, the muscles in his cheeks flexed. When the old man cocked his head, his gaze held surprising clarity and an unbelievable calm. Watching him, Marc softened. He had no right to go ballistic on the guy.

  “No one’s askin’ you to give up, son. You’re right to want to fight for her, but your battle’s not with God. I understand you’re angry. God does, too, and I wouldn’t be honest if I didn’t say I’d probably be mad as blazes, too, in your shoes. How long you been married?”

  Marc’s eyes misted. He hated it. It showed weakness. “A couple of months.” He extended his hand. “Forgive me for going off on you like that.” He shook his head. “I’m not myself tonight. Name’s Marc Thompson.”

  “Abe Davis. No forgiveness needed. Sit down and tell me about your wife.” He nodded to the seat beside him. “It’ll help you to talk it out.”

  If nothing else, it would help pass the time. Dropping into the chair, Marc blew out a deep sigh. “Natalie’s from a good family, born and raised in Connecticut. Went to an all girls’ school and got her degree at Wellesley.”

  A snort escaped. “I don’t care how rich her family is, what highfalutin school she went to, or what a fancy career gal she is.” The old man met his gaze head-on. “I sure hope you don’t either.”

  “No, no,” Marc said, waving his hand. “That’s just it.” He wiped away a stray tear that managed to escape, noting again his companion’s weathered, lined face, the crinkles around the eyes. “Natalie has every right to be a snob, but she’s genuine, and has a heart of gold. She teaches kindergarten.” He blew out a breath. “She’s smarter than I’ll ever hope to be, yet she chooses to channel all her energies into young minds. Always finds something unique and special about every single kid in her class. Natalie believes God has a purpose for each one and wants to help them find their special gifts and talents.” He wiped away another tear. “Can you imagine that? Her students are five years old, and my wife’s trying to set them on a career path.”

  “Sounds more like your wife’s trying to set them on a God-honoring path. Nothing wrong with that.”

  Marc’s shoulders fell. “She’s the best person I know.” He rubbed a hand over his tired eyes. “We were walking downtown one night and came across a homeless woman. Some thugs had pushed her down on the curb. Her lip was cut, her jaw swollen, and they’d stolen the few things she had. Natalie made sure she was okay, bought her a hot meal and took her to a shelter. If you look up perseverance in the dictionary, you’ll find a picture of my wife.” A small, wry grin upturned the corners of his mouth. “With my picture next to hers.”

  It appeared as though Mr. Davis smiled, but it was impossible to see any teeth beneath the mass of beard. “And what do you do for a living?” He chuckled. “Something tells me you don’t have the patience for teaching.”

  “I own a sports advertising agency. I used to play minor league ball for the Sox farm team in Pawtucket.” Why he threw in that information, he didn’t know, and it didn’t seem to impress this man. It was a long time ago, and seemed like some other guy’s life, not his. He wanted to talk more about Natalie. The old man was right: it did help.

  “We were dressed for the opera once—me in a penguin suit and Natalie in this incredible evening gown—and she decided to ditch the whole idea. We ended up sharing fries at some burger joint and yakking it up with a bunch of high school kids fresh from a football homecoming dance.” He lowered his eyes. “I don’t believe for a second she had this sudden craving for fries. And I have no idea why that popped into my head.” And out of his mouth

  “Think about it a minute, son, and I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

  Marc raised his head. “My brain’s pretty muddled, but if I had to guess, I’d say she did it because she knows how much I hate the opera.”

  “And what do you give up for her?”

  The memory train stopped with an abruptness that startled him. “I . . . well . . .”

  “It’s not a hard question.” He paused. “Is it?”

  “Give me a minute.” He’d snapped at the old guy again, but couldn’t help it. Watch
it, Marc. He’s only trying to help. “I’ll tell you one thing. My business has been the most important thing in my life the last few years. Late nights, weekends . . . I was always in my office. But I promised Natalie I’d cut back on my hours, and I have.” He looked in the older man’s eyes. “Giving up the reins is the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I didn’t call the office on my honeymoon, and I understand my employees laid odds on how long it would take.”

  “Did you bet on yourself?”

  Marc laughed outright at that one. He liked this man’s sense of humor. “No. Afraid I’d lose.”

  Silence for a couple of minutes. “Care to tell me what happened? If it would make you feel better, feel free to unload on me. You listened to me, but it’s your choice.”

  Marc blew out a heavy sigh. Might as well. “We bought an historic home near Wellesley we’re renovating. I’d gone upstairs to get ready for bed, and Natalie ran downstairs to get something out of the laundry.” Dropping a quick kiss on him with a promise to return in only a minute or two, she struggled out of his embrace to dart down the steps. Natalie was in a hurry to get back to him. So much so she hadn’t turned on the light on the basement steps. As if he needed any more guilt.

  Marc’s breath caught in his throat and he choked. “It’s all my fault.” His voice sputtered. Everything suddenly seemed so clear. Why hadn’t he seen it before? His eyes glazed with unshed tears. “I should have fixed those stairs.” Lowering his face to his hands, he slumped down into the chair and his shoulders sagged under the unbearable weight of guilt. “If only I’d done something about them. I knew the wood might be rotting and unsafe. But why did it have to be Natalie? Why couldn’t it have been me?” He grabbed his shirt with both fists, bunching it up. He wanted to tear it clean from his body, needed to lash out. “It should have been me!” His voice rose, prompting others in the ER to stare.

  “It’s nobody’s fault, son.” The man’s tone was gentle and oddly comforting. He placed a hand on Marc’s arm. It was surprising how warm it was. “No matter what you think you could have done to prevent it, it happened. Accept it, pray, and then get on with the process of living.” He nodded his head in the direction of the emergency room. “That young lady in there is gonna need all your love and support. She doesn’t need a useless man trapped by the walls of his own guilt. Trust me ‘cause I’ve been there. I know.”

  “You’re a . . .” Marc hesitated, “a very direct person. Are you like an honorary hospital chaplain or something?” With a shaky hand, he wiped away another stray tear. Why couldn’t he control them? His skin was crawling from the inside out. Where was that nurse? When were they going to tell him something more, let him finally see Natalie? It seemed like hours, but glancing at the clock, he noticed it wasn’t much more than an hour since they’d wheeled her into the ER. It seemed like an eternity.

  The hearty laugh was a surprise coming from such a stooped-over, withered frame. “I’m no chaplain, and don’t be afraid to show your humanity by shedding a few tears.” Reaching into his shirt pocket, he retrieved and handed over a crumpled but clean handkerchief.

  “Are you waiting for someone here in the ER?” Marc wanted to change the subject but also wondered why old Mr. Davis was sitting alone. Swallowing his pride and tears, he returned the handkerchief. “Why are you here?” Even to his own ears, his tone sounded insistent, and not particularly nice.

  You’re losing it. Take it easy on the old guy. He’s only trying to help.

  “I’m just a tired old man who tries to soothe a troubled conscience when he recognizes one. I can see my work here is done.” Leaning heavily on his cane, he rose on unsteady feet.

  Placing a quick hand beneath his elbow, Marc helped him regain his balance. “Thanks for listening to all my ranting. I might not sound like I’m grateful, but it did help.”

  Positioning his cane firmly on the floor, the gentleman lowered a reassuring hand on Marc’s shoulder. “Remember what I said, son. Give her to God. He’ll take care of the both of you. He’s not keeping score, so you don’t need to, either.”

  Marc shook his head, watching the man shuffle away with slow, most likely painful, steps. He had to admit, Mr. Davis made sense. But he wasn’t going to wave the white flag. He’d never surrender Natalie willingly.

  ~~**~~

  A short time later, the buzzer sounded at the empty nurse’s station. With a start, Marc rose from his chair, another half cup of coffee in his hand. He’d never consumed so much java within such a short span of time, and he was beginning to feel a caffeine buzz. Not knowing what else to do, he wandered to the window.

  He’d approached everything in his life until this point with express intent and purpose: his education, getting drafted to the Red Sox farm team straight out of Yale, building and making his advertising agency a success, and winning Natalie’s heart.

  Failure wasn’t an option.

  Leaning his head against the cool glass window, Marc closed his eyes. His wife always teased him that even his dreams must be organized and mapped out in meticulous detail. Even as a kid, he’d been uncommonly focused with an eye toward the future. A few minutes later, he meandered over to the nurse’s station. Lost in thought, his fingers absently jingled loose change in his pocket. The blonde nurse looked up with a tired smile as he approached, no doubt resigned to putting up with him. Nothing was worse than when he was agitated, especially pumped high on caffeine.

  “Excuse me.” He cleared his throat. “The older gentleman I was talking with in the waiting room a few minutes ago. Mr. Davis. I was wondering if you’ve seen him before?”

  The nurse nodded, her expression wistful. “His wife died here in the hospital about two months ago. As I understand it, he doesn’t have any family left since his daughter died of cancer. For some reason, he likes coming here. He always sits in the emergency room. For hours sometimes. He’ll talk with others, but there are times when he sits by himself in his own little world, staring into space, not saying a word. It’s sweet, really, and we don’t have the heart to tell him to leave. He never causes any trouble, and I’m sure he’s just lonely. He says talking to people brings him comfort.” Called away by a patient’s summons, the nurse left her station.

  “Thanks,” Marc said, turning back toward the waiting room. If anything, Mr. Davis was the one who brought others comfort. The nurse said his wife died about two months ago. Meaning the old man’s life faded around the same time his life began—when he married Natalie. Sitting in the chair vacated by the elderly man, Marc bowed his head, determined to take his advice and give it all to God. What could it hurt? In his heart, he knew it’s what he’d needed to do all along. At all costs, the bottom line was that he’d do whatever it took to get Natalie back. He’d humble himself to the Almighty, and beg if needed.

  ~~**~~

  “Hmm?” Marc started and his eyes fluttered open as he realized someone tapped him on the shoulder. Momentarily dazed, he sat up straight as the sight of vending machines forced him back to harsh reality. How could he have fallen asleep? A faint streak of light on the horizon peeked through the windows. Marc cleared his throat. “What time is it?”

  “It’s half past five, Mr. Thompson.” Dr. Adams loomed into full view, and Marc stared at him through groggy eyes. Surely this man was as tall as his dad—at least six-foot-seven. “We have the result of your wife’s test.”

  “And?” Impatience took over. He detested long, dramatic pauses suitable for soap operas but not real life. “The brain scan?”

  “No.” Dr. Adams shook his head and ran a hand over a long chin covered with a stubble of growth, peppered with gray. “I realize this isn’t exactly the best way for you to find out, but I felt you’d want to know straight away.”

  “Find out what?” Marc said, his voice irritated as he rubbed his tired eyes. “Spare me the medical jargon, Dr. Adams, and spit it out.” He looked up. “Straight away.” Although he didn’t intend it to sound mocking, it did. A stab of guilt ripped through him. One of
these days, he’d learn to be more sensitive.

  “All right, then.” Dr. Adams looked down momentarily before meeting his eyes. “Congratulations, Mr. Thompson. You’re going to be a father.”

  Chapter 3

  Marc stared at the doctor and consciously closed his mouth. “Excuse me?” His fingers gripping the sides of the chair turned white. “How . . . what?” Disbelief clouded his mind as he absorbed words he never expected to hear until several years into his marriage.

  Dr. Adams sat in the adjacent chair. “From our earlier discussion, it’s my impression you and your wife weren’t trying to conceive a child.”

  Marc glanced down at his shiny, gold wedding band. “I guess it doesn’t matter much now, does it?” Catching the doctor’s look of disapproval, he heaved a heavy sigh. “Of course, children are important to us. Natalie’s a kindergarten teacher and adores kids. But, it’s not like we made a conscious decision to start our family a few weeks after getting married.” Mild sarcasm laced his words. His mind wrestled with jumbled emotions. How could this happen? They hadn’t consummated their marriage until their wedding night. A strong Christian, Natalie viewed abstinence until marriage as honoring to the Lord. He found it quaint, albeit old-fashioned, but he loved her without question and honored her desire to wait. It was the right decision.

  A Christian only a few years, it was more difficult for him. He loved the fact she belonged to him alone, but it nicked his conscience he couldn’t say the same. Now that he thought about it, in his eagerness to be with his wife, he’d gotten carried away in the moment and neglected precautions a few times, both on the honeymoon and after. But that was their private business. No one else needed to know. Not even the good doctor. In any event, if what the doctor said was true, everyone would know soon enough.

  “How far along?” It came out a hoarse croak. He grunted and thumped a curled fist against his chest.