Remembering Christmas Read Free Page B

around). “All it has to be to qualify is a joyful noise,” he’d say after they finished destroying a melody. Choir rejects, both of them. But there was no one she’d rather sing praises with than Art. He was a godly man, through and through.
    Lord, don’t take him yet. I’m not ready. I’m not .
    Suddenly she heard footsteps behind her, walking quickly. Before she could turn around, a man in white swept by, behind the bed toward the wall. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Bell, but I need to close these.” It was Dr. Halper. He pulled a cord. The drapes rolled shut, plunging the room in almost total darkness.
    “What’s the matter?” It took a few moments for her eyes to see his face.
    He came around to her side of the bed. “I’m sorry if I startled you,” he said. “It’s just the tests we ran earlier are pointing toward a different diagnosis.”
    “I don’t understand.” She looked at his eyes. He didn’t seem upset.
    “We don’t think your husband suffered a stroke.” He was talking quietly.
    “Then what—”
    “We still have a few more tests to run, but we believe he suffered an aneurysm. That’s why I closed the blinds. There’s a few more things I need to go over with you, some critical things we’ll need to do over the next few days.”
    “Is that worse than a stroke?”
    “Both are very serious.”
    “Life threatening serious?”
    He paused. “I’m afraid so. But Art is holding steady.” He looked up, glanced at each machine. “For now we’re doing fine. The nurse will come in a few moments to change some of his meds.”
    “What can we do?”
    “We’re doing everything we can do. But with an aneurysm—until we have more to go on—we’ve got to keep him very calm. No loud noises, no lights. And absolutely no visitors.”
    “No visitors?”
    “You can stay, but only you. And you need to do your best to stay calm.”
    “But he can’t even hear anything, can he?”
    “Probably not. But we’ll be working to reduce the swelling in his brain over the next few days. He could wake up at some point. When he does, it would be great if you were here to keep him calm.”
    “I’m not going anywhere.”
    “I’ll have an orderly bring in one of these nice recliner chairs we have. When you stretch them out, they’re not half bad to sleep in. I’ve done it myself many times.”
    “How long before we know if he’s getting better?”
    She didn’t like how the doctor’s expression changed. He walked over to the chair she had been sitting in. “You better sit down.”
    She felt faint.
    “This thing is going to take time,” he said. “Art is in critical condition. What we’ll be trying to do over the next several days is to get him ready for surgery.”
    “What kind of . . . ?”
    “Brain surgery. The aneurysm is in his head.”
    “Oh, Lord.” Tears filled her eyes. She looked over at Art lying there so peacefully. “Is this surgery usually successful?”
    Another long pause. “In my experience, with this kind of trauma, we really can’t predict very much. Wish I could give you more to go on.” He reached over and patted her hands. “Right now . . . all we can do is take things one step at a time.”

5
     
    Aided by the soothing sounds of Christopher Cross, Carole King, and James Taylor, Rick’s sanity arrived mostly intact after the long drive down to Florida. He was glad he was alone; he’d have made terrible company. All he wanted to do was complain.
    For starters, this had to be the most boring stretch of highway in the country. It felt like he’d watched the same fifty pine trees roll past the side windows, over and over again, as if on some looping film reel, like those old movies from the forties. Every ten minutes, a meaningless billboard inserted itself into the scene, offering pecans, Indian River fruit, or a cheap roadside motel. (Did anyone even know what Indian River fruit was?) The road never curved. Not a single hill.
    Darkness had crept in by inches over