Part 8 (2/2)
Abbie nodded.
”The Lord was watching out for her. Watching out for all of us.”
”Mommy...”
”I know, sweet girl. I know. But it's all good now, right?”
She nodded again.
”We'll talk later,” I said. ”Right now, I need to go back to the hospital so Daddy can come home and get some sleep. I just didn't want you to wake up and find me gone. Adelynn's still asleep. Daddy'll be home in two shakes. Will you be all right for an hour or so?”
”Of course,” Abbie said, a little indignant. She was going on twelve and had completed Red Cross certification for babysitting that summer. People at church were already asking me when she'd be available to start sitting for them, but I wasn't quite ready to accept that she was growing up so quickly.
”Mom.” She heaved a sigh of tweenage long-suffering. ”We'll be fine.”
”Call me when you wake up. I'll tell Daddy to make pancakes for breakfast.”
Abbie rolled her eyes and grumbled, ”When you're not here, we don't eat, and he doesn't care.”
”Oh, c'mon. That's not true.” I bit my lip, realizing that someday we would have to buy this girl a semi-decent car to make up for all this. ”Cereal with a banana is healthier for you anyway.”
Abbie mumbled something affirmative and snuggled back into her blankets.
”I love you.” I kissed her temple and blew a big raspberry against her cheek.
It took me about ten minutes to hastily put together bags with Kevin's change of clothes and everything Anna would need for another hospital stay. In less than an hour, I was striding down the familiar hallway at Cook Children's. When I got to the a.s.signed room, I paused in the hallway outside the door, eavesdropping on Anna telling Kevin with great animation about her helicopter ride.
”... and what made me so mad was that the lady wouldn't let me look at the lights. She kept saying, Don't move your neck, because it might be broken,' and I thought, if I can move my neck, it's not broken, so I was trying to move my eyes to see the lights of the city. It was so pretty! I was so mad I couldn't see! And then we got on the roof, and they cut my s.h.i.+rt. The one that zipped up like a little jacket? With a sparkly b.u.t.terfly on it? And I was like, noooooo! I wear that thing every day.”
”They said you were very calm and cooperative,” Kevin said. ”That's what the firemen said too. They said you were very brave. I'm really proud of you, monkey.”
”Well, I figured getting upset would just make the situation worse,” Anna said like Kid Cool. Her eyes lit up when she saw me at the door. ”Mommy!”
”Hey, you two.” I stepped in and hugged them both, bags still in my hands.
”Did you bring her clothes?” Kevin asked. ”We're ready to get out of here.”
”What?” I said blankly.
”We can be on the road in an hour and make it to Corpus for dinner.”
”Kevin... you can't be serious.”
I set the bags on the end of the bed where Anna was already bouncing with excitement. I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen her so bright and full of energy.
”Did they say she was okay to be released?” I asked.
”Not exactly,” he said, ”but they can't find anything wrong with her. They're keeping her as a precaution. Christy, there's nothing they can do for her here that we can't do for her at home. Or at Nonny's.”
I just looked at him, nonplussed. ”I don't know what to say.”
”Say Happy New Year.” He grinned. ”She's okay. We're okay. Going to Nonny's like we planned-that's going to be the best thing for her. And for Abbie and Adelynn. I'll get changed and give them a call while you get Anna ready to go. They said they'd be back with the paperwork.” Kevin scooped up his duffel bag and gave me a quick kiss. ”Trust me. This is best for everyone.”
Based on everything I'd seen in Boston and ever since, I had to agree with him. Anna's spirits had plunged when she was admitted to the hospital in Boston, and I could think of nothing more dangerous than letting her slide into that emotional swamp again-especially since she appeared to be perfectly healthy at the moment. (Another b.u.mper sticker jubilation for parents of a chronically ill child: ”My kid appears perfectly healthy at the moment!”) It was hard to argue with the idea that what our family needed at that moment was a good armful of all-encompa.s.sing Nonny love.
The attending physician had to agree as well and reluctantly signed off on her release. There was simply no apparent reason to keep her, other than the textbook theory that no child could possibly walk away from this with superficial bruises and sc.r.a.pes.
Anna got dressed-refusing any help from me-and she and Kevin goofed around, pretending he was springing her from prison, until the nurse came with the discharge papers.
”We don't really have any care instructions,” she said. ”You'll want to watch her for any neurological signs. Maybe take it fairly easy today. No tree climbing,” she added wryly, tapping Anna on the nose. ”Basically, she's the talk of the whole hospital. We're just amazed she's walking away from it like this. That's one Hoss of a guardian angel you got there, kiddo.”
An hour later, we were on our way down I-35, heading south toward Temple and Austin. The first hour of the drive is not very picturesque in the winter. Central Texas has its own rough brand of beauty, but you have to look for it. Mostly you're seeing vast stretches of brown gra.s.s and low hills with the occasional tiny town. Abandoned farmhouses and gas stations tell you about better days gone by. Billboards tell you how many miles it is to the next Buc-ee's travel plaza, where they sell Buc-ee's Beaver Nuggets, Loco Cheese and Meat Dip, and desperately needed coffee.
We've made the six-hour drive to Nonny's so many times since she moved to Corpus Christi, the girls have their favorite stops they look forward to. I'm all about the cleanest bathrooms. They're all about the best ice-cream selection. Kevin keeps an eye open for the lowest gas prices. There's usually a pretty festive atmosphere in the truck. We play games and sing along with the radio. This day was different.
Abbie and Adelynn were thrilled that our plan to celebrate the New Year at Nonny's was back on after all, but they were still wiped out from being up so late. Once we were on the road, they huddled into pillows and blankets and crashed out sleeping. I sat in the middle up front, because that's how we roll, Kevin and I, ever since our college days: We sit on the same side of the booth at Denny's, and we cruise down the road like the two-headed driver in the front seat of the pickup truck.
I kept Anna up front with us. She sat by the window, quietly observing the eighteen-wheelers, telephone poles, and occasional tiny towns whizzing by. I rested my hand on her knee and my head on Kevin's shoulder. I didn't want to doze off, knowing how little sleep he had gotten; I just wanted to sit there and listen to the rumbling diesel motor.
”Mommy?” Anna turned her head away from the window and looked up at me.
”Yes, sweet girl?”
”You know... I went to Heaven when I was in that tree.”
”Oh?” I lifted my head, not sure how to respond. ”Really?”
”Yes.” She nodded, her small face very serious. ”I sat in Jesus's lap.”
Kevin tipped his chin in our direction, but he didn't say anything. I saw in Anna's eyes the conscious decision to confide in us. There was no drama, but she wasn't playing either. She chose her words like crayons from a box, describing some of what she had experienced while inside the tree. How the gates of Heaven are made of gold, how Jesus told her it wasn't time, that she would have to go back and couldn't see ”the creatures.”
When Jesus told her He would send His guardian angel, Annabel explained, ”Then I started to kind of wake up in the tree, and I could hear the firemen's voices from way, way up there, yelling for me to raise my hand. And I saw an angel that looked very small-like a fairy-and it got more and more clear. And then G.o.d winked at me through the body of the angel. And what He was saying to me was, I'm going to leave you now, and everything is going to be okay.' And then the angel became solid again and stayed with me the entire time, s.h.i.+ning a light so I could see. We didn't talk. We just sat together like... peacefully.”
Anna's tone was relaxed and matter-of-fact. The flat earth of Texas rolled by over her shoulder.
”Oh, and I saw Mimi!” she said happily, as if she'd seen her in church on Sunday. ”I almost didn't recognize her, but it was Mimi's face. That caught my attention. The same beautiful face from old pictures but also in my memory. And I saw a little girl in Heaven who looked exactly like you and Abbie mixed together, and I just stared at the girl thinking, I've seen that face before, and finally I asked G.o.d who that little girl was, and He said it was my sister.”
Kevin's hand found mine. I meshed my fingers with his and squeezed, but I didn't break away from Anna's frank gaze.
She smiled up at me. I smiled at her. She returned to her quiet observation of the pa.s.sing scenery beyond the pa.s.senger window. Kevin and I looked at each other, and then returned our eyes to the road ahead. Neither of us had word one to say, but Anna didn't seem to be waiting for any kind of response from us. I didn't feel tension in the cab of the pickup truck; I felt the odd combination of peace at the center of me while an electric tingle poured down my spine.
Naturally, there was the urge to feel her forehead for a fever, press her for details, pepper her with questions-or just pull her into my arms and hug her. All of that seemed equally appropriate and inappropriate at the time. The first and foremost concern, of course, was that she was showing us some indication of a head injury, but she'd just been through a full battery of MRIs and CT scans that started with the a.s.sumption that she was hurt-”think zebras” turned upside down. She wasn't seriously hurt, they'd concluded. ”Possibly a slight concussion,” they said.
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