The Heart of Grace. Linda Goodnight

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ matter what anyone said, she could not forget the beautiful parts of her marriage. They hovered inside her heart and mind like golden butterflies, too rare and special to release into the wild.

      Somehow she managed to end the conversation, certain she hadn’t heard the end of the Italy cruise. Then she fixed a cup of tea in the hotel coffeemaker. It wasn’t her special blend of chamomile and raspberry, but the hot, sweetened drink warmed the chill in her bones.

      Outside, a cold rain slashed the windows in incessant sheets. Inside, the hotel room was cozy. She climbed beneath the comforter, pillows propped behind her head, to drink tea and read the Bible.

      In her haste, she’d left her own beautiful, Moroccan leather Bible at home. But the bedside table held the familiar Gideon version.

      She flipped through the stiff book, finally settling on a page in Corinthians. Much of the Bible was still new to her and this was no different. She read out loud, hoping scripture would soothe her inner tumult. “Love is patient. Love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil, but rejoices in the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.”

      This was what real love was all about. God’s kind of love.

      As if the ancient words were written just for her, Larissa read them again and again.

      “Love is patient,” she murmured. “I can be patient with Drew.”

      And she could also trust and hope and persevere. Because God promised that if she would, love would never fail. She closed her eyes and smiled, ready to sleep now as she hadn’t done in days. “Thank you, Lord.”

      Deep down, she understood what God was telling her. Just keep on loving Drew the way Corinthians stated. Keep loving. Because love would not fail.

      The next morning, Drew awakened as soon as the weak winter sun slanted through the gap in the ugly green drapes. He was nervous. Larissa was going to fight him, and right now he was weak. Last night he’d tried to get up and head for the shower on his own. He’d made it to the end of the bed before collapsing like a Slinky. The nurses had scolded until, chastised, he’d promised to stay put.

      He wouldn’t necessarily keep that promise. He had to get out of here before he lost all courage.

      A nurse arrived, and Drew went through the now familiar humiliation of being treated like a helpless infant. Ah, what was he saying? He was a helpless infant.

      “Tell the doc I want to see him right away.”

      “Let’s get you cleaned up first. I heard you had a pretty visitor yesterday.”

      He gave her a look intended to shut her up, but she was a cheeky sort. She pushed her glasses up on her nose and grinned. Drew ignored the insinuation. “Call the doctor.”

      “I heard you. The doctor will make his rounds soon. Right now he’s in surgery.”

      “Great.” He needed to get the rehab arrangements made today and get out of here. His frustratingly weak body was not cooperating. All he could do was wait.

      As the nurse administered his morning ablutions, he stared at a painting on the far wall. What was it? A seascape? Mountains?

      He squinted, trying to bring the blues and greens into focus. He blinked several times to clear the fog, and just that quick, the picture faded to gray and then to black.

      His heart lurched. Cold fear snaked through him. He blinked again and again. Nothing happened.

      He dropped his head back onto the pillow, fighting the panic. A groan escaped him.

      “Mr. Michaels?” The cheeky nurse’s voice held concern. “Did I hurt you? Are you in pain?”

      Yes, though not the kind she meant.

      For lack of a better excuse, he said, “My side,” and grabbed for it.

      No way was he telling the nurses about the unpredictable state of his eyesight. They might tell Larissa and then he was done for. If she thought for one minute that he was going blind, she would insist on taking care of him. He wouldn’t saddle her with a cranky, worthless, blind photographer.

      As professional hands skimmed over the bandage on his belly, Drew fretted. The doc had called the blindness transient. It would go away. It had to.

      “There. Is that better?”

      Though he had no idea what the nurse had done, he nodded anyway. “Thanks.”

      “You’re welcome.” She rattled around his bed and he waited for the sound to disappear before opening his eyes again.

      A relieved sigh shuddered through him.

      The world had somehow come back into focus.

      He looked at his hands. They were shaking.

      Outside in the hallway, people passed by talking in low tones. So as not to think about the frightening blindness, he concentrated on the noises and waited for his doctor to arrive.

      He didn’t have long to wait. In moments, he heard the murmur of a male voice. But there was another voice, too. Larissa. He’d recognize that soft, educated drawl anywhere on earth.

      Straining to hear, he caught bits and pieces of the conversation. “Mr. Michaels expressly asked me not to release his information to you, Mrs. Michaels.”

      Way to go, doc.

      “But I’m his wife.” Larissa’s bewilderment was evident.

      “He said you were going through a divorce.”

      “That’s ridiculous. He must have gotten a concussion. We are not getting a divorce.”

      Drew couldn’t hold back a smile of admiration. His woman was gutsy, that was for certain. She’d worked on her father’s political campaigns long enough to know how to stand her ground.

      The doctor’s smooth, professional baritone answered, “He’s asked me to make arrangements in a rehab facility here in D.C. I was just stopping by to discuss the particulars with him.”

      Drew clenched the sheet with both fists, reminding himself that the rehab was his idea. Nevertheless, the thought of going to any institution filled him with dread. He’d been in way too many of them over the years, and probably should have been in others.

      Flashes of his early teen years kaleidoscoped behind his eyelids. Boys’ homes, therapeutic homes, group homes for troubled kids. He’d battled his way through dozens, fending off bigger, meaner boys, learning to steal and smoke. Learning which illegal drugs manifested what effect.

      He’d tried everything and then some but had gone cold turkey after the fire….

      He slammed the door right there. Sweat broke out on his body.

      Not the fire. He didn’t ever think about the fire.

      He wasn’t that wild, СКАЧАТЬ