Fields of Home Page 25

  Now Darrel would never know.

  It was the right thing to do.

  Maybe, but it left Brandon without hope. Darrel was better off without him, without the pain cancer would bring to his life. Spying a garbage bin near the parking lot, Brandon tossed in the crumpled letters Mercedes had returned to him. No one needed them now.

  Chapter 24

  Diary of Mercedes Walker Johnson

  March 24, 2007

  Wayne surprised me today with flowers. Lucy would have been four. I took some of the buds, and we walked out to the graveyard to sit with her. I know she’s not really there. I imagine her in heaven playing with my grandmother and other little angels, but it comforts me to have some place to sit and imagine. The pain isn’t gone, but it’s different now. My belief that I will see and hold her again softens the emotions. She will always be mine. I feel such a love for Wayne. Many couples drift apart after the death of a child, but our experience has made us stronger. We are united in our goal to live the best lives we can so that we can prove to God that we are worthy of being with our little angel girl in heaven . . . someday.

  “He’s going to wake up, Momma, I know it.” Darrel was staring at Wayne intently. The nurses had begun letting the boys visit Wayne one at a time, though Darrel always stayed longer than the others. “Hey, I think his eyes moved.” Darrel’s hair fell into his eyes as he leaned forward to study Wayne’s face. Time for another haircut, but Mercedes didn’t know when she’d be able to do it. If Wayne didn’t come out of the coma soon, she’d have to begin thinking about a long-term strategy for taking care of the boys and the farm—and Wayne as well. She didn’t want to leave him here alone, but there would be no choice.

  “See, Momma? Did you see that?”

  “He does that sometimes,” she said gently, so his hopes wouldn’t fly too high. She knew only too intimately the depths he would plunge afterward when there were no signs of life for hours except the rise and fall of his stomach as he breathed. She’d felt it herself.

  At least he was breathing. She’d heard repeatedly that falling into a coma was the way the body recovered from trauma, especially brain trauma. According to Darrel, who’d been spending way too much time on the Internet, Wayne’s brain had been cut off from circulation for less time than hundreds of other people who woke up and were all right in the end. She clung to this hope without letting any of her sons know how desperately she prayed for it to be true. If they knew the extent of her hope, they might realize how serious her fear. She was beginning to wonder if Brandon was right, that Wayne would never awake. Instinctively, she was preparing herself for the worst.

  Mercedes put her hand on Darrel’s shoulder. “Will you be okay alone for a few minutes? I need to walk a bit. I have a cramp in my leg.”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. I have a book.” He lifted it, and she saw a human heart on the cover. How like Darrel to research what he didn’t know. This tragedy might make him more like his biological father than anyone had anticipated.

  Mercedes rifled through the bag of clothes and goodies one of the ladies from church had brought. She’d been visited almost constantly by friends over the past few days, though none were permitted in to see Wayne. She had been warmed by their love and offers of help. Austin had sat with Wayne last night so she could go home for a few hours, but she’d ended up back here before midnight, unable to be away so long. Austin arrived again just half an hour ago, bringing Darrel. He was still in the hospital somewhere. Mercedes should find him and thank him.

  Her hand closed over an orange. That would calm the hunger in her stomach. She couldn’t remember eating since the meal Brandon had bought her the day before, though she knew she likely had. She was forgetting a lot of things lately.

  “See you in a minute,” she told Darrel. “Call the nurse if you need anything. She can page me.” Darrel nodded.

  Outside the ICU everything was awash with sound and color. Visitors carrying bright flowers, nurses laughing together in the hall. A man carrying a little girl who clapped her hands and sang a nursery song. Mercedes watched the child, smiling. Her daughter would have been just that age. There was no bitterness at the thought.

  She walked the halls, peeling and eating her orange, not knowing where she was going until she saw the sign: MORGUE. She walked up to the door but didn’t enter. She didn’t want to go inside. What was she doing here? She turned around and walked only a few steps when Dustbottom emerged, looking more disheveled than usual.

  Mercedes waited for him to reach her. She didn’t have anything to say to the man, so why was she here? But she knew it was because he was Brandon’s friend, something she couldn’t be because of their past and her loyalty to Wayne. Dustbottom could look out for him.

  “I was hoping I would run into you today,” Dustbottom said to her, absently rubbing the stubble on his chin.

  “I’m glad to see you, too. I wanted to know if you’d do something for me. It’s not something really big, and you’d probably do it anyway, but I have to be sure.”

  He looked at her blankly before shaking his head. “I’m sorry, would you say that again? I’m afraid I’m a little tired. Been up all night.”

  “They kept you here all night?” His white jacket did seem to be more rumpled and stained than usual. She shivered at the vision of him working on a patient who might have died during the night.

  “I was with Brandon. He had some bad news.”

  Guilt ate at Mercedes’ heart. “That’s sort of what I want to talk to you about. I know you’re friends, and I hoped you’d keep an eye out for him. He’ll realize eventually that it’s for the best, but I worried . . . I don’t know, that maybe he’d do something rash.”

  Dustbottom’s eyes behind the glasses remained placid. “What are you talking about?”

  “What are you talking about?” She felt suddenly embarrassed. She rubbed her fingers, sticky from the orange, on her jeans.

  “His test results came in yesterday.”

  “What?” But she knew instantly, and the knowledge made it hard for her to breathe. “It’s back, isn’t it?”

  “Officially, I can’t tell you anything more, but as his friend, I can say that you might want to talk with him.”

  “When did he find out?”

  “Yesterday afternoon.”

  “What did he—he shouldn’t have been alone.”

  “I was with him all night. I finally convinced him to call his parents. He won’t leave here, so they’re flying out later today. He’s sleeping now. At least that’s where I left him. We were up pretty much all night. I came back here this morning because I had a few things I needed to finish up.”

  Mercedes’ strength failed her, and she leaned against the wall for support. She thought of Brandon working in the fields with Wayne and Darrel, of Brandon agreeing not to seek custody, of Brandon and Darrel together at some vague time in the future after Darrel learned the truth. Would it even happen?

  “How bad is it?”

  “Hard to say. He needs to get back to his regular doctor. The good news is I think we’ve caught it early. If he’d waited until his next checkup . . .” He let the words trail off, and Mercedes was grateful to latch onto the hope they offered. Yes, if Brandon died, her secret would die with him and Darrel would forever be safe. Yet she found that wasn’t exactly what she wanted. As much as she needed to protect Darrel, there would come a time when he could learn from Brandon. Especially if Wayne didn’t . . . That was a thought she wasn’t willing to finish.

  “I’ll go see him later. I can’t leave my husband now.” Almost to herself, she added, “I was wondering why Brandon hadn’t come to check up on him today.”

  “Shubacker can do that well enough.” Dustbottom shrugged one shoulder, causing his jacket to fall partially open.

  “I hope he doesn’t change his mind about waiting to tell Darrel.” She hadn’t meant to say the words aloud and hoped Dustbottom hadn’t heard.

  Dustbottom studied her, his graying e
yebrows like caterpillars peering over his glasses. “I know about your son, and you don’t have to worry. Brandon thinks that boy is all he has left in the world, and he’s willing to suffer alone to protect him. He’s wrong, of course. He’s not alone. He just doesn’t know it yet. His ex-wife is still in love with him, you know. Hannah. But he will never forgive himself for their breakup.” The doctor turned to go, saying over his shoulder, “It’s really too bad. This battle would go so much better if he felt he had something more to live for. But from what he said to me last night, he doesn’t plan to tell your son anything until he’s cured. Or dead. And dead men don’t talk.”

  Mercedes watched him leave, feeling heavy and sad. There was nothing she could do for Brandon. Slowly, she retraced her steps in the direction of Wayne’s room.

  “Mercedes!” Austin came toward her, the young blonde nurse from Wayne’s room at his side.

  Trepidation made the hair on her neck rise. “What’s wrong?”

  “Don’t worry. It’s good news. We’ve been looking all over for you.”

  “Your husband’s awake,” the nurse added. “He’s alert enough that they’re changing the oxygen mask to nasal prongs so he’ll be able to talk.”

  Mercedes clutched a fist to her heart. “Is he okay? I mean, they said there might be brain damage.”

  “We don’t know yet, but he was able to ask for you first thing.”

  Mercedes hurried in the direction of the intensive care unit, Austin and the blonde nurse struggling to keep pace behind her.

  P

  Wayne was relieved to have the oxygen mask removed from his face, as well as the feeding tube that had been down his nose. The latter especially was uncomfortable to the verge of pain. His whole body ached, and when he moved, carefully to avoid the hurt, the remaining tubes pulled uncomfortably at the tape that attached them to his body. The nurse told him he’d had heart surgery. From how bad he felt, he had to believe her. He had fought to come awake, and now that he was, he almost wished he was still unconscious.

  But Mercedes had been calling to him, seemingly from far away. And Darrel—had he heard him crying? He had to help his son.

  His son.

  If only.

  Darrel was beside him now, beaming through the tears on his thin face. “I knew you’d wake up! Momma did, too. We just knew it!” He squeezed Wayne’s hand, and Wayne tried to squeeze back, but his fingers had little strength. So much effort.

  “Just needed a little rest,” he assured Darrel.

  Mercedes rushed into the room, looking slightly wild-eyed and with her hair hanging loose and her blue shirt—one of his, from the way it drowned her—decidedly wrinkled. He had a brief memory of her and Austin playing in the alfalfa fields as children. She’d looked much the same in those days. How uncomplicated their relationship had been then.

  “Wayne!” She placed her hand over his and Darrel’s, pressing her cheek to his forehead. For a long moment they stayed that way, neither moving nor trying to speak. He was content to have her there, touching him.

  “I’ll be right out there if you need me.” The mousy nurse who was checking his vital signs on the monitors smiled widely at them and left the room, followed by the blonde nurse who had appeared with Mercedes.

  “I love you.” Mercedes’ voice held a new fierceness he’d never heard directed toward him before. To the children, yes, but never him. “I love you so much.”

  He swallowed with difficulty. “I love you, too.” It hurt to speak. His throat was raw from the tubes that had been inside. “Now when can I go home?”

  She lifted her head and smiled. “Not quite yet.”

  “The little boys?”

  “They’re fine. And don’t you dare ask about the cattle. It’s all under control. You just worry about getting better. Austin and Liana are going to stay with us for a while to help out. Everything will work out fine.”

  Darrel made a face. “Good thing the neighbors are bringing food, though. Aunt Liana burns practically everything.”

  “Honey,” Mercedes said to Darrel, “Uncle Austin is outside. Could you have him call Liana and have her bring in the boys? If he hasn’t already?”

  “Sure.” He let go of Wayne’s hand and sprinted for the door. “I’ll be right back.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Wayne called after him, but his voice didn’t carry far enough for Darrel to hear.

  Mercedes was staring at him as if she couldn’t believe he was alive. Wayne took her hand, glad to see that his movements were more sure. Her hand felt small in his, and a desire to protect her washed over him. “I had a dream,” he said. “A dream that Brandon was here.”

  “Wasn’t a dream. He did your surgery.”

  “And I’m still here?” He arched a brow and smiled to show that it was joke, while at the same time a cold sweat washed over him. Brandon had operated? That didn’t make sense, not with the way the man felt about Mercedes. No wonder Mercedes looked at him as if he’d returned from the grave.

  She bent and kissed his lips where his mouth curved up to create what she called his crooked smile. “Yes.” A tear dropped from her cheek, and he could taste the salt.

  “Don’t cry.” His hand went to her face.

  “I will if I want. I deserve a good cry—after all I’ve been through.”

  Her voice sounded odd, but he chuckled, hoping to soothe her. “Well, then, I guess I shouldn’t stand in your way.” Instantly, he regretted his choice of words, but he didn’t retract them. His sore throat felt tight.

  “I love you. That’s all that matters.”

  The tightness relaxed as he saw her love, the same love that had been in her eyes all these years. Except now it was different somehow. Dared he hope they would emerge from this crisis stronger and better? Was she finally all his?

  “I knew about the letters.” Again his words surprised him. Why couldn’t he leave well enough alone? The pain of losing his first wife had been terrible, but he knew it would be much worse if he lost Mercedes. She was his entire life, meaning more to him than even the boys and the farm.

  Her mouth parted—in shock or surprise, he couldn’t tell. “You knew?”

  “That day I took your father to find a place to stay. He told me about them. I searched everywhere, but I didn’t find them. Thought it was another of his lies.” He frowned. “I should have told you. It might have made a difference.”

  She shook her head and said very slowly, “It doesn’t matter, not the slightest bit. I am where I belong, Wayne. With you and the boys on our farm.”

  The meaning of her words shook him. She didn’t care about the letters. She was choosing him and the boys over Brandon and the past. She loves me. The emotion was almost too much to contain in this body that couldn’t jump up and hug and kiss her.

  “If I could go back and change the past so I knew about the letters,” Mercedes continued, “I swear I wouldn’t do it. The only thing I would change is that I would want you to be Darrel’s biological father.” A worry line appeared between her eyes. “Except, then, of course, Brandon wouldn’t have been here to save your life.”

  He contemplated that reality for a few minutes. The nurse had told him that a part of his heart had been permanently damaged, but he was alive. Brandon, his wife’s first love, had saved his life. What did a man do with that kind of knowledge? Wayne was grateful, but he still wished Brandon had never returned to Wyoming.

  “What will he do?”

  She didn’t answer right away. Her eyes slid away from his in a way that told him there was more. He turned his hand, tightening his grip. The attempt was pitiful but enough to get her attention. What? he asked. Not with words but with his eyes.

  She brought her other hand to cradle his bigger one, rubbing it gently. “I promised him that if he operated, I’d tell Darrel everything, but then he wanted to wait and see what happened with you. He worried that it would all be too much for Darrel. And then yesterday his tests came in. His cancer is back. He might di
e.”

  Wayne’s first reaction was shock, followed closely by relief. Brandon wouldn’t be around to take his place in Darrel’s life. Wayne felt so ashamed at these thoughts that for a long while he didn’t meet Mercedes’ gaze. Sorrow for Brandon was quick on the heels of relief. Poor man, he thought. And he was poor. Wayne had Mercedes and the boys, and Brandon was alone. “I’m sorry,” he said, meaning it.

  “Me too. I haven’t seen him since I heard. I don’t know how he’s taking it. I was worried he’d want to rush and tell Darrel everything, but one of the doctors here—a friend of his—says Brandon won’t tell him, unless he’s sure he’ll beat it. I’m not sure if I believe that, exactly, but I feel so relieved and guilty at the same time.”

  “I know what you mean.”

  Silence fell between them, each content to be near the other.

  A nurse entered the room with Dr. Shubacker. “Welcome back,” the doctor boomed. “I came in the minute I heard. Anything so I won’t have to help my wife in the yard.” He smiled to show he didn’t mean it, but Wayne figured there was a lot of truth in the words. The doctor didn’t look like one to enjoy yard work. “I know the nurses here are taking good care of you, but I want to do a few tests myself.”

  “Only if you can beat me in an arm wrestle,” Wayne joked.

  Smiling, Mercedes glanced over her shoulder at the door. “Darrel should be back by now.” Her hands slipped from his. “I’ll just go peek outside and be right back, okay? Maybe he’s having trouble finding Austin.”

  He nodded, and as she bent to kiss his cheek, it suddenly came to him how fortunate he was. On the day he had married Mercedes, he thought he’d never be happier, but that day paled in comparison to the love now in his heart. His hand went up around her neck and held her close, his lips to her cheek, wordlessly communicating his love.