Evening Hours. Mary Baxter Lynn
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rationality return. His daughter was not going to die, not right now anyway. She faced an uncertain future, but at least she was alive.
If only he had been driving instead of Kaylee, who had just gotten her beginner’s license and was testing her moxie behind the wheel for the first time.
If only she’d had more experience, then maybe she could have dodged the car that had barreled through the stop sign as if it owned the road. As it was, Kaylee had plowed into the side of it. His wife, Vera, had died on impact while his daughter had flown through the windshield, her lower extremities ripped to shreds by the broken glass.
If only he had taken the vehicle into the shop and had the seat belt repaired. If he’d taken care of that, the latch might not have popped open. His good intentions would certainly not have prevented the accident, but it might have prevented Kaylee’s serious injuries.
He recalled the investigating officer’s words at the scene of the accident as the paramedics loaded his daughter into the ambulance.
“I’m so sorry for your loss, sir.”
Edgar couldn’t respond, torn between staying with his dead wife and going with his injured daughter.
“It’s one of those freak accidents when neither of your loved ones should have been seriously injured, much less killed,” the officer added.
God, it’s my fault.
“Sir, the ambulance is about to leave.”
Without thinking, Edgar had run toward the vehicle.
Focusing on the moment at hand rather than replay the darkest moment of his life, he sank his head into his hands. Despair threatened to overwhelm him, but he knew he had to regain control. He hadn’t been with them, and he couldn’t change that. Even if he had, things would’ve happened in exactly the same way. He would have given in to Kaylee’s plea to drive just as his wife had. Rarely had either of them denied their daughter anything.
Kaylee was a great kid, a popular teenager whose many friends were now gathered in the main waiting area, solemn-faced and afraid. Not only was she well liked, but she was a straight A student and was involved in various school activities. Her favorite was the drill team.
Another sharp pain sliced through Edgar, and his groan deepened. If what the doctor said turned out to be the truth, then she would never perform again, never strut her stuff, as she was fond of saying in order to get a reaction out of him.
He could hear her teasing words and see her rolling her eyes as he pretended to be perturbed with her choice of words. It was a silly but fun game they played.
Another stab of pain took his breath even as he felt a hand on his shoulder.
“Mr. Benton.”
Edgar jerked his head around and squinted up at Dr. Chester Wainright, the surgeon who had only hours before operated on his baby, putting the pieces of her broken body back together. He was a tall, dark-haired, dark-complexioned young man who was as competent as he was good-looking.
“Are you all right?”
Before Edgar could force a reply, the doctor went on, “Sorry. Forget I asked that. Of course you’re not all right.”
Edgar rose to his full six-foot-plus height and ran a hand through his thinning dark hair while he blinked the tears from his eyes. He was only forty-two; before this morning that had seemed so young. Now, in light of how his life had been turned upside down, he felt like an old, old man.
“Is Kaylee going to be all right?” His voice croaked like a bullfrog before he cleared it.
“How ’bout we step outside,” the doctor said, shifting aside for Edgar to precede him.
Once they were in a small adjacent waiting area, Dr. Wainright didn’t waste any words. “Your daughter is going to live.”
“But?” Edgar knew there was more to come, and it wouldn’t be good. He felt himself visibly flinch.
Wainright sighed. “You’re right. There is a but. She won’t ever be one hundred percent.”
“Don’t beat around the bush, Doc. Spit it out. Will she walk again?”
This time Wainright didn’t so much as blink. “If she does, it won’t be without a significant limp. And perhaps a leg brace. Her right pelvic bone was crushed and she suffered a multitude of internal injuries. I anticipate some scarring in that area, disfiguring her.”
The room reeled, and for a moment Edgar thought he might retch.
“Please, Mr. Benton, do me a favor. Sit, then put your head down.”
Minutes later Edgar felt the room right itself; then he whispered, “What…what about a family? Children?”
Dr. Wainright hesitated. “It’s a good possibility that she will never have children.”
A cry erupted from Edgar’s lips, a cry that was reminiscent of a howl.
He felt the doctor’s hand once again squeeze his shoulder. Finally he lifted his head, unashamed of the tears running down his face. “My baby’s alive and that’s all that counts.”
“That it is.” The doctor cleared his throat, then went on in an exhausted voice, “I’m not trying to tell you what to do, but as Kaylee’s doctor, I recommend she get counseling while she undergoes intense physical therapy.” He paused as if unsure how to continue. “Her life as she knew it will be no longer.”
“Oh, God.” Edgar ground out the words, rubbing the back of his tight neck with an unsteady hand. “I can’t bear the thought of her not walking again.”
“Yes, you can,” the doctor said in a stern tone. “If that’s the way it is, you have no choice. You have to be there for her and you have to be strong.”
Edgar took a heaving gulp. “I know.”
The doctor stood. Edgar followed suit, their eyes locking once again.
“I’ll be back later to check on you both,” Wainright said. “Kaylee will sleep for most of the remainder of the day, so don’t get worried.”
Edgar blew out a harsh breath. “And when she wakes up, I—” He couldn’t go on. His vocal cords constricted, shutting off further words.
“When she wakes up, you will have to tell her the truth, but only if she asks.”
Edgar nodded. “Knowing her, she’ll ask.”
“Then you level with her.”
Edgar nodded again, feeling his throat constrict even more. Once he was alone, he straightened his shoulders and walked back into Kaylee’s room. For the longest time he stood beside her bed while wave after wave of anger, pain and remorse swept through him.
He finally got control of his emotions and sat beside her. Yet the words were so hard to come by. Reaching for her hand, he whispered, “No matter what happens, I’ll never let you down again.”
Suddenly his heart leaped. She had squeezed his hand. God had not deserted him. He had been given a second chance and he would make the most of it.
One
Sixteen years later
Man, did he ever have a great tush.
The way he swaggered when he walked merely accentuated it, and the white shirt, boots and tight jeans added style.
She figured he was an uninvited guest, as no one else at the party was dressed so casually. No one she knew would dare. This man was either a country bumpkin who didn’t know any better or he had so much self-confidence he didn’t give a rip.