19
Ruthie paced nervously in the waiting room of the hospital. What was taking so long? Patrick had to be all right. He had to.
After Luke stormed out, she called her aunt Dok to come to the hospital. Dok asked a few specific questions: Was Patrick conscious when he was brought into the emergency room? No. Did he have a pulse and heartbeat? Ruthie thought so but wasn’t sure, and Dok responded by saying she would be right over.
It was all so chaotic and jumbled—Luke ran the golf cart straight at Patrick, expecting him to jump away at the last minute, but he didn’t budge. As the golf cart hit him, Patrick crumbled, hitting his head hard when he fell. Then . . . panic! Luke’s friends disappeared into the woods like rats scurrying to a rain sewer. Ruthie stayed with Patrick while Luke ran to the nearest phone shanty and called for an ambulance. She cringed as her mind replayed the awful crash, over and over. It all went so fast, yet at the same time, so slowly, like a bad dream. She felt weighted down with nausea, as if an anvil had replaced her stomach.
After calling Dok, she had left a teary phone message on the phone shanty that was shared with the Inn at Eagle Hill, and hoped, hoped, hoped that her dad would remember to check messages when he came home from Katrina’s. But Rose Schrock must have heard the message, because she was the first to come.
Rose arrived at the hospital and found Ruthie in the waiting room. Her eyes were swollen from crying. “No news?”
“No news.”
Rose looked up and down the hall. “Where is my son? Please don’t tell me he didn’t come with you.”
“Luke was here, but he left. A little while ago.”
Rose sat down beside Ruthie. “I don’t know what to do about Luke. Galen said he doesn’t want him in the house after this. He says I’m too soft on him. That I’m too soft on sin.” She wiped tears off her cheeks with the back of her hand. “Luke is tearing our home apart. He’s tearing our lives apart. The worst thing is that I don’t think he even realizes it. And if he does, I don’t think he cares. He was always difficult, even before his father died. He tries to blame it on Dean’s death, but he was born not wanting to be tethered or tamed. I should have done a better job with him, but I didn’t know how.”
Whoa. This felt like more information than Ruthie could handle. She was only seventeen! Right now, she felt like a child. She wanted her father. “Soon, my dad should be here. You can talk to him. He’ll know what to do. He always does.”
Rose nodded. She leaned forward in the chair and covered her face with her hands. “I love my son. I love him so much. But I don’t know how to manage him.”
From the way Rose was sitting, with her elbows raised above her abdomen, Ruthie suddenly realized Rose was pregnant—quite, quite, quite pregnant. How had she not noticed before? No wonder Galen wanted Luke out of the house.
When Ruthie had prayed for God to open her eyes, she hadn’t meant she wanted to see all this.
And then she saw Dok come out of Patrick’s room with a very serious look on her face. Ruthie had a moment of tingling, a premonition of something terrible.
Experience had taught Dok to save some good news to give after the bad, so she searched her mind for something positive to deliver to her niece Ruthie. But what? This was pretty devastating news.
During a consult with Ed, together they reviewed the results of some of Patrick’s tests and came to the same initial conclusion, which Patrick confirmed.
She went out to find Ruthie in the waiting room. Rose Schrock was with her, but politely excused herself for a moment, which Dok appreciated. She sat next to Ruthie. “Patrick is resting right now. He’s going to be admitted so we can run some tests.”
One delicate tear trailed down Ruthie’s face. “How badly hurt is he?”
“Actually, he’s not hurt badly from the crash with the golf cart. A few cuts and bruises, maybe a mild concussion. His forehead was stitched up.”
“Then . . . why are you admitting him into the hospital?”
“Ruthie, have you ever noticed that Patrick has some problems with large motor control? Tripping, shuffling his feet, dropping things.”
“Well, at times. Not all the time, though. I thought maybe he needed glasses.”
“No, he doesn’t need glasses. Patrick gave me permission to tell you that, a few months ago, he was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis.”
“Multiple sclerosis,” she repeated. “I’ve heard of it, but I’m not really sure what it is.”
“It’s a disease in which the immune system attacks the myelin sheathing of nerves. It eats away at the protective covering.”
“How do you get it? How can you get rid of it?”
“No one really knows why anyone gets it, or what triggers it. It might be hereditary. It tends to present about Patrick’s age. Ed is going to run more tests on Patrick. An accurate diagnosis can be difficult to make, because there’s no one surefire test that confirms MS, and many other diseases have symptoms that mimic MS. But there’s no cure for MS. Not yet. Damage is irreversible. Eventually, Patrick will lose the ability to walk independently.”
Ruthie had been digesting this information in silence. Dok waited to see if she had more questions, but then her niece surprised her. Surprised and pleased her.
“He never complained. Despite all that, he never complained.” Ruthie wiped away tears, took a deep breath and said, “What can I do to help?”
Dok reached an arm around her to give her a hug. “He needs a friend and I can’t think of anyone better than you to be by his side right now. Let him know he’s not alone. He’s going to call his parents to come, but he wants to wait until the morning. And . . . do the most important thing of all. Pray.”
Ruthie kept her chin to her chest. “Dok, it’s not good, is it?”
“No, honey.” Dok sighed. “It’s not good.”
As soon as Patrick was settled into his hospital room, Dok insisted that Ruthie go home and get a few hours of sleep. Ruthie only relented after she promised to pick her up in the morning, first thing, and take her right back to the hospital.
After Dok dropped Ruthie off at her house and gave a brief update to David, she felt the first wave of fatigue hit her as she drove down the dark road. A big yawn slipped out. When she opened her eyes, someone jumped out in the middle of the road and flapped his arms. Dok slammed on the brakes to avoid him.
Luke Schrock!
Seriously? She got out of the car, furious. “Luke! How can you play a game of chicken after what happened tonight? When are you going to come to your breaking point?” And then she saw his face. He wasn’t playing a game.
“The horse. Galen’s horse. I did something . . .”
“What are you talking about?”
He pointed to the side of the road and it was then she saw a horse lying on its side, one leg twisted grotesquely, moaning the most pitiful wail. Dear God. She would never, in all her life, forget the sound of that suffering. It was a terrible, agonizing sound.
“What did you do? Did you try and jump that high fence?”
Luke couldn’t answer, couldn’t focus. His face looked stark, struggling with some inner torment she couldn’t begin to fathom.
Then the crumbling happened. His whole being collapsed as he sank to his knees. “I can’t . . . stop . . . anymore. Everything’s falling apart.”
Dok reached out and touched Luke’s arm very gently. “Go sit in the back of my car. I’m going to call for help.”
Matt. She needed Matt. She fished her cell phone out of her pocket and dialed. Please, please be there.
He answered on the first ring. “Dok?”
“Matt, I’m on Pinecove Road. I need help.”
“Stay put. I’m on my way.”
“Matt! Wait. Bring your . . . shotgun.” Dok hung up and took a deep breath, walked to her car, and leaned in. She took Luke’s pulse and noted his dilated pupils. “Luke, are you hurt anywhere?”
He shook his head, but she wasn’t sure he could give her a coherent answer. She took his pulse—it was racing—and checked the pupils of his eyes. He had some scrapes, but other than being drunk, he wasn’t badly hurt.
Oh, the moan of that horse. It made her feel sick. If Matt didn’t come soon, she wondered if she had anything to help ease its pain, anything at all. She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could clamp her ears and not hear the animal’s agony. She knew enough not to touch a wounded animal, but it felt like her heart was breaking in two. She’d always loved horses.
When she opened her eyes, she saw the flashing lights of Matt’s police car pull up. He bolted out of the car. “Ruth! Ruth, are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” The relief on his face was palpable. It touched her. “I have Luke Schrock here in the car. From what I can gather, he tried to jump the fence and the horse broke its leg.”
“Is Luke hurt? Shall I call for an ambulance?”
“He’s fine. He’s . . . drunk. And maybe in shock.”
Matt checked the horse and went to the trunk of his car to retrieve a shotgun. Dok covered her ears as he readied himself to end the horse’s suffering. And then it was over.
“Galen,” Luke cried, rocking back and forth in the car, arms gripped against his stomach. “It’s Galen’s horse. His Sorrel Bay. His new horse. His prize horse.” He groaned and Dok worried he might throw up in her new car. And then he started to choke and gag and—“Luke! Get out of the car!” Too late. He vomited all over the backseat.
Matt brought rags from his car and wiped it up as best he could, but the smell . . . it was horrific. Alcohol-related vomitus. And all over the back of her new car! Dok was not normally a retaliatory person, she was a healer at heart—but really, she could smack this kid silly and not think twice about it. Her new car!
Luke wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve. “Galen’s going to kill me.”
“No, he’s not,” Matt said calmly. “That’s not Galen. I’ll help you tell him what happened.”
“I’m not going home. I will not go home.” Some of Luke’s old belligerence reemerged.
Dok knew that sometimes people in crisis needed temporary shelter, and Luke was in a crisis of his own making. “You’re coming to the practice. You can stay there for the night.”
Luke eyed her suspiciously. “Why?”
Because you’ve already caused enough damage in this town for one day. “I’m offering you a place to sleep. That’s all.”
Luke was no fool. “I’m fine. I’ll figure out a place to go. I have friends.”
Here was something Dok knew from experience: The needier they are, the more they resist. “Luke, you’re severely dehydrated. I want to keep an eye on you.”
“But—”
“No buts,” she said firmly. “You’re coming with me.” She shut the car door firmly.
“How can I help?” Matt asked. “What should I do?” He glanced at the horse’s still body. “Besides taking care of that.”
She stood before him, temporarily awed. Matt Lehman was amazing. When she called to say she needed him, he came. No questions asked, no excuses about how busy he was. He was just there, by her side. “Would you mind going to get my brother? Ask him to come to the practice. Tell him I need him.”
Matt gave her a brief, businesslike nod. “I’m on my way.”
“Matt!”
He spun around.
“Thank you.”
He gave her a slight grin and patted her on the shoulder. “All in a day’s work.”
Dok opened the door to David as if she’d been watching for him, and she probably had. “Come in,” she said. “He’s back in the exam room.”
There, on the cushioned examining table, was Luke Schrock with an IV in his arm. He was asleep.
“He’s not in any medical danger, but I’m giving him saline. He’s pretty dehydrated after his bender.”
David was still regarding Luke. “Well, at least someone in Stoney Ridge is getting a good night’s sleep tonight.”
Luke opened one eye. “Why not? Excellent accommodations for a bargain basement price,” he said. Slowly, he lifted himself up on one elbow to face David.
“Are you having withdrawal symptoms?”
Luke snorted. “I’m not seeing pigs fly past, if that’s what you mean.”
“Do you know why you’re here?”
“Yeah, I do.” He rose to a sitting position, looking somewhat fierce. “Galen kicked me out. He’s always had it out for me. He’s never liked me—”
David cut right through by stopping him abruptly. He knew that a characteristic of self-pity was to make someone else responsible for your trouble. “You can’t stop drinking, can you?”
Luke’s spine stiffened, briefly proud, then collapsed into wretchedness. He bowed his chin to his chest and covered his face with his hands, weeping, yet silent as stone.
David waited patiently until he was ready to continue.
“I’ve always been able to manage it. But . . . lately something’s changed. It’s like the wheels are falling off the wagon.”
“Luke, when did you start drinking?”
“After my dad died and then . . . my mom remarried. Everybody was so—” he paused—“I don’t know . . . preoccupied with their own stuff. Booze, it helped me get through the day.”
“But how old were you?”
“I don’t know. Around thirteen.”
David closed his eyes. “It hasn’t helped you get through it, Luke. All it did was anesthetize you from grieving. Alcohol has kept you stuck.” Ruthie had given him a few sentences of explanation when Dok dropped her off, but she was thoroughly exhausted and he sent her to bed. “Would you like to tell me what happened tonight?”
“No.” Luke gave a truculent toss of his head. Then he sagged again. “Maybe.”
He fell silent. David watched him chew on a nub of a fingernail and waited.
“I’m the reason Patrick Kelly is in the hospital.”
“Go on.”
“I baited him to play chicken. You know the game—a car comes straight at you. Whoever moves first is the chicken. Patrick didn’t move. I didn’t either.” He held his hands in front of him, one in a fist, one open, and knocked down his fist with the palm of his other hand. “Boom. He collapsed like a house of cards.”
“You were driving a car?”
“Not a car. Hank Lapp’s golf cart. I stole it.”
“I see.” But he didn’t.
“There’s more.”
“Go on.”
“Back in June, I was playing chicken on Old Spotted Horse Lane. It was the night that guy showed up at Eagle Hill and died.”
“You were driving?”
“No. It was a variation of chicken. When someone drove down the road, my friends and I would run in front of the car.”
“To make it swerve?”
“Why?”
Luke looked up long enough to give David the what-a-dumb-question lilt of his eyebrow. “For kicks.”
For kicks. The same reason Luke had blown up mailboxes with cherry bombs all over Stoney Ridge. And installed stop signs all over the town. And killed Patrick’s bird. And taken Galen’s horse for a joyride.
“It’s a pretty dull life here,” he said, as if that explained everything. Instantly, a tough Luke mask replaced his humbled face.
If this doesn’t get dealt with, David thought, this is exactly what he will look like when he’s old. Brittle. Onerous. Hardened.
Suddenly David got a glimpse of how Moses must have felt when he warned the Israelites of what lay ahead of them in the Promised Land if they didn’t toe the line: Moses blasted away at them, he rained down curses on them. His goal was to scare the sin out of them.
What would it take to scare the sin out of Luke Schrock?
The core of the problem was Luke’s hard heart. Unless his heart was touched, it would be like a candle that remained unlit. God alone needed to light that wick. God alone needed to touch that heart. David knew he would have to think very carefully about what to do next. He needed time. “So how’s this for a plan? You come home with me tonight.” He glanced out the window and saw the darkness was fading, dawn would be here soon. A good omen? “Today, I meant.”
“I guess I don’t have anyplace else to go,” Luke said almost crossly.
“You can get some sleep, then later we’ll talk to Matt Lehman, together. He’ll be able to tell us what’s the best course of action. How does that sound?”
He nodded, somewhat reluctantly.
“You certainly can’t go back to alcohol, Luke, without creating more problems for yourself and the ones you love, and you can’t go forward without help from other people. If you’re ready, I can help.”
Luke stared at him. “You’d do that, for me? After . . .”
After vandalizing property of innocent people? After manhandling my daughter? After doing harm to Patrick? Though David did not wish to hear these words of the Lord Jesus in his mind, they spoke to him, nonetheless: “But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you.”
David read confusion, a plea for help, and, yes, hope in Luke’s tired eyes. Hope was good. Hope gave David something to work with. “Of course.” He fixed his eyes on Luke. “Of course I would do that for you.”