“I remember my wife being carted off to a rehab center. I would go and visit her, but I was never around when they gave her medication. I did sit in some therapy sessions with her, to try to save our marriage.”
Tomas stopped rambling and glanced up at the man sitting across from him. Reverend Guidry was a big plump man with a perpetual smile. He’d stopped by to see how Tomas was doing. At first, Tomas had sat silent and determined behind the shield of his big desk. He didn’t want to talk to a preacher about his personal problems.
He didn’t want to discuss how Callie had urged him to go and visit his estranged father, either.
But this preacher, he was a tricky one. He’d waited Tomas out with an unflinching smile and a calm demeanor that was much worse than any torturous questions or probing persuasion. Now Tomas seemed to be spilling every dark thought inside his head.
Reverend Guidry placed his hands together on his plump middle. “Did you want to save your marriage?”
Tomas thought about that before he spoke. Could he be truthful with a minister? “No. I mean, yes. Sometimes.” He rubbed his tired, burning eyes. “Sometimes, I just wanted it over, one way or another.”
The reverend gave him a sympathetic look. “And when it was over?”
“I blamed myself. I felt selfish and uncaring, as if I’d betrayed her. But our marriage was over long before she died. She was hard to understand, hard to live with. I tried but then I’m not easy myself.” Tomas stared down at his desk calendar. “I stayed by her side because I hoped to get her well and then later...I thought I’d ask her for a divorce. I’m not proud of that, but it’s the truth.”
Reverend Guidry leaned forward. “And now, you’re reliving some of those old feelings. But...Callie...well, she’s a different kind of woman, isn’t she?”
Tomas smiled at the way the good reverend had gotten right to the heart of the matter. “Yes, sir. I’ve never known anyone like Callie. She goes beyond being different. She dances in the rain.”
“Oh, yes. Callie looks at each day as a new beginning while the rest of us dread getting out of bed at times.”
Tomas nodded on that. “I can’t stand to see her suffering.”
Reverend Guidry nodded. “It’s hard for those of us who care about her. That’s why I came by to see you. Callie was concerned for you.”
Tomas let out a brittle chuckle. “That figures. She’s the one fighting cancer but she’s worried about me.”
“She thinks you’re fighting your own battle.”
“I’ve always fought my own battles,” Tomas replied, the weariness of that admission sapping at his psyche.
The reverend did that silent thing again, his expression soft and sure.
Tomas wanted to sit and stare at the garden, but instead he let out a breath and spoke again. “Callie thinks I need to turn some of that over to God.”
“How about all of it over to God?” Reverend Guidry replied, his fingers tapping softly on his blue jeans.
“That’s a tough deal, Preacher.”
Reverend Guidry stood, obviously proud of the work he’d done there. “The hardest deal to make but the one that brings the most reward.”
Tomas stood, too. “I appreciate you coming by, but I’m fine. Callie doesn’t need to worry about me. I just want her to be well again.”
“We all want that,” Reverend Guidry replied. “But we can’t always get the things we want.”
“And yet, I’m supposed to thank God for the time I’ve had with Callie.”
“Every day, son, every day. We thank God even in times of trouble.”
Tomas was still wrestling with that statement when Eunice came into his office later. “It’s Wednesday night,” she said. “Are you going to potluck and devotions at the church?”
Tomas glanced out the bank of windows behind his desk, the colors of Callie’s garden shifting to soft, quiet shades of lush green and muted violet in the gloaming. He lived for potluck and devotions on Wednesday nights. “I hadn’t thought about it.”
“We’re all going,” Eunice replied. “Do you need anything before we take off?”
“No, go on and have fun. I’ll decide if I want to come or not.”
Eunice nodded, stood silent, her smile knowing and serene. “I’m glad the reverend came by today. We gave him a tour of the gardens.”
“Did you?” Tomas stood, stretched. “We do have a showplace, don’t we?”
“Yes. You should go out there and enjoy it yourself.”
Tomas smiled. “I guess so.”
But after Eunice left, he couldn’t move. If he walked out into that beautiful garden that smelled like Callie, he’d probably find a rock to sit on and then he’d start ranting at the cruelty of life.
But then, as the reverend had reminded him, he needed to thank God for this suffering. After all, he was a blessed man in many ways. He had a beautiful old historic home and he had the most amazing garden in all of Louisiana, according to many people who’d seen it. And yet, he felt empty and drained and lonely. He felt defeated and helpless and inefficient.
“Maybe I do need to get some fresh air,” he said to himself.
So he worked his way toward the back door and opened it to the humid summer night. He’d been here close to six months now, and while he’d become more relaxed with the people of Fleur, he still didn’t feel as if he belonged. He was an interloper, sneaking around in this house full of lost memories. He wondered what his father had said or done in the office that was now his. He thought about how his life might be different now if he’d grown up here at Fleur House. Would he be running the shipyard, the heir to the Dubois legacy? His father had no other children. Only distant relatives who were just waiting for him to die.
Isn’t that what you’re doing, too? Waiting for your father to die?
Was that just? Was that in God’s plan?
Tomas made his way to the gazebo, memories twinkling around him like fireflies. He stared out into the dusk, thoughts of Callie with him here. He’d held her close on that night all those weeks ago, held her and fell in love with her all over again. He’d fallen for her on sight, but getting to know her had only added to that first foolish infatuation. The infatuation had turned into something real, something life-changing.
Are you ready to change?
That doubt again.
Tomas stared at the gazebo and saw the shadows of his hopes, the scents of gardenia, jasmine and honeysuckle intoxicating him with dreams. Somewhere off in the swamp, an owl hooted to the moon. The wind played a soft dance across the trees, bending the Spanish moss into silvery threads of lace.
And he missed her.
She wants you to change, he reminded himself. Do you want to change for her?
Tomas wanted her to love him. That much he knew.
But was he willing to change in order to have that love?
* * *
Callie sat at a far table near the back door of the fellowship hall. Partly in case she couldn’t make it through dinner, but mostly to avoid germs. Although she’d been feeling a little under the weather all day, Alma had suggested she come over to the church for the meal, and her sister had fixed her a plate with protein and healthy foods—baked chicken and brown rice, leafy greens and a fruit and yogurt parfait Alma had created just for Callie.
“Greek yogurt, blueberries, strawberries—lots of super foods,” Alma had announced with a hopeful smile.
Everyone was trying to save her, Callie thought, her stomach already churning, her skin clammy and hot. But she nibbled at the food in front of her because she wanted her body to stay healthy. And she wanted to keep fighting against the constant fatigue and the dark fears clawing at the joy in her heart. She wouldn’t give in to the fear. There was no fear in loving Jesus. She’d be safe, no matter in this life or in heaven. She sipped her ginger tea and smiled and chatted through her paper mask.
Don’t think like that, she told herself. She wanted to survive, to see the sun rise over her nursery, to hear the birds sing in her garden. To dance with Tomas again in the gazebo. She would survive this.
She looked up and saw him standing across the room. Callie’s heart did a bump, bump, bump against her chest. Tomas was here. She hadn’t been to Wednesday potluck in a while, but she’d heard he came often. He saw her and started walking toward her.
Callie felt clammy all over again, her vision blurring, a light-headed dizziness causing her to feel not so good. Okay, so she was glad to see the man but this was ridiculous. Hot chills laced her spine, tightening against her skin until she couldn’t breathe.
Alma rushed over to her. “Are you okay? You look so pale.”
“I don’t know,” she said, putting a hand to her forehead. “I feel a little hot. Is it hot in here to you?”
Alma placed her palm on Callie’s forehead. “Your skin is warm. You might have a fever.”
“I guess I am in love then,” Callie quipped. “Tomas is here.”
“Are you kidding me or do you really feel bad?” Alma asked in a curt tone, her concerned gaze moving over Callie’s face.
Callie tried to smile, tried to nod. “I...I don’t feel so great either way.” She tried to stand but had to grab the table. “I mean, I really don’t feel so good.”
Alma held Callie, an arm wrapped over hers. “I shouldn’t have talked you into coming over here tonight. I’ll take you home. But, Callie, you need to call your doctor.”
Callie tried to nod, tried to respond, but her body was on fire and her stomach shifted and roiled with each step toward the nearby door. “I’ll be fine. Just need to lie down awhile. Guess I’ll go to bed early.”
And then strong hands took over where Alma left off. She looked up and into Tomas’s face and felt herself go weightless as he lifted her into his arms. “I’m taking you home,” he said into her ear. “Just hold on. It’ll be okay.”
Callie stared up at him, grabbed his shirt collar. “Don’t take me home. Take me to the hospital.”
* * *
Tomas sat along with Callie’s family in the large E.R. waiting room at the New Orleans hospital where he’d brought her two hours ago. It was late now and the E.R. had settled down.
But his heart and his stomach were both still bouncing and shifting. He put his head down, his hands templed at his knees.
He didn’t know how to pray.
Mr. Blanchard walked over and sat beside him. “Dis is de same hospital where we brought her mama.”
Tomas sat up and saw the pain in Ramon Blanchard’s dark eyes. He didn’t ask the obvious. Had Lola died here? He didn’t ask because he didn’t want to put that into words—nothing about death should be said tonight. Callie wasn’t going to die.
“Febrile neutropenia,” Alma said from her spot across the aisle. “That’s doctor-speak for she’s taken on an infection somehow. But she’s been so careful. She stayed away from the picnic at Fleur House—” She stopped, gave Tomas a wide-eyed glance. “She didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, but the doctor told her to stay home.”
Tomas wondered what else they hadn’t told him. But then, he wasn’t really family. Yet. “But will it go away?”
Alma nodded. “We hope so. They’ll treat her with certain medicines and antibiotics. Hopefully, that will zap it.”
Hopefully. Tomas got up and paced. Julien passed him with fresh drinks—water, coffee, soda.
“Did you call Brenna?” Papa Blanchard asked.
“Yes, Papa,” Alma replied. “She’s waiting to hear the latest. She sends her love.”
“I can have them flown home,” Tomas offered. “Brenna and Nick.”
“Thanks, but not yet,” Alma replied.
Tomas was beginning to read the unspoken things. Not now, Tomas. It might get worse. Much, much worse.
He hated death. Hated waiting in hospitals. But he also remembered wishing when he was young and helpless and afraid that he could take his mother to a nice, clean hospital. He hadn’t been able to do anything then and surprisingly, he couldn’t do much for Callie now.
He’d worked hard, so hard that he’d forgotten how to do anything else, just so he’d never be in that situation again.
And yet, here he stood, supposedly rich and powerful and ruthless at times, but right now, completely helpless and poor in spirit.
* * *
Callie woke out of a lace-covered sleep. She tried to sit up, tried to remember where she was. Glancing around, she realized she was at the hospital. When she noticed someone covered in scrubs asleep in the chair next to the window, she blinked and tried to focus.
“Tomas?”
He jumped, his head lifting. “Are you okay? Do you need something?”
“Tomas, what are you doing here?”
He pushed at his dark hair, shook his whole body awake. “They moved you to a room. I wanted to stay.”
Stay.
He’d stayed with her. Again.
“Where are Alma and Papa?”
“Out in the waiting room. They came in to see you, but you were sleeping.”
“What time is it?”
He glanced at his watch. “Three in the morning.”
“You need to go home.”
“I’m not leaving.”
Callie lay back, too exhausted to argue. “What’s wrong with me?”
“You have a low-grade infection.” He pointed to her left hand. “You have a cut on your left palm. They think it started there.”
Callie lay still, closing her eyes. “I worked in my back garden last week. I didn’t wear gloves.” Her voice shook. “I got a little prick from a thorn somehow. Tomas, I didn’t wear gloves.”
He got up and came to the bed, his gaze telling her he wanted to touch her. “It’s okay. You’ll be okay.”
“I knew better,” she said, tears blurring her eyes. “But I wanted to feel the dirt in my hands. I miss that, miss the sun on my face. Miss the rain on my skin. I...I shouldn’t have done that. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
Tomas took her hand and held it in his. “You were being you, Callie. It’s okay.”
Callie wanted to believe him, but she was so tired. “I planted a Gerber daisy. I love Gerber daisies. They were blooming a bright red. For my back porch.”
“I’m sure they’re very pretty.”
“Someone will need to water them for me.”
“I’ll make sure your daisies are taken care of.”
“And Elvis. He’ll wonder where I am. He likes to go out early in the morning.”
“I’ll make sure Elvis is safe.”
She stared up at him and saw the anguish he was trying so hard to hide. Callie wanted to kiss Tomas, to hold him, to tell him that she loved him so much. But...she might not be able to hold to that promise. She wouldn’t tell him that, not until she could stand on her own two feet and hold him in her arms.
“You should go,” she said, anger and frustration coloring her tone. “I don’t need you staying here all night. I have nurses, and the doctors probably don’t even want you in here.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“You have to go and check on Elvis.”
Tomas let out a sigh. “I will do that, and I’ll water your daisy, but later.”
“And you’ll make Papa and Alma go, too.”
“Yes. Now rest.”
She closed her eyes. But she was wide-awake now. “Tomas, will you do me one more favor?”
He smiled a tired, sleepy smile. “Anything.”
“Go and see your father.”