Now sitting in the surgery waiting room while Abby was being prepped, Kate began a gradual collapse. She was not a morning person—5:00 a.m. was the earliest she had been up for years, and certainly not since she was a hot new reporter for the morning report on a Houston television station.
As she began to doze, through the fog she heard the approach of footsteps. When they stopped in front of her, she opened her right eye a slit to see Reverend Moreno. With a start, she jumped to her feet and reached out her hand. “Good morning, Reverend. How nice to see you.”
He took her hand and shook it. “And a surprise I believe from your expression.” His English held a slight Spanish accent and an interesting rhythm, almost like a song. “I come to the hospital anytime a member of the congregation is admitted.” He let go of her hand. “Please sit down.”
When she did, he sat next to her.
“Is Abby still a member of the church?” she asked. “From what Brooke said, they don’t attend regularly.”
“No, they don’t, but they are members and may return to us.” He smiled. “After all, we must never give up on the leading of the Holy Spirit.”
Kate nodded and struggled not to yawn.
“You must be tired.”
“I’ve had a busy few days, and I don’t like getting up early.”
“And yet you came to church yesterday. Everyone was glad to see you.” He nodded in a very pastoral manner. “I hope you’ll come again.” Reverend Moreno stood. “Do you want to come with me while I pray with your sister?”
“No, but thank you.”
As the minister headed toward preop, Kate wondered why she hadn’t gone with him. Praying with her sister might open something up between them. That would be good. However, it could also toss up another wall between them if Abby felt Kate had intruded on her private space. Hard to guess Abby’s reaction but more likely the latter.
After several cups of coffee, a couple of walks around the small hospital, reading every page of the Austin newspaper and an ancient People magazine and watching the morning news, a woman dressed in surgical scrubs emerged from the operating suite.
“Miss Wallace?” she called after glancing down at a chart she held.
Kate stood. “I’m Kate Wallace.”
“I’m Dr. Norris. Your sister did fine. The operation should resolve the problem.”
“Good.”
“She’s in recovery now. If you’d like to go to room…” The doctor consulted the chart. “Five-eleven. She’ll be there in a short time.”
“Five-eleven,” she repeated. “Thank you.”
Leaving the waiting room, Kate headed toward the patient wing. Once she found the room, she settled into the reclining chair and, again, closed her eyes.
Abby would be in the hospital for a day or two, then they’d release her to Kate’s care for a convalescence lasting four to six weeks.
If they both survived that long.
There she went again, always thinking about herself. The convalescence would be harder on Abby than on her. Her sister would be in pain. Even worse, she’d have to accept the help from—in fact be completely dependent on—Kate, the sister she’d never particularly liked. Because the entire situation would be difficult for Abby, Kate should—would—have to be nice. Try to be nice. Force herself to be nice.
She’d always worked with the public and, over the years, had developed a method of dealing with difficult, demanding people. But this was her sister, the woman who knew every one of Kate’s hot buttons and loved to push them.
However, this older Kate Wallace knew how to deflect those barbs better than she had as a child. Besides, she really wanted to get along with her sister.
How far would good intentions take her? She closed her eyes and sighed. The four-to-six week thing began to sound longer and longer.
“Excuse me.” An orderly entered. “We need you to leave until we have the patient settled.”
After she stood and left the room, two orderlies wheeled in a gurney with Abby on it and a nurse followed.
In the hall, Kate paced up and down for a few minutes before she saw Rob emerging from the gift shop with a bouquet of yellow roses.
For a moment, she stopped and watched him, the determined gait, broad shoulders covered by a blue knit shirt and the confident lift of his head. Wow. Rob was gorgeous. A real man, he’d draw the interest of any woman in Houston or Miami. Here his good looks and self-assurance filled the narrow corridor with potent and very masculine appeal.
“How’s the patient?” he asked before he glanced at a note in his hand. “She’s in room five-eleven?”
As she fell in step beside him, Kate forced her senses from her sudden and unwelcome interest in Rob and her brain back to her sister’s health. “The doctor says she’s doing well.”
“But?” He glanced at the closed door then back at Kate.
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen her. She just got out of recovery and they’re getting her settled.” In a flash, the enormity of what lay ahead, weeks of taking care of Abby, overwhelmed her. She leaned on the wall and took a deep breath.
“Worried?”
She glanced into eyes that showed concern. “I thought I knew what I was getting into, but, Rob, I’ve never been a good nurse and Abby and I’ve never gotten along. What if I can’t do this?”
“Hey, you’ll be fine.” He studied her face. “I know how determined you can be. Once you start something, you don’t give up.”
She attempted a smile. “That’s not always true.”
“Often enough,” he added in a voice filled with certainty. “Kate, you can.”
“I hope so.”
He hesitated for a moment before saying, “I saw you in church Sunday. I didn’t get to greet you because I had to pick Lora up from children’s church.”
“I saw you.”
“Kate, I don’t know if you still pray like you did as a kid.” He reached out to touch her arm but it seemed as soon as he realized what he was doing, he dropped his hand. “If you don’t think you can handle things, pray about them. There’s a source of strength outside of us. You used to know that.” His gaze stayed on her face. “I don’t know if you do anymore, but you did. He’s still there.”
“I’m really out of practice.”
“‘Whisper a prayer in the morning,’” Rob sang softly.
The tune took Kate back years, to church camp and the memory of the voices of two hundred high school kids lifted in song. “‘Whisper a prayer at noon,’” she sang back.
“See? You remember.”
How could she forget? The song reminded her of a time she believed God answered prayers. Why had God seemed so close, so present in her life when she was young? How had she lost Him? Well, she hadn’t so much lost God as misplaced Him beneath priorities that no longer seemed so important.
The door to Abby’s room opened. “You can come in,” the orderly said as he left.
Rob held out the bouquet. “Do you want to take these in?”
“No, she’d like to see you.” She pushed the door open and looked inside. Abby lay on the bed closer to the hall. Her right arm was strapped securely across her chest, which would probably make sleeping