“That’s super tempting, but I think this is something I need to do on my own.”
“Okay. Text me when you get there. And if you stop on the way.” His mom squeezed his hand. “I’ll be praying.”
Moments later he stood in the driveway, facing down his truck like it was an angry bull and he the bullfighter. The green Ford Ranger had been like a friend to him. Over the past year and a half or so since his accident, he’d sat in the front seat a few times, starting the engine and checking that everything still ran.
Every time he’d broken out into a cold sweat.
He tugged his gloves on tighter. Took a long breath. His exhale wisped into a cloud in the frigid air.
The truck door opened with a protesting screech, and the leather front seats crackled as he sat. True to form, the engine revved up with just a turn of the key.
His heart raced in tune with the motor.
His hands dampened in his gloves. He flexed them on the steering wheel. Breathed a prayer.Let my heart take courage, Lord.
Resisting the urge to close his eyes against the memories, he eased the truck into reverse and backed out of the short driveway and onto the road.
Choosing against the radio, he sat ramrod straight in the seat. He held the steering wheel so tight his knuckles began to ache.
All the way through town he practiced deep breathing. He had to make it the four hours to Minneapolis.
This was too important for failure.
An hour into his drive, his grip loosened on the wheel. The roads ran dry and clear. He flipped on the cruise control and eased his foot off the gas.
His shoulders came down from around his ears.
The sun began to sink lower in the sky, lighting the few clouds with reds and golds.
A motion caught his eye as a deer leapt in front of his truck. It was caught in the headlights for a moment as he stood on the brake.
He blinked away the darkness descending over his sight. The truck tires squealed. The front fender caught the tail end of the deer, and Sammy came to an abrupt halt. He glanced in the rearview mirror. No cars.
Hands shaking, he pulled off to the side of the road. No sign of the deer. He got out of the truck and fell to his knees.
Vomited in the snowy grass.
But as he stood and checked the front bumper, a sense of peace ran through him. The bumper was fine. The deer, apparently, also fine.
God had saved him again, but this time he wouldn’t question why. God had given him a good life. It was time to fully live it.
He climbed back into the cab of the truck, hands steady. The dashboard clock told him he would be arriving at Sister Kenny just before dinner time.
A few boring hours later, he made it to the Twin Cities. After a quick stop at McDonald’s, he pulled into the rehab’s parking lot. The sun cast a golden glow over the rehab center as it set in the west.
He walked under the portico and into the brick building. The sharp smell of disinfectant raised his heart rate. A ghost pain flickered through his legs, but he pushed through it. He followed the nurse’s directions, stopping outside a room with a hand-lettered sign: Teddy Williams.
He knocked on the door with one knuckle.
“Come in.” A woman’s voice.
“I brought contraband,” he said. He held up the McDonald’s sack as he came into the room. A small boy, towheaded and thin, lay in the bed, his lower half covered by a sheet. The sheet flattened to the bed much earlier than it should have. In the chair next him sat a woman with the same nose as the boy.
“Sammy?” she said and rose to her feet. “Sammy Johnson?”
“That’s me. You must be Melissa and Teddy.” He shook the take-out bag. “I hope I haven’t missed dinner.”
“Honey,” she said to the boy. “This is Sammy. He’s the one who rescued us. Sammy, this is Teddy.” She crossed the room and shook Sammy’s hand. “Thank you so much for coming. I’ll just leave the two of you alone.”
