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When I opened the door, she paused.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, confused.
She looked back at me and held up her breakfast. “Are you sure it’s okay if I eat in here? I don’t want to make a mess in your truck!”
She sounded seriously concerned, and I just smiled. “I promise, it’s totally fine. In fact, climb in, and on the way to the doctor, I’ll tell you what happened on St. Patrick’s Day. Trust me, your granola bar and banana won’t faze me at all.”
She gave me a worried look but climbed in anyway.
While we drove, I recounted the story.
“No, I did not!” she buried her face in her hands.
I clicked my tongue. “I’m afraid so, sweetheart. The truck smelled like corned beef and cabbage for a week–even after I had it detailed.”
“Oh no, I’m so sorry,” she said. Her cheeks were a charming shade of pink as she apologized.
I laughed. “Don’t worry. You already apologized profusely. You even tried to pay for the detailing, but I wouldn’t let you.”
Her laughter subsided and she leaned back in the seat. Her voice was quiet when she spoke again. “I wish I remembered, Jake. It feels so strange to know something like that happened, but it feels like it happened to someone else. Just a story you’re telling me, you know.”
I glanced toward her for a moment, then looked back at the highway. “I wish you remembered, too, but wishes don’t really change anything.”
“Prayers do, right?” The sadness and quiet hope in her voice made me ache to wave my hand and take away all the pain.
I didn’t quite know how to respond. “You know, Miss Ruth said something to me when my dad died. I’ll never forget it. I was only seventeen and I asked her the same question about whether prayer actually changed things. And if they didn’t, why even bother?”
“What did she say?”
“She said that prayer always changes things for the better. Sometimes, it changes the circumstances. More often than not, the thing it ends up changing is us. It is never wasted though.”
Monica hummed quietly, acknowledging the words, I supposed. I’d thought a lot about those words while I prayed in the waiting room for her to wake up.
I’d certainly wanted God to change the circumstances at the time, but the prayers had also brought me closer to Him. There was a new recognition that I couldn’t really control anything. At least, there had been a little of that. Then she hadn’t remembered me, and I was too angry to remember that particular revelation.
“Are you nervous about your appointment?” I asked after a moment.
“A little,” she admitted. “Especially after the incident the other day, there is a little niggling fear that they’re going to find something major wrong, you know?”
I didn’t want to dismiss her fears, because whether it was likely or not, she had the right to her feelings about the subject. But I also wanted to comfort her.
“I’m sure it’s scary. I think your dizzy spell was perfectly normal, but whatever they say today, I’ll be here, okay?”
Monica flashed a small smile, and I extended my hand across the center armrest. Her fingers found mine and I squeezed lightly. We drove the rest of the stretch of highway like that, our fingers touching, and it felt remarkably like lifebefore.
The appointment was for 9:30am, and we made it to the waiting room a few minutes early. While we waited for her name to be called, we sat in the uncomfortable chairs and listened to the chipper morning news anchors banter about their plans for the weekend.
“Do you want me to come back with you? Or I can wait here?”
I wanted to do whatever Monica needed, though I didn’t know what to expect.
She hesitated. “Well, while we were at the hospital, they let my mom be in the room with me. We couldn’t talk, but I just liked knowing I wasn’t in there alone.”
I waited, unsure what that meant. Did she wish her mom was here today instead?
“Monica Storm?” someone called her name from the doorway across the small waiting area.
“Am I staying here?”
