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I cross to a small refreshment center along the far wall and call the basic model Keurig into service. After it brews, I seat myself as far from the other group as possible, cradling the cup between my hands, thinking how its warmth is nothing compared to the heat pouring off Annalise in the truck. Something is horribly wrong, and I hope with all my heart I’m making the right choice by following her wishes.
“Join you for a moment?”
I look up. The silver-haired man from the group across the way is standing in front of me, resting heavily on a cane. I’m not in the mood for company, but I’m not going to be rude either.
As he lowers himself carefully into the chair next to me, I swear I hear his bones creak. Man, I’m not looking forward to getting old. Of course, given my profession, I should be so lucky.
“Rough night, eh?” he says.
I nod, assuming it is for him as well.
“My wife’s in with an aortic dissection. Been down this road before. Praying she pulls through this time, too.” He shakes his head. “Sixty years isn’t enough.”
I’m not a medical guy, but I know the condition he names is about as life and death as it gets. “I’m sorry,” I say awkwardly. But…sixtyyears? How is that even possible? My parents dearly loved each other, but there was so much friction sparking between those two, I harbor doubt they would have lasted that long had fate not intervened.
The old man sighs sadly, and yet, I detect a puzzling peace about him. “She’s the love of my life.” Grinning, he elbows me. “Only woman I was ever with, too, if you know what I mean. Can’t imagine anyone else.”
“Too much information, Dad!” The mid-forties guy calls from across the room, shaking his head, face reddening.
I chuckle and wave him off. “Doesn’t bother me.”
“I’ll give you a bit of free advice, young man: when you find a good one, grab her and make her yours.”
Again, the younger man shrugs an apology.
I want to tell the old guy that you can’t do that kind of thing these days, but I decide to assume he’s not being literal. “I’ll remember that.” Why not humor the old coot?
“So, who are you waiting on tonight? Is it bad?”
“Uh, she’s a…friend…and yeah, I think it’s real bad.”
His thin lips press. “Sorry to hear that. You mind if I pray with you, son?”
“Umm…” Pray?
And with this stranger? Uh-uh.
Or maybe…alright.
Yes. For Annalise. I’m scared to death she needs it, and even if I could pray, I question whether God would listen. Tome?
With a ridiculously large lump taking up residence in my throat, I nod.
The old guy catches me off guard by waving the rest of his small family over. “Come on, folks. We’re going to pray for this young man’s girlfriend.”
“Wait, no. She’s not my—” Does it matter at this moment who Annalise is to me? If God is listening, I’m assuming He knows the difference.
Meanwhile, as I’ve been fretting over semantics, the man’s family, all four of them, have gathered around me, hands joined, and are reaching for mine. I take hold, simply because they seem like nice people, and I know I shouldn’t make a scene. Surely they feel the sweat gelling on my palms. This has been the strangest string of days. Twice now in twenty-four hours I’ve joined hands to pray. I don’t know what to make of it.
Funny how I’d be more at ease had someone whipped out a gun. Man, I am one messed up individual.
The older gentleman does the praying, but the others nod and murmur affirmations under their breath. I hear words like healing, comfort, peace…Jesus. Instead of peace, I feel an overwhelming restlessness. Except, I do feel better for Annalise. I feel like God is on her side. As for myself, I’m scratchy and squirmy and a little weirded out by this bunch of strangers with their hands on me. And yet, it’s more than that. There’s a nameless longing rousing down deep.
Would these people, whoever they are, be quite so free with their touch, their prayers, if they knew more about me? I’ve been places. I’ve done things. Yes, they’ve been in the line of duty, butIknow how these things have contaminated me.
What is it about these last few days that suddenly my transgressions are slapping me in the face at every turn?
The old man says amen and the others echo. My hands are squeezed, my back is patted. The group nods and files away, but the elderly gentleman stays planted.
