“Can I ask you a question about the accident?” He knew it was a sensitive subject to Natalie. After all, she had been the one in the car that night.
“Yeah, but there are some things I might not know. I was in a coma for months after.” Natalie started to slow the car down.
Letting go of the armrest, he asked, “Did Hanna or Henry live very long after?”
Natalie bit her lip and drove for a while before answering, “No, Sam said they died on scene. Instantly.”
“That doesn’t make sense then. Hazel doesn’t want to visit her grandfather because she hates hospitals. I thought it was connected.” He wondered what else it could be from, if not the accident.
“It is, I’m sure. A few months ago, I asked how she found out about the accident. You know, who told her and all that. She said that her grandparents woke her up in the middle of the night and took her to the hospital.” Natalie stopped talking, then she stopped the car as she started to cry. “Then they made her identify the bodies, Ruston. She was seventeen, and it was bad. Sam told me that it was closed-casket bad. They made her look at them. I never had to see any of that. I got off easy.”
“Damn them. No wonder she has nightmares still.” He cursed the couple, hating that he had to go and see them soon.
“That’s how I feel. They’ve made it so much worse for her.” Natalie’s tears were falling.
Pulling her into his arms, he let her cry for her friend, for a woman who has been hurt so much. How could he possibly heal her if the wound was opened every day? At least Natalie was starting to heal from it.
As her tears dried up, she put the car into gear and continued the drive to town. Neither spoke as town appeared, and Natalie pulled up to his house.
As he opened the door, Natalie put a hand on his arm. “She’s worth it, Ruston. I want her to be happy, and you make her happy. You make her the Hazel she used to be.”
Stopping, he turned to her and asked, “What was she like before? When you were young?”
“Sadly, I can only answer that by talking about all three. They were different. Even though Hanna and Hazel were identical, they were nothing alike. Hanna was into sports and being popular. She was fun to be around and outgoing. Hazel was artsy and quiet. She lived in Hanna’s shadow and was never able to shine. Henry was a lot like Hanna, just a little less, but he was the smart one. He had straight As all the time, and he didn’t even try. Now I feel like she tries to be less like Hazel and more like Hanna. But Hazel will never be Hanna, no matter how much she tries. Because she is always the artsy, quiet one deep inside.” Natalie looked out the windshield, lost in the past.
“I understand,” he said, but he didn’t. All he could see her as was the woman she was today.
“I don’t think you know, but Hazel can sing. But not only sing—Hazel was all about music growing up. She can play any instrument. She loves to sing, and she’s really good at it. Music was her life. She was going to be a singer one day, but she quit after the accident. Dad said he hasn’t heard her sing since. Sam said they tried to make her sing at the funeral, but she couldn’t. She stood in front of the church and couldn’t do it. Who could?” Natalie wiped the tears from her eyes.
“I have heard her sing. She’s amazing. She sings to John Henry all the time,” he told her.
“I want to hear it again. She told me she had to give up her dream because the others’ dreams were dead. I would give anything for them to still be here.” Natalie looked away from him and out the driver’s window, the guilt of being the sole survivor still there.
He knew he had to get out of there, they were just going to upset each other more, so he opened the door and got out. With a wave, she drove off, and he was alone.
Now he had to go visit a parishioner who he was starting to dislike intensely for how he had treated Hazel all these years—how they both had. Instead of helping her get over the accident and what happened, they had made her relive it every day.
After changing into more formal clothing and driving to the hospital, he walked into the wing he knew John May would be in. Seeing Rose in the waiting room, he went over to her. She looked up as he approached, but she didn’t smile.
“How is he?” He sat next to her.
“Not good. They don’t have a lot of hope.”
Maybe there was no hope because she seemed to have already given up on him.
“Did you want to pray?” he asked since it always made him feel better; always made things look better.
“No. God doesn’t listen to me.” Rose didn’t meet his eyes.
“You’d be surprised, Rose.” Ruston hated that her granddaughter would have said the same thing.
“Can we just talk?” Rose asked.
“Sure,” Ruston agreed. He was here to help her and John any way he could.
“I was just sitting here thinking about my daughter. She would be forty-five this year, but she died many years ago when the kids were in middle school,” Rose said, looking at her hands.
“Sorry to hear.” He wondered if Hazel knew that. If the kids had ever been told about their mom.