Page 97 of Hard Corps (Selected Sinners MC 7)

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Late Summer 2015, Wichita, Kansas, USA

As a child, I made a decision on my own to believe in God. I don’t think children require much convincing to believe, for most I suspect it comes rather easily. Believing there was a mighty being in charge of the universe pulling the strings from above like a talented puppeteer continued for me until I was a teenager. I gave considerable thought to the subject as a teen, and as I became more and more intelligent about my surroundings, I decided not only that I believed in God, but that God wasn’t a puppeteer.

God was real.

My mother was outspoken about her belief in God and was a religious woman. Although Alicia and I went to service with her on almost every Sunday as children, I never saw my father step foot into a church. Initially, I though fathers in general were too busy for church and probably didn’t attend, especially after working as hard as they did for the entire week to provide for their families. As time passed, and I grew older, I determined my father wasn’t sure about the existence of God.

It wasn’t something he talked about, nor was it something he ever admitted. He didn’t have to, we just knew.

As a believer, I often wondered what would happen to my father when the clock ran out. When his heart beat its last drop of blood through his veins what would be next?

Would there be some means of forgiveness for stupidity?

Would he receive a free pass for being stubborn?

Did he really believe and was simply too afraid to admit it?

With the series of tubes taped to his mouth and extended into his throat, it was impossible for him to speak, and our only means of communication was by writing on a pad of paper with a pen. Clearly frustrated and growing angrier by the minute, communicating with him was similar to playing a game of charades.

“Need me to scratch somewhere? Alicia asked.

He shook his head from side to side frantically.

“Want a drink?” she asked.

He widened his bloodshot eyes and stared.

I turned toward her and glared. “Jesus, Alicia. He can’t drink.”

Although he was alive and they expected a full recovery, he was extremely frail at the moment. Regardless, I placed the pen in his shaking hand and held the pad close to his chest. I was fairly certain he wouldn’t be able to write, but he didn’t seem to be in agreement.

He glanced at the pad, raised the pen slightly, and upon realizing he was incapable of writing, closed his eyes and released it. The pen fell on the edge of the bed, rolled to the floor, and Katie bent down to pick it up.

I glanced at Alicia and shrugged my shoulders.

“Let me see the pad,” Katie said.

I reached for the pad, handed it to Katie, and patted him lightly on the shoulder. “It’s just going to take time.”

He blinked his eyes.

Alicia, standing at the foot of the bed, reached out and squeezed his feet. “They said maybe tomorrow they’ll take the tube out.”

He blinked his eyes again. They were covered in a light film of grease, which made him seem even less able to exist on his own. As I studied him and wondered just how much longer he would actually live, Katie handed me the pad and pen.

“Here,” she said. “The entire alphabet. Point at the letter and have him blink his eyes or something.”

I felt like an idiot.

“Thank you, Baby,” I said as I accepted the pad.

I held the pad in front of him and pointed at the letters one at a time, starting with “A”.

When I got to “G”, he nodded his head.

I repeated the process, and when I got to “O”, he did the same.