Olympic Goals Read online

  And as the starter’s pistol sounded, Preston had no doubt He would do just that.

  ~

  Bonnie clicked the stopwatch with shaking fingers, then forced her attention to the runners on the track. Preston neither led the group nor trailed but rather maintained a position in the top third of the runners. As was his custom, he rounded the first turn, then began to put on speed.

  “How’s he doing?” Preston’s dad shouted.

  She tore her gaze from the knot of runners on the track and focused on the stopwatch. Her heart thudded. Some-how Preston had shaved a full two seconds off his best mid-race time. “He’s doing great, sir. Best time ever.”

  Mr. Grant nodded and turned his attention back to the race. Bonnie attempted to do the same but found herself unable to watch the runners as they sailed over each hurdle.

  “You all right, Bonnie?” Martha asked.

  She offered her friend a weak smile and a nod. “Still nervous.”

  Keeping her attention on Preston had never been easy during a race. She was more nervous during the competitions than he ever professed to be. Generally she clamped down on the stopwatch, then stared at the sweeping hand rather than at the hurdling man. When the race ended, she always cheered—with Preston none the wiser.

  Today she found this hard to do. Finally, with one lap left in the race, she excused herself from the group and darted down the risers and out of the confinement of the stands. If she couldn’t watch, she would pray. Besides, when it was all over, she could find Preston much easier from her trackside vantage point.

  The crowd noise faded to a dull roar beneath the stands as Bonnie leaned against a heavy post and closed her eyes. Clutching the stopwatch, she began to pray.

  Please let him go to Rome, Lord. It means so much to him, and I just can’t go without him.

  Sneaking a peek at the stopwatch, she realized the race should be nearing its end. Surely she could brave a glance at the event long enough to see the finish. With the stopwatch firmly in hand and a prayer still on her heart, Bonnie stepped out into the California sunshine in time to see Preston racing to approach the final hurdle of the race with a solid lead.

  As runner met hurdle, Bonnie prayed and waited for Preston to sail over the iron bars to certain victory. Instead, she watched him fall to the ground in a heap.

  Chapter 6

  Something was wrong. He shouldn’t be lying here. Running, yes, that’s what he should be doing. Someone groaned. Was it him? Preston couldn’t be sure.

  Must stand.

  Must run.

  Must win.

  He had a dream—a goal.

  Olympic dreams.

  Olympic goals.

  Preston opened his eyes, then slammed them shut again. The whole world and all its contents had turned upside down and spilled across the track, pushing him with great force to the ground.

  Where were the other runners? What had happened to the race? One moment he’d captured the lead from the farm boy from Boise, and the next he lay. . .where? On which side of the finish line had he landed?

  Preston strained to determine the answer but failed miserably. A bitter taste filled his mouth, and the sting of gravel met his fists as he tried to take hold of the shifting earth. His legs ignored his brain’s cry for help and mocked him by refusing to move. One hand shook; the other lay still, three of its fingers curled in an abnormal direction.

  Dell’s voice hummed somewhere above him, as did the eerie hush that did not generally characterize a stadium full of fans. The California breeze kicked up and blew over him, but he barely felt it.

  Bonnie faded into sight, then departed, only to return. “Sunshine?” he managed through the grit and metal in his mouth.

  “Preston, I love you.”

  He held tight to those words even as he slipped into darkness.

  ~

  Bonnie crowded into the backseat of the taxi and wedged herself between Mama and Mrs. Grant while Mr. Grant took the front seat. The rest of the family followed in a second cab as the little procession—first the ambulance with Dell Woods riding alongside Preston, then the two cars—raced toward the emergency room. Martha promised to maintain a vigil beside the phone in the Grants’ hotel room. The job of alerting family and friends back in Massachusetts fell to her, and she took on the challenge armed with a long list of phone numbers.

  The thought of the dear Texan fielding phone calls in her distinctly Southern way from staid New Englanders almost made Bonnie smile. Almost, but not quite. She might never smile again until she could be sure of Preston’s complete recovery.

  “I just don’t know what happened,” Mrs. Grant said. She looked at Bonnie as if searching for an answer. “He was doing so well. He almost won.”

  He almost won. Bonnie suppressed a sob and allowed a shimmering of tears free rein as she touched the pink ribbon around her neck. He almost won—but he didn’t.

  Mr. Grant sat stone-faced, his gaze riveted upon the flashing lights of the emergency vehicle directly in front of him. “It’s my fault,” he said softly. “I pushed him too hard.”

  “You never did any such thing, Dameon.” Mrs. Grant reached across the seats to place her hand on her husband’s shoulder. “If anyone is at fault, it’s me. I’m the silly goose who raised him on stories of his father’s and grandfather’s Olympic dreams.” A tear slid down her cheek and landed on the sleeve of her prim white sweater. “I always encouraged his goals, but I never thought they would end like this.”

  “We don’t know if they’ve ended yet,” Mama said. “Let’s just see what God has in mind. Preston’s still a young man, and there’s always 1964.”

  Mrs. Grant gave Mama a grateful smile and settled back in the seat. “I suppose you’re right.” She stared out the window at the California landscape passing by at high speed. “We must believe He has a purpose in all of this.”

  “This certainly isn’t how I expected to spend the Fourth of July,” Bonnie whispered. “I thought we’d be celebrating together, Preston and I. I thought. . .”

  Mama gripped Bonnie’s hand tighter as the ambulance raced through yet another red light and made a sharp left turn. “He’s going to be just fine, honey.” The cab lurched to a stop beneath the canopy of the hospital’s emergency entrance. “God’s going to take care of him. You just wait and see.”

  “I know.” Bonnie slid across the seat and out the door in time to watch the orderlies bundle Preston into a side door marked “Authorized Personnel Only.”

  ~

  The next few hours passed in a haze of bitter coffee, quiet prayer, and, finally, restless silence. After the first few meager attempts at conversation, the little group maintained a stillness that lasted until a nurse called the family into a small room where the attending physician waited alongside Dell Woods.

  Bonnie, still clad in her running attire, filed into the tiny room but refused her mother’s offer of a chair. Instead, she leaned against the ugly green wall and listened while the doctor pronounced the end of Preston Grant’s Olympic career.

  To be sure, Preston would be fine. He’d broken three fingers on his left hand and would likely feel some minor but lasting effects from the ankle he’d shattered. The odds were high, however, that he would make a full recovery.

  What he would never do, the doctor assured them, was run the hurdles.

  The ankle would never hold up under the constant pounding of landing on the track after a hurdle, and to top it off, the doctor flatly stated Preston should never have been allowed to participate in the trials with old knee injuries and a sprained ankle still untreated.

  Old knee injuries and a sprained ankle? Bonnie stared at Dell in disbelief. Was Preston running injured? He’d said he felt fine.

  And what of Dell Woods? Why hadn’t he noticed Preston’s condition? After all, he was the trainer, the man paid to keep UMass athletes in good shape so they could compete.

  A thought dawned, and she tried in vain to push it away. Still, it tickled and t
eased its way to the forefront until she could no longer deny it.

  When the doctor finished his speech, the Grants began their barrage of questions. Bonnie, however, moved toward the door and gestured for Dell to follow.

  “Hey, I’m sorry about your boyfriend,” Dell said when she stopped abruptly in an alcove off the main lobby. “He could have won that race. He could have really been something in Rome.”

  Bonnie whirled around and resisted the urge to take the trainer by the throat and shake the life out of him. “Get out of here,” she said through her clenched jaw.

  Dell affected a broad smile and shrugged. “Hey, I know you’re upset. I am, too. It’s hard to watch a career die a natural death right in front of you.”

  “His career didn’t die a natural death. You killed it.” Bonnie enunciated each word of her pronouncement with care, never moving her attention from his face. “You were hired by the school to keep him running and—”

  “And that’s just what I did.” He took a step toward her, all signs of his good humor gone. “So what is it you’re getting at, little lady?”

  Bonnie took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Every inch of her body hummed with the anger that begged to find release in a good jab across the trainer’s smug face. Instead, she willed herself to remember that God, not she, would exact revenge.

  “Thank you for your services, Mr. Woods,” she said stiffly. “I don’t expect they are needed anymore. Perhaps you should head back to school before the athletic director misses you.”

  “But he knows I’m here,” Dell said. “He sent me.” The last words were flung at her as if he dared her to respond.

  A pair of nurses strolled past, and Bonnie waited until they were out of earshot to reply. “Yes, but did he send you here to do what you’ve done to Preston?” This time she took a step toward him. “I’m sure the doctors would have no problem documenting the cause of his current condition.”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” But as he made the statement, the look on his face told Bonnie he did.

  “He had talent, and he could have run the race on his own. He might not have come in first place, but I believe he was good enough to make the team.” She paused while an orderly strolled past, pushing an elderly woman in a wheelchair. “Whatever you did, whatever you gave him, it let him run when he wasn’t supposed to. It made him not feel the pain.” Dell looked away, so she continued. “He wanted this so bad, bad enough to do just about anything to achieve his goal.”

  The trainer captured her wrist and held it in a steely grip. “You said it, Miss High-and-Mighty. Your boyfriend knew you had the natural talent to go all the way to Rome on your own. Unfortunately, he also knew he didn’t.”

  Bonnie jerked her arm free and rubbed her wrist. “What’s your point?”

  “My point is, if you’re looking for someone to blame, blame Preston Grant. He’s the one who wanted to go to Rome bad enough to end up where he is.”

  “He’s right, Bonnie.”

  Bonnie whirled around to see Preston’s brother, Henri, walking toward them, wearing a worried look. Instantly her heart lurched. “What’s wrong? Has something happened to Preston?”

  Henri took her by the elbow and guided her away from Dell. “He’s waking up, and they’re about to move him from recovery to a room. Mom and Pop are up on the fourth floor with him right now.”

  “Then take me to him.”

  Preston’s brother shook his head. “I can’t do that. You’re not family.”

  “That’s absurd.” Bonnie shook off his grip and picked up her pace, heading for the bank of elevators at the end of the hall. When the doors opened, she stormed in and pressed the button marked “4.” Before the doors could close, Henri climbed in with her and pulled her out.

  “What are you doing?” she sputtered as he led her toward a side exit.

  “Saving you heartache.” He lifted a hand to call a taxi. “Go back to your room and wait. There’s no need for you to stay here.”

  The cab stopped short at the curb, and Henri reached to open the door. “Driver, would you see that this young lady gets back to the stadium and rejoins her team?” When the cabbie gave Bonnie the once-over, then nodded, Henri thrust a few bills at him through the open front window.

  Henri straightened to face Bonnie once more. “In you go. I’ll tell your parents where you went when I bring them back to the hotel.”

  Bonnie refused to go a step farther. “Honestly, Henri, I don’t know what is going on here, but I absolutely refuse to leave this hospital or the man that I love.”

  “What if he doesn’t want to see you?”

  An elderly gentleman strolled up and pointed his walking cane toward the taxi. “Young folks, are you going to use that cab?”

  “I don’t know about him, but I’m certainly not.” With that, Bonnie turned and raced toward the hospital’s side entrance.

  Never had she been so thankful for the speed God had blessed her with as when the elevator doors closed with Henri nowhere in sight. Leaning against the cold wall of the elevator, Bonnie pressed the button for the fourth floor and began to pray.

  Through the silent entreaties, a single phrase rang out. “What if he doesn’t want to see you?”

  Hadn’t Henri asked her that question moments ago? Perhaps she misunderstood. Surely Preston would not refuse to see her.

  The doors spilled open into a large hallway with signs pointing to the right and left. Bonnie followed the one marked “Surgical Recovery” until she reached a pair of large silver doors. Ignoring the now-familiar “Authorized Personnel Only” sign, she pressed through to find a large desk attended by a rather stern-looking trio of white-uniformed nurses.

  A thin, birdlike nurse of middle age peered at her over her glasses and inquired, “May I help you?”

  Fear snaked up her spine and lodged in her brain. The place smelled like antiseptic and sickness. How could Preston be a part of it? “Yes,” she finally managed. “I would like to see Preston Grant, please.”

  The nurse cast a sweeping glance at Bonnie’s unusual attire, then shook her head. “I’m sorry. Mr. Grant’s just come out of recovery and is with family right now.”

  She squared her shoulders and stared the nurse down. “Well, I’m family and I would like to see him, please.”

  Reaching for a clipboard, the nurse pursed her lips. “And what is your relation to the patient?”

  Bonnie took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I am his fiancée.”

  Well, she was. Almost. And she had the penny to prove it.

  Doors burst open behind her, and Henri appeared at her side. The nurse shifted her attention from Bonnie to Preston’s brother. Henri paused to give Bonnie a hard look. Finally, he shook his head. “It’s all right. She’s family, Nurse.”

  The nurse took one last look at the pair, then nodded. “I thought she might be another of those pesky reporters. Not five minutes ago, security caught a fellow trying to sneak into Mr. Grant’s room with a camera. My guess is he thought our patient would make good front-page news. Well, I certainly am not going to let that sort of invasion of privacy happen on my watch.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Henri gave Bonnie a side glance and grinned. “We appreciate that you’re doing such a good job.”

  Bonnie rolled her eyes in response. “Yes, thank you,” she managed.

  Trailing Henri and the nurse down the labyrinth of narrow green hallways until they reached room 407, Bonnie tried to still her racing mind. “Press on,” she whispered. Somehow the words that usually gave her comfort during competitions now ministered to her in a different way. Whatever waited on the other side of the door, Bonnie knew she would meet the circumstances with God’s help.

  Henri placed his hand on the door, then paused to look down at Bonnie. “Remember, I warned you, kid,” he said as he pushed the door open and disappeared inside.

  Chapter 7

  Bonnie approached the blanket-wrapped figure slowly, capturing
every detail of the scene but believing none of it. Preston lay motionless, a tangle of wires connecting him to an IV pole and a stack of machinery beyond. Mrs. Grant leaned against the bed’s metal safety rail while Mr. Grant perched on the edge of a chair. Neither seemed to notice Bonnie.

  Her gaze fell on Preston’s bruised face, and without warning, the room tilted. Henri steadied her and propelled her forward with a few quiet words of encouragement. Some-how she managed to remain upright long enough to receive a hug from Mrs. Grant before grasping for the rail.

  Henri leaned close to Bonnie and lowered his voice. “They had to operate to set his ankle. The doc said he would be a little loopy until the anesthesia wears off, so don’t take him seriously if he starts talking out of his head.”

  “All right.”

  “Hey, Pres,” he said a bit louder. “Look who’s here.”

  Preston’s eyelids fluttered, then opened only to fall shut again. “Sunshine?” came out on a long breath. “That you?”

  “That’s right. It’s me, Bonnie.” She released her grip on the rail to smooth the sheet across his chest, then lay her hand over his. “You gave us a real scare, sweetheart.”

  “But you’re going to be fine,” Mrs. Grant added, sliding Bonnie a side glance. “Isn’t he, Bonnie?”

  “Yes, that’s right,” Bonnie quickly added. “You’ll be back to normal in no time.”

  Back to normal? Bonnie cringed. Nothing would ever be normal again, at least not until Preston was up and running, chasing another Olympic dream.

  With four years’ worth of time standing between them and the next Olympic Summer Games, Bonnie hoped that while Preston would be chasing dreams, she would be too busy being Mrs. Preston Grant and chasing a couple of Grant babies to even think of running any races.

  Funny how chasing her dream didn’t involve much actual running at all. If only Preston could say the same.

  Preston’s father rose and placed a hand on Mrs. Grant’s shoulder. “Why don’t we find some hot coffee and a bite to eat, dear?” He nodded to his elder son. “Come with us, Henri.”