Olympic Goals Page 5

  “Of course.” Henri opened the door for his parents, then turned his attention to Bonnie. “Can I bring you something?”

  “No, thank you.”

  Henri nodded. “Just promise me you won’t take anything he says seriously, kid. He’s been saying things that don’t sound like my brother.”

  “I promise.”

  A moment later the door whooshed shut behind the trio, and Bonnie found herself alone with Preston, who seemed to have fallen into a deep slumber. Rather than wake him, she inched the chair closer to the bed and leaned her head on the rail to pray.

  Father, make him well again. Give him strength of body to heal and strength of mind to understand why You chose this path for him.

  “Bonnie.”

  She jerked her head up at the ragged strength in Preston’s voice and focused on his face. He seemed to be studying her, eyes clear though still half closed, and the fingers of his right hand drumming a pattern against the white sheets.

  “What is it, sweetheart?”

  “I don’t want you here.”

  Poor dear. He’s still under the influence of the anesthesia. In a few hours, he’ll be fine.

  Bonnie attempted a smile. “I don’t mind, really. Now why don’t you get some rest? I’ll be right here when you wake up.” She gestured to the table beside the bed where a month-old copy of Reader’s Digest lay atop a copy of Life magazine from last fall. “I’ve got plenty to do, and nowhere else I’d rather be.”

  Preston looked past her to stare at the door and the nurse’s station beyond. “I didn’t finish the race, did I?”

  What do I say? Bonnie looked past him to the window and the street beyond. The last rays of the sun danced off the hoods of cars in the parking lot and carved a brilliant path over the windowsill and across the pale green linoleum floor. Like an upside-down rainbow, it climbed the wall and ended not with a pot of gold but at the edge of Preston’s medical chart, hung from a peg beside the door.

  “Bonnie?”

  She forced her gaze to return to the man she so dearly loved. “You were incredible, sweetheart. Your time in the first half was your best ever. I had to look twice to see if the stopwatch was working properly.”

  He almost seemed to grin when he turned to face her. “Really?” he whispered.

  “Really.”

  Any trace of happiness faded without warning as his gaze turned penetrating. “But did I make the team?”

  Bonnie knew she could lie and make him happy for the moment, but even if he didn’t remember her deception to-morrow when the effects of the anesthesia were gone, she would. Eventually, Preston would know the truth. How much better for that truth to come from the one who loved him most.

  “No. You fell just short of the finish line,” she said softly. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. You didn’t finish the race.”

  He seemed to ponder her statement. “And you. Did you qualify?”

  She’d never felt so ashamed of an accomplishment in her life. Often she’d wondered why God chose to gift her with athletic ability, but rarely had she questioned His re-sults. Assuming the Lord had used her talents to bring her to Preston, how could she now believe He would use the same to divide them? Surely Preston would understand.

  Bonnie lifted her gaze to the ceiling. “Yes, I made the 440-relay team.”

  For a moment, silence filled the room, broken only by the wail of an approaching ambulance and the chatter of night birds in the trees outside the window. Bonnie waited, praying for something—anything—to say. Finally, she dared a glance at Preston, who lay still, eyes clenched shut.

  “Preston? Say something, sweetheart. Anything.”

  But he said nothing. He just lay there too pale and still to be her beloved Preston.

  When Preston opened his eyes and reached for her, Bonnie let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Gathering her hand tighter in his, Preston pulled her toward him. Bonnie leaned as far over the bed rail as she could, standing on her toes to place her lips against his.

  While he allowed the kiss, he did not participate. In fact, he did nothing but hold tight to her hand. Even though the muscles in her calves began to tremble, Bonnie continued to strain toward the prize that was Preston Grant.

  “We’ll get through this,” she said as she gingerly placed a kiss on his bruised cheek and another on his forehead, where a bandage covered a good portion of his face.

  Preston released her fingers to grasp her arm. “But Rome.”

  “Shhh.” Bonnie touched his lips. “Forget Rome. If you’re not going, then neither am I.”

  His battered features contorted, and he stared at her as if she were a stranger. “Get out,” he said as he pushed her away with a force that belied his weakened condition.

  Bonnie caught the bar and righted herself, cold fear hitting her in waves. Henri said the anesthesia had made Preston confused, but the look on his face told her he seemed to know what he said. Still, she held on to the hope she could reach him.

  “Sweetheart, it’s me, Bonnie.” She inched closer. “Surely you don’t mean that. I love you.” In desperation she pulled the penny from beneath her shirt. “Remember this? We made a promise to each other. Well, I meant it.”

  When she took his hand, he jerked away to slam it against the call button. At the sound of the nurse’s voice, Preston turned his face toward the wall. “The woman. Get her out.”

  “The woman?”

  It took the nurse and a security guard to forcibly remove her from the room. When they shoved her into the elevator with a warning not to return to the fourth floor, Bonnie finally gave up and gathered enough of her dignity to be able to walk toward the hospital exit with her head held high. Surely tomorrow would be a better day.

  Tomorrow she would return and try to talk some sense into Preston. If she timed things just right, she might not have to meet up with any of the staff members who had participated in her banishment.

  But as she hailed a cab and climbed inside, Bonnie knew her biggest challenge lay not in getting past the watchful eyes of the nurses, but rather in getting past the pain of the man she loved.

  ~

  July 7, 1960

  “I don’t care what you say; I know you love that girl.” Henri slammed his fist against the bed rail so hard the whole bed shook.

  Preston bit back a yelp at the shaft of pain shooting from his bandaged ankle and focused on his older brother. “I never said I didn’t love her. Love’s got nothing to do with it.”

  Henri lifted a brow and stared down at Preston. “So why don’t you just swallow your pride and see her?”

  “It’s not about pride,” he said, but as he spoke the words, he had to wonder if they were true. Hadn’t he told Bonnie he would marry her once he made something of himself?

  “It’s been three days. It’s a wonder she’s still trying. I know I wouldn’t under the circumstances.”

  Three days.

  Vaguely he remembered their disastrous first visit after his surgery. Through conversations pieced together from his mother and brother, he gathered he had been less than friendly to Bonnie. According to the security guard now stationed at the end of the hall to fend off reporters and the woman he loved, he’d been downright mean.

  Well, so be it. Any man would feel a bit cranky given that all of his dreams had come to an end in one humiliating fall just a few yards short of the finish line. And how much more did it hurt to know that while he fell short of his goal, Bonnie had gone on to achieve hers?

  That stung worse than any physical injury.

  No, the doctors told him his ankle would heal, as would his broken fingers and scratches. What might never be the same was his ego—and his broken heart.

  The door opened, and a bright-eyed nurse’s aide strolled in with a pair of crutches tucked under one arm. “Ready to try out your new legs, Mr. Grant?” she asked as she leaned the wooden contraptions against the bed and began to struggle with the metal rail.

  Prest
on sighed and reached over to help the aide release the rail. He looked over the top of her head to Henri, who stood with arms crossed over his chest and an irritating smile on his face. “Do I have a choice?”

  The aide seemed perplexed. “Well, I suppose I might have read the chart wrong. Would you like me to check with the nurse?”

  Henri stepped over to grab the crutches and thrust them toward Preston. “No, that won’t be necessary, miss. I’m sure my brother’s ready to get up out of that bed and start living again.”

  But was he? At that moment, Preston really didn’t know.

  Sitting proved to be less of an ordeal than standing, but both activities were nothing compared to trying to walk. His head swam, his ankle throbbed, and his pride—yes, he had to admit pride was indeed involved—well, it hurt the worst. Not only had he failed to achieve his lifelong goal of making the U.S. Olympic team, but now he could barely cross the room under his own power.

  “All right, that’s enough for now, little brother.” Henri guided him back to the bed and eased him into place under the blankets. “You get some rest. This afternoon, you and I are going to do this again, and this time I’m not going to let you get away with a little stroll around the room.”

  Henri walked to the window and stared down at the hospital gardens below. “Yes, indeed, I believe you and I will be going for a walk in the gardens after lunch.”

  If he’d had the energy, Preston might have argued the point. Instead, he fell willingly into the blackness of sleep.

  ~

  He awoke to the clatter of lunch being unceremoniously served on his bed tray. A lump of something white covered in brown gravy lay nestled next to an oily pile of green peas and a mound of what could be meat loaf. Atop the mess lay a slightly burned piece of toast and a pat of butter that had begun to run onto the meat concoction. To complete the picture, a dish of tapioca garnished with half a cherry sat beside an empty glass and a small carton of milk.

  Stifling a groan, he pushed the tray away and rolled back to face the wall. Even if he’d had an appetite, one look at this food would have killed it.

  “Oh, no, you don’t,” Henri said. “Get your lazy self up and eat something so we can beat it out of this hospital room and into the sunshine.”

  Sunshine.

  Bonnie.

  Preston shook his head and pulled the covers tighter over his head. No, I can’t think about her. Not now. Maybe not ever.

  “Hey, I’m not kidding.” Henri hit the end of the metal bed with something hard.

  Peeking over the blanket, Preston saw his brother holding crutches. The last thing he needed right now was for the big lug to try and cheer him up with some walk in the park. He’d been lucky to walk to the bathroom this morning. No one and nothing could get him outside.

  “Go away,” he muttered. Again his brother hit the bed with the crutches, this time with enough force to make the mattress shake. He met Henri’s gaze through narrowed eyes. “I said, go away.”

  Wielding the crutches like a bat, Henri aimed them at the bed one more time. “I can do this as many times as it takes to get you out of that bed.”

  Preston pretended indifference and pulled the covers back over his head. “Suit yourself.”

  The door swung open, and footsteps crossed the room. Tempted to identify the latest intruder, Preston elected in-stead to remain still and hope for solitude.

  “Well, hello, Miss Taggart,” Henri said. “How did you get in here? No matter. I’m sure my little brother will be thrilled to see you. May I say you look lovely today, a real vision.”

  Bonnie? Here?

  Scrambling to his elbows, Preston paused to overcome the combined wave of pain and nausea that followed. Finally, he allowed Henri to help him complete the process of sitting up only to realize he and his brother were the only ones in the room.

  “Where’s Bonnie?”

  Henri chuckled and rolled the lunch tray back into position in front of Preston. “I’m sure I could find her if you’d like to see her. Why don’t you see how much of this you can keep down while I go look for her?”

  If he’d had the strength, Preston would have decked his brother right then. How dare he have him play the fool at a time like this?

  “You know, I was in love once.”

  Preston blinked, then stared. “And when was this?”

  Henri shrugged. “Oh, not so long ago.” His face turned serious. “I was stupid.”

  “You, stupid? Wow, that’s hard to believe,” Preston muttered as he reached for the fork.

  Clang!

  Preston dropped his fork square into the mashed potatoes and turned his attention to Henri, who once again held the crutches in the air. “Will you stop hitting the bed?”

  His older brother looked ready to swing again. “I’ll stop when I decide you’re going to listen to me.”

  Affecting a bored look, Preston dropped his hands to his lap and stared. “All right, I’m listening.”

  Gesturing to the lunch tray, Henri shook his head. “Listen and eat.”

  Using his spoon to retrieve the errant fork, Preston cleaned the utensil as best he could with his napkin. All the while, Henri watched in silence, his fingers still wrapped around the crutches. Finally, when Preston could delay no longer, he stabbed his fork into the meat loaf and took a small bite.

  To his surprise, it tasted much better than it looked, so he took another bite. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Henri lean the crutches against the nightstand and sink into a chair beside the bed. Preston offered his brother a bite, but he waved it away with a swipe of his hand.

  “Suit yourself,” he said as he returned to his meal.

  A moment later, Henri steepled his hands and let out a deep breath. “You know I don’t talk about God much, little brother.”

  Preston stopped chewing long enough to nod. The truth be known, Henri Grant was a man of few words. Basically, he made it his business to talk as little as possible.

  But then that was Henri.

  “Well,” his brother continued, “it’s not because I don’t believe in Him. It’s just that. . .” His voice trailed off, and he looked away.

  “I know,” Preston offered. “You don’t have to say it to believe it. I mean, you go to church just like the rest of us and—”

  “Must you always interrupt?” Henri slammed his fists together. “Just because you’re set to be a newsman doesn’t mean you always have to be the one doing the talking. Just eat and learn, little brother. If you do, you just might avoid making the same mistake as me.”

  Preston stuffed an overly large forkful of peas into his mouth. “Sorry,” he managed after he swallowed. “Go ahead.”

  Their gazes locked, and an intense look came over Henri as he gripped the metal arms of the chair. “Okay, but I never told this story, so don’t you dare make fun of me, Preston. I’d have to hurt you worse than you are now if I even get an idea you’re laughing at me.”

  “I promise.” He set down the fork and turned his complete attention to his brother. “Really.”

  “All right. Well, you see, there was this girl.” Henri paused, and for a moment Preston wondered if he would continue. “She was beautiful.” He thumped his chest. “Not just on the outside, but inside, where it counts.”

  Preston nodded.

  “I fell for her the first time I saw her.” A look of sadness passed over Henri’s face as he met Preston’s gaze. “A man’s pride is an awful thing. One minute you’re on top of the world, and the next you’ve hit bottom only to find out it’s your own fault. The way I see it, you’re on the road to doing the same thing I did.”

  “And what’s that?”

  Henri shrugged. “You’re about to lose the best thing that ever happened to you.”

  The truth of the statement hit Preston full force. Just as he had in his more lucid moments over the past few days, he pushed the thought away and focused on his brother instead. “And when did all of this happen, Henri?”

&
nbsp; “Last week.”

  “Last week?”

  Henri nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

  Preston reached for his robe and winced as he paid for the effort. “What would you say about striking a bargain, big brother?”

  Chapter 8

  Bonnie leaned against the trellis and let the sun shine against her closed eyes while a light breeze teased the edge of her pleated skirt. Beneath her blouse, she could feel the weight of the penny against her chest. Beneath the penny lay her broken heart.

  She’d come to this spot alone each day since her banishment from the hospital, mostly to pray, but also to get away from the excitement and happiness that permeated the dormitories belonging to the female participants in the Olympic Trials. Most of the team going to Rome had gathered last night to plan and celebrate. Bonnie chose to spend the evening writing a letter to Preston. If she could not reach him through the spoken word, perhaps she could reach him through the written word.

  And she had to reach him today. There would be no tomorrow in which to attempt the feat. Tonight the train would take her back East, far away from the Olympic Trials, from California, and from Preston Grant. In the last few hours before she had to leave, she had come to this place in hopes that God would finally hear her plea—or possibly answer her prayer—before she sought out a nurse or orderly to deliver her letter.

  Most days, she truly believed in God’s timing and was willing to wait on Him without worry or question. Today, however, He would have to hurry to get all this accomplished before five, when she had to board the train for home.

  She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. I’m here again, Father. I’m waiting and listening. If only she waited and listened long enough, maybe the Lord would let her in on the secret of why all her dreams had to end in this beautiful place.

  “Excuse me. You’re Bonnie Taggart from the Olympic track-and-field team, aren’t you?”

  “Oh!” Bonnie jumped to her feet, then shielded her eyes from the blinding sun. Reeling backward, she grasped the trellis to steady herself.