Three
THE PAINTING WAS ALMOST FINISHED, AND ASHLEY BAXTER Blake wondered if it might be her best of all. In it there was her husband, Landon, and Cole, her son — the two of them on the Little League field. Cole in his uniform up to bat, and Landon behind him in his manager’s uniform, adjusting his son’s swing, giving him a final pep talk before his turn at bat.
It was a moment Ashley had watched in person a number of times, but here … captured on canvas, there seemed almost no difference between the image in her mind and the one before her. She set her paintbrush down and listened to the noise from downstairs. She could hear the sound of a movie — Prince of Egypt maybe — but there were none of the usual happy voices.
A chill ran down her arms. Ever since he’d come home from his time in the hospital, Landon hadn’t been the same. She worried about him when he left for a walk or when he was out by himself. What if he had another asthma attack? And what if this time no one saw him and the inhaler didn’t work? Her worry was hard on Landon, but Ashley wasn’t sure how to change it. A part of her didn’t think Landon should be out alone, not as long as his lungs were so unstable.
The dynamic was strange, because since they’d first fallen in love, Landon had been the strong one, the stable one. He never let anything faze him, never gave in to the possibility that something might set him off course. From the time they’d first become friends, she was the one with the mood swings, the one who had run off to Paris to paint, and who had come home pregnant and alone. Landon? He was dependable, the one she could count on. Always there, always steady.
But all that had changed in a week.
“Look at it as a vacation,” Ashley had told him. “You haven’t had this much time off in way too long.” But no matter how she tried to convince him, the truth was, he’d been put on medical leave. Until doctors could determine if he really had polymyositis he couldn’t be cleared to return to work.
Polymyositis …
Ashley let the word rumble around in her mind, where it regularly wreaked havoc on her peace and sanity. She had googled the disease for hours but she hadn’t found a single positive anecdote or discussion. The progression was often quick … lung transplants were usually needed once it affected breathing. And after a lung transplant, less than thirty percent of the patients were alive ten years later.
Ashley still didn’t hear anything but the cartoon from downstairs. Her mind began to race, rushing down the stairs ahead of her. What if he collapsed in the bathroom or outdoors with the dog? He paid no attention to the fact that if an attack hit when he was alone, he might not make it out of the attack alive.
She exhaled in a burst, stood, and removed her paint apron. Moving fast enough that she probably looked a little frantic, she hurried to the stairs. “Landon, … are you there?”
No answer. Ashley quickened her pace. Dear God … I can’t keep doing this; he has to find the right medication. Please, Father … wherever he is, help him. He was probably outside by the fishpond. He’d said something about working on it today. But if he’d been outside and passed out he might’ve fallen into the water and then — “Landon!”
“Mommy.” Devin ran from the family room to the bottom of the stairs and met her. “Are you okay? You sound scared.”
She pulled up, her breathing faster than it should’ve been. “Honey, do you know where Daddy is?”
“I’m out here.” His voice came from the kitchen.
Ashley could’ve collapsed there on the floor. He was okay … he wasn’t passed out near the fishpond or drowning in the water or suffocating in the bathroom or —
“Mommy.” Devin scrunched up his face, curious. “You still look scared.”
She forced a quick laugh and stooped down to his level. “No, buddy … I’m fine. I just want to talk to Daddy.”
“Really?” Devin looked doubtful. “About something scary?”
Her son had always been perceptive, but at times like this Ashley wished he might not grasp her emotions so completely. “No, sweetie. Nothing scary.” In light of his concerns, Devin looked afraid now too. She put her hands on either side of his face and kissed the tip of his nose. “Everything’s fine, Devin. Really. Go back and watch the movie with your sister.”
After a few seconds he smiled at her, but his eyes still held a slight doubt. Then he ran off to the family room to do as she asked. Ashley felt foolish for overreacting, but this was the pattern lately. She would go about the house finding him every half hour or so, just to make sure he was breathing. Usually she tried to be discreet, but today … with her imagination getting so far ahead of her … she had let her fear practically consume her.
“Ashley?” Landon sounded slightly frustrated. “What did you want?”
She walked to the kitchen and found him sitting at the kitchen table, staring out the window to the backyard, a cup of hot coffee in his hands. He glanced at her but only for a moment. “I agree with Devin … you sounded terrified.” He took a slow sip of his coffee. “We’ve gone over this, Ash.”
Irritation rose within her, more at herself than at him. “I’m sorry.” She took the seat beside him and touched his shoulder. “Can you look at me, Landon? Please.”
He sighed and turned his chair so he could see her. “What … you were upstairs painting and you had the sudden thought that I was … I don’t know … pruning the rosebushes and an asthma attack came over me and dropped me to the ground?”
She managed a sheepish shrug. “I was thinking the fishpond.”
His almost-angry look softened. For a long time he looked at her, searching her eyes as if he was trying to understand what made her worry the way she did. But then he chuckled in defeat and looked down at his coffee. “I’m fine.” His eyes found hers again. “The doctor said I can resume normal activity.”
“But … you’re still coughing.” Her voice was soft. She didn’t want to push the matter or make him angry. They’d never had to worry about tension between them, not in all their lives until now. “Doesn’t that mean the inhaler isn’t working … or the steroids need to be stronger?”
“No. It means my lungs are still healing.” He sounded tired, weary. “We can’t do this, Ash.” He shook his head. “Talk about my breathing … my lungs … my asthma. Every hour of the day … every day of the week.” His shoulders sank some. “I can’t do it.”
“I’m sorry.” She ran her fingers along his shoulder, his back. “I’m trying to learn how to live with all this and … I guess it’s just hard.”
“It’s hard for me, you mean.” He waved his hand toward the family room. “Your life is just as it always was. Working with the kids, teaching them how to read and color and taking them on play dates with your sisters.” He took another drink of his coffee. “You’re still painting and running our home and doing everything you ever did.” He wasn’t angry with her — she knew him that well. But his voice was louder than before. “Have you thought about me? I’m supposed to be out there fighting fires, protecting the city, and rescuing people.” He set his coffee cup down a little too hard and rocked his chair back onto its back legs. Then he stood and paced to the sink and back to the table. “Look at me, Ashley … I’m going stir-crazy and I’ve only been home two weeks. I feel like I’m … like I’m useless.”
She wasn’t sure what to say, but she had to try. “What about the vacation idea?”
“That’s ridiculous.” This time his response was more of a yell. “Ashley, they’re telling me I might never go back to work. How can I think of that as a vacation?”
“Landon, please.” Her tone pleaded with him to lower his voice, to get control of himself. “This isn’t my fault.”
He seemed to hold his breath for a minute, and for half a second she wondered if his anger was causing him to go into an attack. But then he exhaled slowly, like he was searching for control again. He sat back down and took her hands gently in his. “I know it’s not your fault. This isn’t about fault. And yes, I love the kids and you. Being home for a few days has been great.”
Understanding filled her with a warmth she hadn’t felt until now. “You miss it … being at the station. Is that it?”
“Of course I miss it.” An exasperated laugh sounded quietly on his lips. “It’s what I do, Ash, … I’m a firefighter. I can’t sit home and wait for the next round of tests.”
A different sort of panic pushed its way into Ashley’s heart. She hadn’t thought about this aspect of his lung disease. She’d been too worried about his survival to think about what might happen if he did live. “You could work investigations … or teach. You could get involved in coaching or you could —”
“Ash … don’t you see?” The pain in his voice, the hurt in his eyes was more than she had seen since their early days, back when he wasn’t sure if she loved him. “I fight fires. That’s what I love. It’s like,” he pointed his thumb toward the stairs, “if you couldn’t paint.”
Ashley sat back. There had been times in her life when she relied on the canvas, times when she wasn’t sure she could live if she didn’t paint. She had always believed that creating a piece of art was proof of God in her life. His gift to her … and her gift to use for Him. She covered Landon’s hand with her own. “I … I didn’t see it that way.”
They heard the sound of quick feet and suddenly Devin stood in the doorway. “Are you guys fighting?”
Ashley and Landon shared a hurried look, one that expressed their mutual regret that their conversation had caused Devin to worry yet again. Landon walked to him and put a hand on their son’s shoulder. “We’re just talking, buddy.”
“Talking loud.” His brow lowered, and he looked wounded. “You didn’t have a nice tone.” His anger lifted a little, and he looked at Ashley. “I have to have a nice tone with Nessa, remember?” He put his hands on his hips. “So you have to have a nice tone too, right?”
“Yes.” Landon ran his hand along Devin’s blond hair. “I’m sorry, Dev … I’ll watch my tone, okay?”
“Okay.” His lips curved into a relieved smile. “You too, Mommy?”
Ashley’s heart ached. “Better tones all around.”
“We haffa be friends … all the time.” His smile filled his face this time. “Right?”
“Right.” Ashley joined Landon as they answered him at the same time. She stood and joined the guys, putting her arm around Devin and looking long and hard into his eyes. “I’m sorry … Daddy and I love each other very much. And you’re right. We’re best friends.”
Devin gave a satisfied nod and returned to the other room with his sister. Ashley peaked in on them and saw that Nessa had her pink blanket. She looked lost in the movie — right at the scene where God parts the Red Sea. “This is the part where God works a miracle, right Mommy?” Devin called back to her as he settled in next to Janessa.
“Yes.” She slipped her arm around Landon’s waist. “This is the best part.”
“And God is working a miracle for Daddy too, right?”
“Exactly.” She hesitated, but not long enough to alarm him. “That’s exactly what God is going to do.”
She and Landon wandered back into the kitchen, and Landon sat down at the table again. He put his head in his hands. For a long time she only looked at him, wondering what God might have next for them. He had saved Landon from the house fire, breathed life into him, and helped him recover enough to be here — home where he belonged. But what about the future? Devin was right — they all needed to be best friends, especially Ashley and Landon. But if he couldn’t fight fires, then they would need a different sort of miracle — something Ashley hadn’t prayed for once since Landon had come home. Not so much that he’d live.
But that he’d have a purpose in doing so.