gently.
“She seemed fine,” Charlie said. He came to my rescue and then walked out of the room.
“She was friendly. And I liked her,” I said. “Can we just pray together for Mr. Terupt? It’s late and I’m tired.”
“Sure, sweetie,” Mom said. I could tell that Grandma didn’t like this one bit, but she went along with it.
In school the next day, Jeffrey asked a lot of questions about our visit. He had asked Luke questions, too.
“How many tubes did they have hooked up to him? What was the name of the stuff they were putting into him? Were they giving him blood? What was his heart rate?”
“Jeffrey, stop,” I said. “We don’t know the answers and your questions are upsetting me.”
“Sorry,” he said.
“You should just go yourself.”
I saw him exchange a look with Jessica. I got the feeling that there was something I didn’t know.
“Sorry,” he said again. Then he walked away.
Dear God
,
It’s Danielle. Things down here are getting harder. I’m doing my best, but it’s not that easy. Thanks for returning Alexia, a brand-new Lexie. I’m very grateful for that, but I’m about to ask for more
.
It’s Mr. Terupt. He really needs you. He looked terrible when I saw him. There are so many of us down here that want him back so badly. He’s the best teacher any of us have ever had, and I just know he’s got lots of good left to do here. Comfort him if he hurts, and please heal him
.
There’s Jeffrey, too. I saw the look he gave Jessica. Something is up with him. Please help him. And I’d like to pray for Jessica and Lexie and Anna—all three of them without dads. That’s just another reason why we need Mr. Terupt back
.
And last of all, I want to pray for me. I’d like to go over to Anna’s house again. Maybe you can help me with that? I’ve also been thinking a lot about who’s to blame for Mr. Terupt’s accident. I thought it was Peter, because he threw the snowball. But after seeing Mr. Terupt, I’m wondering if it was me. I’m the one who suggested going outside, and I helped push Peter down. So I don’t think I’m completely innocent. Please forgive me. Amen
.
LUKE
I didn’t think it would be as difficult going to see Mr. Terupt the second time. I knew what to expect. I was wrong.
Seeing Mr. Terupt in that bed again wasn’t any easier. I thought he would look better. I thought he was improving. But he looked the same. Still just lying there in his bed. Surrounded by the same beeps and tubes and monitors and noises from the hall. It was all just the same.
I felt the lump in my throat growing. Mom’s hand touched my shoulder. She saw it happening, too. I stood at the side of my teacher’s bed in a state of disbelief, feeling helpless.
Then the doctor walked in. At least I figured he was the doctor. He had salt-and-pepper hair, a white coat, and a smart face. He nodded to us and then moved toward Mr.Terupt. He checked some numbers and fluids, pulled back Mr. Terupt’s eyelids to look at his pupils with his penlight, and then started to leave.
“Wait,” I said. “Wait.”
He stopped and turned around.
“Are you Mr. Terupt’s doctor?” I asked.
“Yes. I’m Dr. Wilkins. One of the physicians.”
“Is Mr. Terupt going to get better?”
I saw him take a big breath. He looked at my mother first, then me. “I don’t know, son.”
“What’s wrong with him? He’s in a coma, but what’s wrong with him?”
Dr. Wilkins pulled some chairs over for all of us to sit in. He sat across from me.
“Mr. Terupt did a lot of wrestling while growing up, and even into college,” he started to explain. “It turns out he had to give it up because he suffered multiple concussions along the way. These concussions have weakened his brain in certain regions. The snowball that was thrown hit one of these weaker areas—the
temporal
[dollar word] region, to be exact—and it cracked his skull.” Dr. Wilkins looked very sorry as he said this. I don’t know if he
“She seemed fine,” Charlie said. He came to my rescue and then walked out of the room.
“She was friendly. And I liked her,” I said. “Can we just pray together for Mr. Terupt? It’s late and I’m tired.”
“Sure, sweetie,” Mom said. I could tell that Grandma didn’t like this one bit, but she went along with it.
In school the next day, Jeffrey asked a lot of questions about our visit. He had asked Luke questions, too.
“How many tubes did they have hooked up to him? What was the name of the stuff they were putting into him? Were they giving him blood? What was his heart rate?”
“Jeffrey, stop,” I said. “We don’t know the answers and your questions are upsetting me.”
“Sorry,” he said.
“You should just go yourself.”
I saw him exchange a look with Jessica. I got the feeling that there was something I didn’t know.
“Sorry,” he said again. Then he walked away.
Dear God
,
It’s Danielle. Things down here are getting harder. I’m doing my best, but it’s not that easy. Thanks for returning Alexia, a brand-new Lexie. I’m very grateful for that, but I’m about to ask for more
.
It’s Mr. Terupt. He really needs you. He looked terrible when I saw him. There are so many of us down here that want him back so badly. He’s the best teacher any of us have ever had, and I just know he’s got lots of good left to do here. Comfort him if he hurts, and please heal him
.
There’s Jeffrey, too. I saw the look he gave Jessica. Something is up with him. Please help him. And I’d like to pray for Jessica and Lexie and Anna—all three of them without dads. That’s just another reason why we need Mr. Terupt back
.
And last of all, I want to pray for me. I’d like to go over to Anna’s house again. Maybe you can help me with that? I’ve also been thinking a lot about who’s to blame for Mr. Terupt’s accident. I thought it was Peter, because he threw the snowball. But after seeing Mr. Terupt, I’m wondering if it was me. I’m the one who suggested going outside, and I helped push Peter down. So I don’t think I’m completely innocent. Please forgive me. Amen
.
LUKE
I didn’t think it would be as difficult going to see Mr. Terupt the second time. I knew what to expect. I was wrong.
Seeing Mr. Terupt in that bed again wasn’t any easier. I thought he would look better. I thought he was improving. But he looked the same. Still just lying there in his bed. Surrounded by the same beeps and tubes and monitors and noises from the hall. It was all just the same.
I felt the lump in my throat growing. Mom’s hand touched my shoulder. She saw it happening, too. I stood at the side of my teacher’s bed in a state of disbelief, feeling helpless.
Then the doctor walked in. At least I figured he was the doctor. He had salt-and-pepper hair, a white coat, and a smart face. He nodded to us and then moved toward Mr.Terupt. He checked some numbers and fluids, pulled back Mr. Terupt’s eyelids to look at his pupils with his penlight, and then started to leave.
“Wait,” I said. “Wait.”
He stopped and turned around.
“Are you Mr. Terupt’s doctor?” I asked.
“Yes. I’m Dr. Wilkins. One of the physicians.”
“Is Mr. Terupt going to get better?”
I saw him take a big breath. He looked at my mother first, then me. “I don’t know, son.”
“What’s wrong with him? He’s in a coma, but what’s wrong with him?”
Dr. Wilkins pulled some chairs over for all of us to sit in. He sat across from me.
“Mr. Terupt did a lot of wrestling while growing up, and even into college,” he started to explain. “It turns out he had to give it up because he suffered multiple concussions along the way. These concussions have weakened his brain in certain regions. The snowball that was thrown hit one of these weaker areas—the
temporal
[dollar word] region, to be exact—and it cracked his skull.” Dr. Wilkins looked very sorry as he said this. I don’t know if he
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