The Search by Shelley Shepard Gray

difference.
    â€œDid you get answers?” Hope shone in Abby’s eyes. “Did God talk to you?”
    Deborah considered lying. It would be the kinder thing, surely, to offer Abby some sort of hope in an almost hopeless situation. But she was so tired of lying. And keeping secrets. She just didn’t think she was capable of covering up one more. “Truthfully? No.”
    â€œOh.”
    â€œBut that doesn’t mean He won’t,” she declared. If she’d learned one thing since hearing about Perry’s death—and then discovering what was in his room—it was that sometimes hope was the only thing a person was able to cling to.

Chapter 10
    â€œSome say a fool can’t be trusted. I prefer to say that a fool can’t be trusted twice.”
    A ARON S CHROCK
    F rannie Eicher was bored. She had now been in her beige hospital room for twenty-four hours, and that was twenty-three hours too long. There was truly no reason to still be trapped there. She felt fine now. Almost good.
    Okay, good was stretching things a bit. Her face was bruised and swollen, and there were too many cuts on her face to count. Above all that, her eye ached. She was more tired than she could ever remember being, and her brain felt a little fuzzy.
    But all that aside, she was definitely well enough to be released from her side of the beige, sterile room. After Luke left, the walls seemed to close in on her, making her feel like she was trapped in a closet.
    More than anything, she ached to open a window and have the fresh air fan her face and cool her worries. But the nurse had told her that the windows were not made to be opened.
    As her roommate’s voice grew louder on the phone—truly the woman had more friends and problems than a whole congregation—Frannie gritted her teeth.
    Which is how the doctor found her.
    â€œYou’re looking pretty upset, Frannie,” he said after checking her pulse and reading her chart. “Is the pain worse?”
    â€œ Nee. I just don’t like being here.”
    His worried expression eased. “You’d be surprised how many people tell me that. No one likes being in the hospital.”
    â€œThe windows won’t open and my roommate is chatty. Don’tcha think I could leave now?”
    Dr. Carlson looked up from the notes he was taking. “You’re really chomping at the bit. Are you sure you feel ready to be on your way?”
    Hope filled her tone. “Oh, yes. My eye will soon be better, right?”
    â€œIt’s healing, and the pain should lessen every day.” He looked at her chart again. “I see here that you’re only taking Ibuprofen now. That seems to be taking care of the pain?”
    â€œJah.” She’d take the dull pain that remained over the feeling of being trapped.
    He glanced at her chart again. “The stitches can come out in a week. You can come back for that, or perhaps you have someone who could remove them for you?”
    â€œYes. We have a local midwife who’s had some medical training. She’s given children stitches. Perhaps she could take them out, too?”
    â€œMost likely.”
    All that news sounded hopeful. “So you will let me leave? Soon?” She was proud of herself for not saying immediately .
    His lips twitched. “I didn’t say that.”
    â€œWhat are you saying?” She felt crestfallen. “What are you waiting for?”
    To her irritation, his half-smile turned into a broad grin. “You are an impatient patient, aren’t you?” he asked, making a little joke. “Frannie, before I sign your release form, I’d like to know what you’re planning to do when you get home.”
    The question caught her off guard. “What I’m planning to do?”
    â€œYes.” He looked at her steadily. “I want to know what you intend to do for the next few days.”
    It sounded like a trick question, but she