Robert Barclay - If Wishes Were Horses

T HE NEWS ARRIVED suddenly, its only warning the ringing telephone as it fought to be heard above the happy sounds of Wyatt Blaines birthday party. He would later wish that the tragedy had been preceded by some dark omen, designed to alert him of its coming. But no such warning arrived, so there was nothing to cushion the blow. As Wyatts brother, Morgan, put down the telephone receiver, his face turned ashen.

There has been a car crash, Morgan said. Wyatts wife, Krista, and his son, Danny, were seriously injured. The other driver was drunk, and also badly hurt. In a split second, Wyatts world collapsed. As he turned to look at the many friends who had gathered in his living room, their gaiety melted away.

Today Wyatt was thirty-five years young, one of the partiers had happily announced. But as Wyatt stared blankly at his guests, the terrible news wandered through the room like some dark predator no one wished to acknowledge, for fear that it might touch his or her life, too.

Someone discreetly turned off the music; another caring soul took Wyatt by one arm and guided him toward a chair. Then the phone rang again.

Morgan reluctantly left Wyatts side to answer it. This time, however, its insistent ring attracted dread rather than curiosity.

Suddenly nothing looked familiar to Wyatt. Not one stick of furniture did he recognize. The many photographs that Krista had lovingly taken were foreign to him, as were the strangers who had gathered about him for some reason he could no longer recall. He found himself desperately hoping that Krista and Danny would happily return through the front door, bearing the extra ice cream they had gone to buy on the spur of the moment.

Ice cream, his stunned mind thought. Something as foolish as ice cream

As Wyatt stared dumbly around the living room, everything looked bizarrely wrong. The huge birthday cake laden with candles and the dozens of colorfully wrapped gifts suddenly seemed embarrassing and irreverent. His guests were dressed casually, their colorful party attire at direct odds with the deep shock registering on their faces. The inappropriateness of the scene was startling.

Morgan again placed the telephone receiver onto its cradle then came to sit by Wyatts side. Filled with shock, Wyatts aging father joined them. Morgans wife, Sissy, stood beside Wyatt, her hands quivering and salty tears streaming down her cheeks. Her two young children huddled near her, seeking protection from a calamity beyond their comprehension. Morgan gripped his brothers shaking hands.

Krista and Danny were rushed to Community Memorial, Morgan said softly. They each died on the way. Im so sorry

When finally Wyatt spoke, his voice sounded frail. I have to see them, were the words he uttered. You must take me

But as he tried to rise, the room spun and everything darkened. It was then when he first realized that a private part of him was forever lost.

HER NAME WAS Gabrielle Powers. As she ran down the hospital corridor, her body shook with terror. Her nine-year-old son, Trevor, could barely keep hold of her hand as he tried to keep pace with his desperate mother.

When Gabrielle skidded to a stop before the emergency room reception desk, the nurse saw a terrified look in her eyes. Sadly, in this place such expressions were all too common.

Jason Powers! Gabrielle shouted. I was told that he was in a car crash, and that he was brought here! Where is he?

As precious seconds mounted, the nurse, with agonizing slowness, consulted some sort of chart.

Where is he? Gabrielle literally screamed.

Hes in the ICU, the nurse finally said. His injuries were severe.

Which way is the ICU? Gabrielle demanded.

Are you immediate family? the nurse asked.

Im his wife! Gabrielle shouted. Now where is the ICU?

The nurse pointed down one hallway. Its that way, she said, but

Before the nurse could finish her sentence, Gabrielle and Trevor were gone. Their hearts pounding, they ran down the hall.

It wasnt only for herself that Gabrielle raced, but also for her son. The police had told her that Jasons condition was desperate, and that he might not live to reach the hospital. If Jason were to die, and there was any chance that she and Trevor could say their good-byes before that happened, she must do her best to make it so.

They soon found themselves standing before a pair of glass doors, behind which lay Jason. His face was smashed and bloodied to such an extent that they could barely recognize him. Tubes snaked from his arms and nostrils; a machine monitoring his vital signs displayed numbers and lines that Gabrielle could not comprehend. Irregular beeping noises filtered from the room, their sharp tones supplying a slim lifeline of hope.

But just as Gabrielle was about to force her way inside, the beeping noises became a single, telltale tone. The paddles were used several times; the doctors pumped their hands up and down on Jasons bare chest.

When Gabrielle saw one of the doctors finally stand back from the body and consult the clock on the wall, she knew.

Still not understanding completely, Trevor exploded into tears. Stunned almost beyond comprehension, Gabrielle suddenly felt faint, and she wobbled toward a nearby bench.

When Trevor joined her, she held him in her arms.

Boca Raton, Five Years Later

G ABRIELLE POWERS SAT in her usual place at church, listening as one of the acolytes finished reading the Lords Prayer, and then the Bible passage that would provide the basis for todays sermon. Born in Fort Lauderdale, she had been raised in the Episcopalian faith by her two loving parents. Her father, Everett, was a retired schoolteacher; her mother, Justine, had been a registered nurse.

Gabrielle watched Reverend Jacobson approach the pulpit and adjust the microphone to his liking. A large man with a thick shock of white hair, he was a recent throat cancer survivor. Although he still tired easily, his appearance remained as commanding as his voice had once been.

As you know, I always start my sermons with a humorous anecdote that helps to illustrate the message for the day, he began, his voice rough, not wanting to cooperate.

And so Ill tell you about a retiring minister, Jacobson continued. It seems that a mother decided to take her young son to church for the first time. Hoping to induce reverence in the lad, she chose seats in the front row. Because she hadnt attended church for some time, she didnt know that they had come on an eventful day. This was to be the ministers farewell sermon. He had therefore resolved to make it full of hellfire and brimstone, ensuring that it would never be forgotten. Pausing for a moment, the reverend allowed a dramatic silence to hang in the air.

As the minister ranted, the boy became startled and his mother soon regretted seating them so near the pulpit, Jacobson added. After the service, the reverend saw that the young lad had wandered down one of the church hallways. His hands clasped respectfully before him, the boy was looking at the many portraits hanging on the wall. As the reverend approached, the boy pointed to the portraits then stared up at him with God-fearing eyes.