Free Rejoice by Karen Kingsbury Page B

matted to her head. Brooke brought her knees up so Hayley wouldn’t roll out of her arms back onto the bed. Clutching her tighter than before, Brooke worked her fingers through her daughter’s hair, the way she’d done a hundred times before. “Hayley . . . I’m here. Mommy’s here.”
    And that’s when it happened.
    Suddenly Hayley stopped crying. For the first time since she’d woken up earlier that day, she was neither sleeping nor crying. Brooke’s breath caught in her throat, and in the shock of what was happening she stopped running her fingers through Hayley’s hair. Almost at the same time, Hayley began crying again, wailing that constant, sickly slow cry that sounded not even remotely familiar.
    Brooke drew short, shallow breaths, desperate to find her way back to that place where for the fraction of a moment, Hayley recognized her voice.
    She knew. I know she did, God. Let her remember again, please. . . .
    No audible response came, but the moment she finished praying, she knew the answer. It was Hayley’s hair. The touch of Brooke’s fingers in her hair had pierced the darkness and caused her to remember. Even for just a few seconds.
    Trembling with the possibility, Brooke gathered herself into a straighter sitting position and cradled Hayley closer than before. Once more using her legs to brace Hayley’s body, Brooke worked her fingers slowly and carefully through her daughter’s knotted blonde hair.
    And once again her crying stopped.
    Hayley’s mouth hung open, and her eyes held the vacant stare of someone who couldn’t see. She still turned her head from side to side, but she was connecting. Somewhere deep inside her brain, she was feeling a bond with Brooke.
    A dryness filled Brooke’s throat. Why hadn’t she thought of this before? Brooke had always run her fingers through Hayley’s hair. Whenever the child couldn’t sleep or if she’d had a bad dream, Brooke would sit at the side of her bed and play with her hair until she was sleeping once more.
    She sniffed and found her voice. “That’s right, baby. You always loved this.” Brooke felt a smile lift the corners of her mouth, because for the first time since Hayley’s accident, the panic and fear and nausea were gone. As awkward as it felt sitting on the hospital bed, holding her stiffened daughter, Brooke was doing the only thing that in this new season of life held any meaning whatsoever.
    She was being a mother to Hayley.

    Peter was in bed early that night, but it made no difference. Since Hayley’s accident, sleep wouldn’t come except in useless fits and starts. The rest of his family had settled into a routine by now. Brooke stayed at the hospital night and day, coming home during the day, when he was at work, to change clothes or take a shower. And Maddie stayed with John and Elizabeth.
    The idea seemed odd, and no matter how he tried, Peter couldn’t make peace with it. While Hayley lay in that hospital bed—forever changed, forever damaged—the people who loved her the most had found a way to go on, a way to exist day to day.
    Everyone but him.
    Peter rolled onto his side. The room was dark, and shadows shifted near the window. Peter wasn’t sure, but he couldn’t remember the shadows doing that before Hayley . . .
    The thought hung in the air and Peter swallowed. His heart thudded hard against his chest in a pattern that hadn’t been regular since the moment he’d seen Hayley at the bottom of DeWayne and Aletha’s pool.
    A deep pounding ache tore at his head, permeating his brain, his consciousness. He tried with both thumbs to rub away some of the pain, but after a minute it only felt worse. His hands fell back to the bed and he lay motionless for a moment.
    Everything hurt. His fingers, hands, both arms for that matter. The muscles in his thighs and calves. All of him hurt the way he had once when he contracted a strain of the Asian flu.
    But this time he wasn’t sick—not in a viral sort of