Free When Dreams Cross by Terri Blackstock

beside his head, he gazed down at her, stopping her heart. Starlight glimmered in his eyes, a radiant heat with more power than Andi remembered. She forced herself to meet his gaze directly. “I’d like to give a press party tomorrow night to announce our merger,” she said quickly. “Can you be there?”
    Justin shrugged. “Sure.”
    “Good,” she said, taking a step backward. “It’ll be formal. You’ll have to wear a tux.”
    “That shouldn’t be a problem.”
    Andi glanced toward her car to hide the awkward look she knew was apparent on her face. “Well, then I’ll see you tomorrow night—at seven—if I don’t see you before.”
    “You might,” he said. “We’ll be in and out of the offices all day tomorrow.” When he made no effort to say more, Andi started down the porch steps, but his voice stopped her. “Sure you won’t stay for a while?”
    Andi breathed a silent, frustrated laugh at the possibility and shook her head. “I can’t.”
    “Where do you have to be?” came the next unexpected question.
    Andi dropped her eyes. “The hospital.”
    “Oh.” She wished instantly that she hadn’t said it, for she hated his sympathy. That was not what she wanted from Justin.
    “Well,” she said with an exaggeratedly light sigh, “I guess I’ll be seeing you tomorrow night, then. I’m looking forward to doing business with you, Justin.”
    “So am I,” he said, so quietly that she almost couldn’t hear.
    Wrenching her eyes from his, she started across the lawn.
    “Andi,” he called through the night breeze.
    Andi stopped and turned slowly back to him again, holding her hair back from her face as the wind waged war with it. He didn’t speak for a moment, and she felt like a deer caught in the headlights, unable to move until he unlocked his gaze. “Thanks for bringing the coat over,” he said finally.
    Nodding, Andi got in her car and cranked the engine. Flicking on the headlights that she knew would blind him to her, she let her eyes steal back to him, leaning pensively in the doorway.
    Loneliness gripped her and refused to let go as she drove the distance to the hospital, where the other man she had loved and lost lay in wait.

Chapter Seven
    T he hospital room was still too cold as Andi stepped in, so she went to the closet and found another blanket for her father. Carefully, she laid it over him, tucked it around him, and leaned over to kiss him. “Hi, Daddy. It’s me, Andi.”
    There was no answer, just her father’s blank stare. She sat down in the chair beside his bed and stroked his hair back from his forehead. He had gotten a haircut today, she realized. Her mother must have done it.
    “Daddy, we signed all the papers today. The cartoon characters I told you about, Khaki’s Krewe, are part of Promised Land now. I think they’re going to add so much. I wish you could see one of the cartoons yourself. You’d love them.”
    Her voice fell on deaf ears, for all she knew. Leaning both elbows on the bed, she gazed down at her father, wishing from the bottom of her heart that she could somehow snap him out of this trap he was in. She reached for his hand, laid across his stomach, and squeezed, wishing, praying, that he would squeeze back. If she just had a sign.
    But there was no sign.
    “Are you even in there, Daddy?” she asked helplessly. “If you were, couldn’t you tell me somehow? I really miss you.”
    She waited, hoping for a sign—a squeeze of the hand, a blink, a change in his breathing pattern—but there was none. Finally, she let go of his hand and sat back in her chair. She felt tired … so tired. It was as if she hadn’t slept in days, and something inside her felt empty, weak. Where was the joy Christians were supposed to feel? Where was the hope?
    Her tear-filled eyes found her father’s Bible, where her mother had laid it beside his bed. She had been reading it to him. Since his accident, her mother had read aloud all the way to Habakkuk. She hoped her