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Faith Beyond Fear ∙ Chapter 1 by Tristi Pinkston
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Chapter One October 11th Her mother played the piano like it had done something to offend her. Shannon couldn’t accustom herself to hearing hymns pounded out like an advancing army on the battlefield. Closing the front door softly behind her, she set her leather purse on the hall table and went into the living room where her mother sat solidly on the piano bench. "I’m home, " she said as her mother turned the sheet music over. Gloria Tanner turned and looked at her daughter. "How is your father this afternoon?" "No change from this morning, I’m afraid. Did he look a little gray to you when we were there earlier?" "I hoped it was just the lighting. Yes, he was gray." Gloria stood abruptly, banging down the piano lid. "I’ll pick up a copy of the Wall Street Journal on the way to the hospital. I don’t know why, but he always enjoys it." "You’ll need to read it to him." Shannon sat down on the beige brocade couch, feeling weary. "Why?" Gloria turned sharp eyes on her daughter. "You said there was no change since this morning." "He’s just tired, that’s all," Shannon soothed. "Holding the paper up might be too much for him." Gloria sighed and rubbed her forehead. "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you. We’re all worn out." "That’s okay, Mom. I understand." "Are you hungry? I made a casserole." "I’m not very hungry, but I should probably eat something. Thanks." Gloria paused at the front door with her lightweight coat over her arm. "I’ll call you a few hours after your father has dinner; say, at ten?" "Okay." The old gray Dodge pulled out of the driveway slowly, heading north up the street. Shannon and her mother had driven the route to the hospital so many times over the last six weeks, they felt that if given its head, the car would steer itself right to the same parking spot every time. They had taken turns sitting by the bedside of Glenn Tanner, who was apparently dying from an illness that no one could diagnose or understand, and felt themselves dying right along with him, trapped in an overwhelming cyclone of loss and hopelessness. His illness had begun the previous summer, with a heart attack. His hospital stay at that time was brief, and his primary care physician, Dr. Ryerson, had done everything in his power to make sure that Glenn would fully recover. Shannon and her mother had believed that Glenn would be fine, and his checkup a month after the attack went smoothly. Glenn still felt tired, but optimistically attributed it to the fact that he wasn’t resting enough. He worked as the principal of a local high school and was on summer break, spending much of his vacation trying to build his strength and get enough rest. They had agreed it would be just the thing to cure him, but after three full weeks he felt more tired than ever, and decided to go in for more tests with Dr. Ryerson. Despite numerous office visits and occasional hospitalizations for exhaustion, Glenn declined rapidly, growing more frail and weak. Finally Dr. Ryerson had asked both Shannon and Gloria to come into his office. "It’s the strangest thing," he told them, looking over the medical chart he held in his hands. "I’ve been over it several times, and had my colleagues examine him as well. We simply can’t get to the bottom of your husband’s illness." "Have you called Dr. Lopez? You said you were going to," Gloria had questioned, the strain showing in the tone of her voice. "Yes, I called him. He came down yesterday, along with Dr. Lampert. But even with all their training and years of experience, they were just as stumped as we are." "But aren’t they the best in their field? Aren’t they supposed to be miracle workers?" Dr. Ryerson had removed his glasses, placed them on his desk, and smiled consolingly at Gloria. "There is only one Miracle Worker, Mrs. Tanner. The rest of us just do the best we can." "And so what do we do now?" Shannon asked, holding her mother’s hand. "You aren’t telling us to give up, are you?" "No, I would never tell a patient or his family to quit trying. There is always a measure of hope. I can’t count how many miracles I’ve seen occur in this hospital. I’m just preparing you in case ..." "In case he dies," Gloria finished the sentence flatly. "In case there’s nothing anyone can do, and he dies." "I won’t lie to you, Mrs. Tanner. Every day that passes, your husband grows weaker. Until we can isolate the cause, we have to consider the fact that we may be dealing with something fatal." Shannon had thanked the doctor and driven home from the hospital, listening to the muffled sobs coming from her mother in the passenger seat. Shannon herself had been numb, unable to process the news. "We’re just going to pray for a miracle, Mom," she consoled, forcing herself to sound more cheerful than she felt. "Dr. Ryerson was right. There is just one miracle worker, and we are going to turn to Him and trust Him to take care of Dad for us." "Thank you," Gloria had said, wiping her eyes. "And thank you for moving back home when you did. It’s such a comfort to have you near." It did seem that Shannon had returned home at just the right time. After graduating from the University of Utah several years before, she served a mission for the LDS church in New York. She fell in love with the area, and after completing her mission decided to seek an internship with a financial consulting firm in New York City. She loved her work and apartment in the big city, and quickly rose in the company. But after so many years away from home, she had decided to move back to Utah and open up her own firm in partnership with Fred Sykes, another employee in the New York firm who was ready for a change. Together, they set up a consulting program similar to that taught by Suze Orman, whom they had both admired for her financial savvy. A year later, Shannon had a beautiful apartment in downtown Salt Lake City, a successful business, and a boyfriend, Chad Conway. But then her father fell sick, and she sublet her apartment downtown and moved back to her parents’ home in Bountiful to help out in any way she could. This relieved her mother greatly; Shannon was the only child and Gloria depended on her a great deal. She had never felt confidence in her own abilities and needed Shannon to stabilize and support her. The next few weeks after the meeting with Dr. Ryerson became a long string of fasts and prayers, including not only the extended Tanner family but the entire ward as well. Glenn was a former Bishop and a beloved Primary worker; not a soul in their six-hundred member ward could say that their lives hadn’t been touched in some way by Bishop Tanner. Yet the sickness progressed, and Gloria finally checked him into the hospital overnight, which stretched into six long weeks. "I hate having him here," she would say to Shannon over and over again. "He should be at home, with us. I’m his wife; I should be taking care of him." "But Mom, you’re not a nurse," Shannon would remind her. "Look at all of these tubes and machines. Have you noticed how many times a day he has to have his iv changed, and how many injections he has to have? You couldn’t do this by yourself." "I know," and Gloria would cry, wiping her eyes with a handkerchief as crumpled as her spirits. She would resign herself for a few more days, until, once again, she would turn to Shannon with a loud sigh and tell her how much she wished she could care for Glenn herself. Then, after coming home from her daily hospital vigil, Gloria would sit down at the piano and force her frustrations into the keys, demanding each note give her the retribution she sought. The phone rang at 10:00, just as Gloria had promised, and Shannon took a deep breath as she received the update. Her father had kept his dinner down, but his heartbeat was weaker, and the veins in his arms were showing signs of collapse. The nurse had to look for several minutes to find a vein that would take the pressure of an iv line. "I’ll call if anything changes, otherwise I’ll be home in the morning," Gloria promised, and Shannon hung up the phone silently. I don’t know what to do, she thought, brushing her teeth with the same mechanical up and down stroke she had used since she was five. Mom’s looking to me for strength and comfort, and I don’t have any to give her. Dad was the strong one around here. He took care of things, he made all the problems disappear. And he loved us, so much. She slammed her toothbrush down on the counter. How can this be happening? This can’t be real. My dad can’t be dying. She took a deep breath, determined to calm down, and caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. This face of anger and frustration wasn’t her own; it was like looking at a stranger. Shannon glanced to her right as she came out of the bathroom. A family portrait hung in the hallway, encased in a polished oak frame. Shannon noted, not for the first time, how much she looked like her father. Both of her parents were brunette, but Gloria’s eyes were blue and her face was more round. Shannon’s face was oval, like her father, and she had his chestnut colored eyes and lean build. The phone rang again, and Shannon went to answer it, hoping that it was her boyfriend, Chad, this time. Instead she heard the feminine voice of her life-long best friend, Tate. "There you are," Tate said. "You’ve been really hard to get a hold of lately." "Sorry," Shannon sighed. "My office has been saying the same thing." "How’s your dad?" "I just got a call from Mom. She says the veins in his arms are collapsing." "Oh, Shannon." Tate said nothing more, but Shannon knew that her friend’s sympathies were with her. "Tell me something cheerful," Shannon urged. "Let’s see. You don’t have a single wrinkle," Tate said teasingly. "Ha ha." Shannon forced the laugh. She was older than Tate by three whole months, and Tate would never let her forget it, especially as the ripe old age of thirty now loomed only two years away. "I’ll try again. I got a promotion today." "Really? That’s great," Shannon replied sincerely. "Yep, I’m now the senior associate in charge of advertising for all smaller accounts." "What does that mean exactly?" "It basically means that I still do the same job I did before, with a dollar an hour raise." "Not bad," Shannon remarked. "At least there’s no new training." "Yeah, I can do the job in my sleep, and sometimes I do." "That’s great, it really is." "You said that already," Tate replied. "You’re tired; I can tell by your voice. Listen, I want you to call me, day or night, if you need anything, okay?" Shannon smiled. She and Tate seemed to trade off taking care of each other in hours of need. As Tate often said, that’s what best friends do. "I will, Tate, I promise." "See you later. Try to sleep." "I’ll try, but I can’t guarantee anything." Shannon hung up, holding on to the receiver a moment after replacing it. Sleep. What a concept. She sighed, a long, deep sigh that reached clear down into her heart. Dad, don’t die, please. We need to go camping again; we need to hike and explore, and make a fire. I need to see you sitting on a fallen log with chocolate all over your face from a S’more. And I need to be twelve years old again, when I thought the world was perfect and nothing bad could ever happen to us. *** This site is
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