Read Mine Here: As Long As It Takes
Weekend Writing Prompt #144- Through the Psalms
Evening, and morning, and at noon will I pray, and cry aloud; and he shall hear my voice.
--Psalm 55:17
https://pwecommunity.com/post/wwp144
As Long As It Takes
Geraldine Malone, otherwise known as Dinny, returned the phone to its cradle. The sound bounced around the kitchen and amplified the emptiness of living alone. Her daughter, Loretta, had sounded overwhelmed on the call. Dinny thought she might pack a bag tonight and make the drive to Longview tomorrow to offer assistance.
It didn’t take long to load the few pieces of clothing into the washer. Gone were the days of muddy jeans and Sunday shirts with mashed peppermint in the pockets. Now it took a couple of weeks to accumulate a full load. A long wool skirt, two shirts, the half slip, a pair of thick wool socks, underthings, and hose. She dropped in detergent and turned the dial. The gentle sloshing and rumble of the agitator filled the air like a lullaby for her nerves.
She closed the lid and stood still.
Her shoes whispered across the kitchen linoleum as she crossed to the hall closet. She pulled out the old dust mop and ran it across the floor—not a speck of dirt, but the motion comforted her. The house hadn’t been truly dirty since JW passed.
She made her way to the living room. The couch throw was already folded, but she shook it out anyway and laid it back just so. Her eyes skimmed the fireplace, the photo frames, the old Sears catalog from last winter.
Nothing. There was nothing left to tend to.
Dinny didn’t like when everything inside her rattled. Tonight was one of those nights.
She stood alone in the kitchen, blinking at the hum of the fluorescent light. It flickered faintly at the edges like it couldn’t make up its mind. The house, like the light, was uncertain—too quiet, too clean, too still.
It had been a rough few years, Dinny reflected. The whole family had been shaken to its core more than once. Even with JW in the service and stationed overseas during the war, Dinny had managed to have John Robert and care for him without the fear and dread that assailed Loretta. It was ironic, Dinny thought now, that the fear of losing your child or your family was so very persistent in the United States of America during a time of peace. Maybe because during the war, everyone faced the same possibility of loss and instinct for survival together. Now, it was as though the Malone family had been singled out for some sort of retribution.
Dinny harrumphed at the ridiculous notion and picked up a dish towel to wipe the pristine counter one more time. As her hands closed on the terry cloth, a bright light seemed to consume her visual field. The sound of a blaring horn filled her ears. Hands clasped tightly on the towel, Dinny fell to her knees and lifted her voice to heaven. She felt like she was in a dark tunnel with a train bearing down on her. Fear pricked the back of her neck. She prayed as loud and as hard as she had ever prayed. She didn't know what was happening, but the urgency was palpable. The light drew closer, the sound grew loud enough to shake her bones. And then the sound of a collision came. Dinny jerked her arms as though the towel in her hands were a steering wheel. The blare faded away into crunching metal and shattering glass. Everything felt askew, as though she were upside down. The air turned hot. The smell of gasoline filled her nose, sharp and raw. Her breath caught in her throat. Panic rose in her chest.
Then—faint, broken, unmistakable.
It was not a generic wail, not imagination. It was pain. It was fear. And it was real.
Dinny opened her eyes, but the light lingered, haloed with red and gold.
Slowly, her vision began to clear and she could see the linoleum beneath her knees. The beautiful autumn gold detail on each mock tile had once reflected the morning sunlight, but it had long since turned khaki or tan. Now it didn't gleam at all, even on the sunniest day. Her kitchen took form again. The dark wood cabinets with brass pulls. The sunflower wallpaper. Tears blurred the visage and wet her entire face. She felt the darkness gathering beyond the straw gold café curtains rather than saw it. She reached up to the Formica countertop. Her arms were sore, as though she had received double flu shots. She still clutched the kitchen towel. She used the towel to wipe her face and lowered herself all the way to the floor, folding her legs beneath her skirt. She felt shaky and afraid.
Time was nonexistent. She was disoriented by the sensation that the whole incident had felt real. It didn't feel like a vision or a dream. She felt like she had been driving her car. She felt like it had hit a train and rolled her over. A shiver ran through her. Maybe she shouldn't go to Longview tomorrow. Maybe God was warning her to stay home.
Dinny began to cry again. She prayed again. Sorrow gripped her heart. The small sound of crying tore at her conscience and she couldn't help but think of Caroline and Little Robby.
Dinny's son, John Robert, had lost his wife and young son in a tragic car accident almost a decade ago. Caroline had been riding with her sister and niece that day. She was on the passenger side and Little Robby was strapped in behind her. They were traveling alongside a tractor-trailer hauling a backhoe, when the backhoe hit the overpass and toppled onto her sister's car, crushing the entire passenger side.
Dinny supposed the assurance of instant death extended by the coroner was to be of some comfort. Caroline and Robby didn't suffer. Caroline was probably not even aware of the danger in time to process the thought. But it wasn't a consolation at all when she thought of her son moving through the motions of life like a robot without living a single moment since the wreck. Dinny had pleaded with him to go to church. "Just go back to church. God will lead you from there." She had told him so many times. His reply was always the same "Thanks, Mom" he said for every other conversation they had. In his flat, lifeless, monotone voice. She couldn't stand it.
Dinny reached again for the countertop to steady her knees as she rose to her feet. She was still crying, she realized. She wiped her face again and lifted one hand heavenward. Again, she prayed. Fervent. Desperate. Urgent. Until the tears became sobs.
Dinny allowed the sobs to spend themselves, then she made her way to the study. JW's study. Her tender heart beat painfully hard against her chest wall. It had been a year since the cancer came out the victor and heaven gained the second most wonderful man to ever walk the earth. Dinny missed her husband more than she ever realized someone could be missed. Every thought, every memory, every single breath seemed to break a new piece of her heart away. As she sat in the rocking chair in her late husband's study, she was grateful God had given her the strength to retain the daily habits she shared with her husband. Habits like praying in this chair and going to church. The things she prayed daily that her son would find the strength to return to.
The wind whistled against the frosted window as Dinny sank into the chair, letting herself unfold against the wooden slats. Through the tears, she noticed the open envelope on her husband's desk. She needed to respond to that, but she wasn't sure how. JR's marriage to Georgia was still brand new. Dinny had only met his stepchildren twice, and that was three months ago. They were sweet kids. They had already lived through a world of hurt and loss.
Dinny twisted her hands together, knotting her fingers until they ached with rawness. She let the tears flow and the sobs soon followed. She prayed. She cried. She grieved for what was lost. A grandson. A daughter-in-law. An easy relationship with her son. A husband. The love of her life. She wanted to be thankful. She wanted to praise God for giving JR a second chance at love and a family. But sorrow pressed into her, sticking to the broken places like sludge.
Dinny squeezed her eyes shut tightly. She shook her head against the onslaught of dread that threatened to consume her. She held a fierce grip on the arms of the chair and rocked with the fervency of her desperate prayers.
"Please, God, don't let it be." She prayed through the tears, rocking back and forth. Darkness lurked in the periphery of her mind. A dense, cold, empty darkness. A void of nothingness that wanted to consume her, but she couldn't let it. She fought back, hands still clutching the arms of the chair, legs still pumping back and forth, and focused on the letters penned by her new grandchildren. "Grandchildren, Lord, thank you for my new grandchildren. Let me be a light to them in this dark and fallen world.”
Its shrill cry pierced the air, jolting Dinny like a slap to the face. She stared at the receiver on the wall, her breath trapped in her chest.
She reached it on the third ring, her fingers cold and shaking. The curly cord tangled around her arm as she lifted the handset.
“Malone residence.” Her voice was gravel, her throat raw from prayer and weeping.
“Geraldine Malone? Of Riverside, Oklahoma?”
The voice on the other end was male—measured, emotionless, professional. Like someone trained to deliver bad news without flinching.
Every hair on Dinny’s arm stood up.
"Yes, this is she." She cleared her throat. "How can I help you?" Dinny's voice came out more in control than she felt.
He cleared his throat. "Mrs. Malone, I am Officer Ratcliff of the Odessa Police Department. I've been assisting with an MVA on West--"
Odessa was next to Midland. Wanda was in Midland! "My sister, Wanda . . ." Dinny couldn't finish. Images assaulted her mind. A dark tunnel. A light. A train? The small sobs of a child.
When Dinny didn't continue, the officer spoke again. "Mr. and Mrs. Tucker have been involved in a very serious car accident."
"Are they okay?" She didn’t mean to shout.
"A young boy was with them. He's been taken to Lubbock Regional Medical Center. We need a responsible party to meet him there. His injuries are critical."
"Are they dead?" The sorrow Dinny had been battling all evening solidified inside her and she knew the answer.
"I'm afraid so. Can you meet the child?"
Dinny drew a deep breath. "Yes. In Lubbock?"
"Yes ma'am. At Lubbock Regional Medical Center. They have a burn unit on the seventh floor. Let me get you the address."
Dinny distinctly remembered smelling gasoline and feeling heat earlier when she had the vision or episode that precipitated the last few hours of prayer. Tears slid down her face and splashed onto the desk as she scribbled the address and phone number on a piece of paper. She had spent the evening worrying over nonsense and wallowing in the painful moments of yesterday while her sister had slipped into eternity. "Please, God, please. Not the baby. I beg you, spare his life."
The Plymouth’s tires hummed against the asphalt as the darkness rolled past the windows, mile by mile.
Dinny kept both hands on the steering wheel, her knuckles white, her eyes fixed on the road. It was still pitch black outside—no hint of dawn on the horizon. Her headlights cut through the dark in a long, narrow tunnel of light, like her vision had earlier.
The heater clicked and rattled as it pushed lukewarm air toward her feet. She didn’t notice the chill. Her mind was too full. Her heart too loud.
She didn’t remember locking the front door. She wasn’t sure if she had grabbed her overnight bag. None of that mattered now. There had been no time to think—only to move.
She spoke aloud in the silence.
“Lord, I don’t know what I’m walking into.”
The only answer was the whisper of tires on pavement and the faint creak of the car’s old suspension.
She blinked hard. She’d been crying on and off since Riverside. The tears came in waves—unbidden, unstoppable.
Her mind refused to hold the thought too long. It slipped away like smoke every time she tried to grasp it.
Instead, she thought of Travis.
Seven years old. A boy who still had gaps between his teeth and sticky fingers and dreams that hadn’t yet been shaped by the world. A boy who should’ve been in bed, curled beneath a blanket with a stuffed bear or a favorite toy. Not alone in a hospital, burned and broken.
“Jesus, help him,” she whispered. “Help me.”
Her foot eased off the gas slightly as the weight in her chest grew heavier.
She had prayed for Wanda every single day. From the moment Paul started pulling away, when the church attendance grew spotty, when friends and family noticed the bruises. Through the sudden decision to move to Midland, Texas— hours away from everyone they knew and loved. She had prayed through Wanda’s denials and her silences. Through her defeated admission that she suspected her husband was using drugs. And finally, through the secret phone calls that ended abruptly when Paul came home angry.
She had begged the Lord to remove Wanda from that situation.
“God, I didn’t mean for you to take her. I meant—I meant get her out. I meant deliver her. Not call her home.”
The tears came again, this time a flood. She reached blindly for the tissue from her coat pocket and wiped her face.
“I’m not mad, Lord,” she whispered, ashamed of the anger beneath her grief. “I know you’re good. I know you’re sovereign. I just—I’m hurting. I’m hurting so bad.”
The road narrowed. The dashboard glowed dimly. She watched the numbers tick past—sixty-five, sixty, fifty-five. She slowed and merged onto another highway, following the signs to Lubbock.
She began to pray again, this time quieter. Not asking for answers, not pleading anymore. Just praying. A string of whispered names and scriptures and songs, repeated softly like a lifeline.
She sang the old chorus she and JW used to sing before bedtime. Her voice trembled. But she sang it anyway. It was true. There was something about the name of Jesus that made everything more bearable.
As the miles rolled on and the night began to fade, Dinny pressed forward into the unknown.
She didn’t know what she’d face in Lubbock.
But she knew who was with her.
The hospital rose from the dark like a steel skeleton, humming with unseen life. Dinny parked near the emergency entrance, clutching her purse with one hand and a trembling paper in the other—the address the officer had given her.
Inside, the fluorescent lights were too bright. Everything smelled like antiseptic and sorrow. A young woman at the front desk directed her to the elevators, her voice quiet and kind. Dinny pressed the button for the seventh floor and tried to breathe.
Each ding of the ascending elevator made her flinch.
By the time the doors opened, her legs felt like jelly. But she forced herself forward. Down the hall. Toward the nurse’s station. Toward the ache waiting for her.
A woman in scrubs stood behind the curved counter, flipping through charts. She looked up and met Dinny’s eyes.
“I’m Nurse Kathy. Travis is still in surgery, but I’ll take you to the waiting area and walk you through what we know.”
Dinny followed the nurse past curtained rooms and hushed voices. The burn unit was quiet, but not peaceful—more like a sanctuary of suffering. Machines beeped gently behind closed doors. The hallway smelled of iodine, bandages, and a faint trace of smoke.
Kathy gestured to a vinyl chair near a window.
The nurse lowered herself into the chair beside her, clipboard in hand. Her tone was professional, but her eyes were warm.
“The child was unconscious at the scene. He had a skull fracture—bleeding on the brain. They’re placing a shunt now to drain the fluid and relieve pressure. That’s priority one.” She glanced at the chart again. “He also has burns—third degree—across his neck, upper back, shoulder, and part of his left ear.”
Dinny closed her eyes. “Jesus…”
“The car caught fire on impact. From what we understand, there was a blanket or quilt over him in the back seat. It caught fire, but somehow he kicked it off.” Her voice softened. “It could have been much worse.”
Dinny opened her eyes, glistening with tears. “I think I prayed it off of him.”
The nurse stared at her for a long moment, then nodded slowly. “That’s not something we’re trained to say, but…” she looked down. “I believe you.”
A knock at the doorframe interrupted them. A young man stepped in—slender build, clean-shaven, wearing an officer’s uniform. His cap was in his hand, eyes heavy with fatigue.
“Mrs. Malone? I’m Officer Ratcliff. I spoke with you earlier.”
Dinny stood to greet him. “Thank you for calling me.”
He nodded. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
She swallowed hard and nodded. “Did you… were you at the scene?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Your sister—she was driving. It was a head-on collision with a semi. Based on statements from the truck driver… well, it’s under investigation.” He hesitated. “We think her husband grabbed the wheel. But it’s not confirmed.”
Dinny clutched her purse tighter.
The nurse gently touched her arm. “Travis is in recovery now. They’ll call us when he’s ready to be moved. You’re welcome to wait here.”
“I’d like to see him as soon as I can.”
They left her alone in the chair by the window.
Dinny folded her hands in her lap and stared through the glass at the gray suggestion of dawn pressing against the horizon. She felt suspended—between grief and hope, between death and survival.
She had prayed. God had heard. But she didn’t yet know what the answer would be.
When they wheeled Travis past her, swaddled in bandages, tubes trailing from his small body, Dinny followed.
She stepped into the sterile hospital room with shaking legs.
Her purse slipped to the floor.
She pulled up a chair beside his bed, but didn’t sit down.
Dinny stood beside Travis’s hospital bed for what felt like hours. His body—so small, so still—lay swaddled in gauze and tubing. Machines blinked and beeped, rhythms she didn’t recognize but had already begun to memorize.
She had prayed. Softly at first. Then with sobs. Then in silence, lips moving, hands holding a tight grip on the bed rail.
If she sat, it might mean she was giving up.
She whispered every name of God she knew. She quoted scriptures, half-mumbled and out of order. She begged for angels. For mercy. For strength. For healing.
But her knees were shaking now.
Her vision blurred—not just from tears. The floor tilted beneath her. She reached for the back of the chair.
The light in the room dimmed. Or maybe her eyes just couldn’t hold it anymore.
And then the world began to fall away.
She heard someone call her name. Or maybe not. She wasn’t sure. The last thing she remembered was the scratch of upholstery beneath her hand and the weight of something hot pressing down on her chest.
A sharp light pierced through Dinny’s eyelids.
“Mrs. Malone?” a voice said. A man’s voice—calm, clinical.
She opened her eyes slowly. She was on a gurney. Her skirt was rumpled, her shoes missing. A mask covered her nose and mouth. A nurse hovered above her, holding a clipboard.
“I’m here…” Dinny whispered. “What happened?”
“You collapsed upstairs. They brought you down to evaluate for cardiac symptoms,” the nurse explained gently.
“I need to be with Travis,” Dinny murmured, trying to sit up.
“Easy now.” Another hand touched her shoulder—kind but firm. “Let’s make sure your heart’s okay first.”
“My heart is just… heavy,” Dinny said. “That’s all it is.”
A man in a white coat entered. “Mrs. Malone—Dinny, is it?” He flipped through papers. “I’m Dr. Wren. We ran a full workup. No signs of a heart attack, no arrhythmia, no blood clot. I believe what you had was a stress-induced syncopal episode. Your body shut down under the pressure.”
Dinny pressed a trembling hand to her chest.
“You fainted. You weren’t breathing properly. Your oxygen levels dropped. You need rest, hydration, and observation.”
The doctor studied her a moment. He lowered his voice and knelt slightly to meet her eyes.
“You’ll get back to him. But let us be sure you’re not carrying any viral infection. If he survives the next 72 hours, he’ll still be extremely vulnerable. We can’t afford to bring anything into his room that doesn’t belong.”
Dinny nodded, understanding at last.
The nurse stepped forward with a swab.
“Just a quick test—nose, then throat,” she said.
Dinny grimaced playfully. “Glad it’s in that order.”
The nurse chuckled, tension easing from her shoulders.
As the test was completed, the nurse helped Dinny sit upright. They would watch her for a little while longer. Then, if all was clear, she could return to the 7th floor.
Dinny folded her hands in her lap and closed her eyes.
“Jesus,” she whispered, “if you’ve brought me this far, don’t let me faint on the battlefield. Let me be strong enough to stand beside that boy.”
The click of the wheelchair brakes echoed softly against the floor tiles outside Room 713.
Nurse Jane stepped around and opened the door. “Let me go in first and make sure he’s settled.”
Dinny sat quietly, her hands resting atop her purse, fingers already interlaced in prayer.
A moment later, the nurse returned, holding the door wide. “You can come in now.”
Dinny rose without hesitation.
The hospital room was small, dimly lit. The walls were painted a soft blue-gray. Machines lined one side of the bed, wires and tubes humming and blinking with quiet precision. Travis lay unconscious, surrounded by the fragile scaffolding of modern medicine.
His head was partially wrapped. Gauze covered one side of his face and shoulder. His little body was so still beneath the crisp white sheet. A ventilator clicked softly with each breath it gave him.
She approached the bed, bent low, and brushed her fingers gently against his uninjured hand.
“I’m here, baby,” she whispered. “I’m right here.”
She took the chair and pulled it close to the bedside. Her knees cracked slightly as she sat, but she barely noticed. Her purse slipped to the floor. Her Bible, dog-eared and underlined, rested inside. But she didn’t reach for it yet.
Her voice was low and steady, her cadence slow and sacred.
“Jesus. Thank you for sparing his life. Thank you for letting me be here. I don’t understand why it had to happen this way. But you are still good. You are still God. And I believe you hear me.”
The machines whispered. Dinny continued.
“I won’t leave him, Lord. Not for a minute. I’ll pray over him in the morning. I’ll pray at noontime. I’ll pray when the sun goes down and the stars come out. I’ll pray until you answer; I know you will.”
Her hand trembled slightly, but she lifted it in worship.
“Because your word is true. You said in Psalm 55:17, ‘Evening, and morning, and at noon, will I pray, and cry aloud: and He shall hear my voice.’”
Her voice broke—but only for a moment.
“I am crying aloud, Lord. Hear my voice.”
She laid her hand softly on Travis’s shoulder, careful not to disturb any bandages.
“You brought me here for a reason. Let me be who he needs. Let me fight for him. Let me carry him to you in prayer until he can carry himself.”
She looked up at the ceiling, then closed her eyes.
Not a desperate plea this time, but a steady vigil.
The knock was soft but insistent.
Dinny looked up from her prayer and wiped her eyes. The room was dim—the lights kept low for Travis’s comfort—but she could see her daughter’s silhouette in the doorway.
Dinny stood slowly. “Loretta.”
They embraced quietly. No sobbing, no collapse—just arms around each other, holding on like two women who had buried too much and survived anyway.
Loretta pulled back and cupped her mother’s face. “You look tired.”
“I am,” Dinny said honestly. “But I’m here.”
Loretta looked over at the bed. Her eyes filled as she took in the sight of her cousin—still, silent, swaddled in medical tubing. “Oh, poor baby,” she whispered. “Poor sweet baby.”
She walked to his bedside and took his small, bandaged hand. “I can’t believe Aunt Wanda’s gone. I keep thinking it’s a mistake. That I’ll wake up and everything will be okay.”
Dinny sat down again, her fingers interlaced in her lap. “She was the baby,” Dinny said softly, tears falling freely.
Loretta smiled. “She felt more like my cousin than my aunt.”
“Because you two were nearly the same age.”
“She was the fun one. Always laughing. Even when she was tired or scared, she’d find some silly way to lighten the mood. I loved spending summers in Crossland Hills with her and Granny.”
Dinny nodded slowly. “And she was so stubborn. Always had to do things her way.”
Loretta smiled through her tears. “Just like someone else I know.”
Dinny smirked faintly but didn’t argue.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, the machines gently clicking and beeping, a lullaby of survival.
“I wanted to come sooner,” Loretta said eventually. “But the boys needed me. And Steve’s been swamped. I can only stay tonight. Maybe tomorrow morning.”
“I just… I wish I could do more.”
“You came,” Dinny said, reaching over to pat her daughter’s knee. “That’s doing more than you know.”
Loretta glanced around the room. “Have you been here the whole time?”
Dinny nodded. “I leave only when they make me. Eat when I have to. Rest when I can.”
“You’ve always been strong,” Loretta said. “I don’t know how you do it.”
“I’m not strong,” Dinny said, voice low. “But I know who is.”
Loretta reached into her purse and pulled out a little notebook. “I’ve been writing down scriptures to pray over him. Would you… would you want to do one together?”
Dinny’s eyes welled again. “I’d love that.”
Loretta opened the notebook and flipped a few pages.
“This one stood out to me last night. Isaiah 41:10. ‘Fear thou not; for I am with thee: be not dismayed; for I am thy God…’” Her voice quivered, but she kept reading. ‘I will strengthen thee; yea, I will help thee; yea, I will uphold thee with the right hand of my righteousness.’”
Together, mother and daughter bowed their heads and prayed.
When they finished, Loretta rested her head on her mother’s shoulder for a moment. “You’re staying for the long haul, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” Dinny said. “However long it takes.”
Loretta nodded slowly, then stood. “I’ll go find a cot or chair for the night.”
Dinny smiled gently. “You can have this chair. I’ll sit with Jesus awhile.”
Loretta smiled back, and for a moment, the grief lifted.
Dinny cradled the receiver between her cheek and shoulder, her fingers tightening around the spiraled cord. The hospital payphone was just down the hall from Travis’s room—close enough to see the nurses coming and going, but far enough away to steal a few private moments.
She hated to call her brother at work, but when she spoke to him last night she sensed he wasn’t able to be candid about Pearl’s response to the chemo.”
The phone rang twice before a familiar voice answered.
Dinny exhaled at the sound. “Henry.”
“Dinny? I’m glad you called,” he said. “How’s the boy?”
Dinny hesitated. “Still critical. He’s on the ventilator. They’re keeping him in a coma until his brain pressure stabilizes. But the doctor said if he makes it through tomorrow, his chances improve.”
There was a long pause. Dinny could almost hear Henry’s jaw tighten.
“I wish I could come help you, Dinny. You sound tired.”
“I’ll be fine. How is Pearl? I mean, really, how is she?”
“She said the chemo was worse than the cancer and she regrets agreeing to it.”
Dinny gasped. “She can’t give up.”
“I won’t let her give up. The girls can be a handful at times. They fight over the most ridiculous and unimportant things while the rest of us are juggling the end of the world.”
Dinny chuckled. “And Brandon?”
“Pearl calls him to her frequently. She pulls him up in her lap and just holds him, sobbing. He doesn’t know.” Henry cleared his throat. “He doesn’t understand what’s going on, but he sits in Pearl’s lap and lets her hold him as long as she wants to.”
Dinny raked her sleeve across her face, mopping up the tears. Oh, how she wished she could pull Travis into her lap and hold him. She took a breath. “How are things with the funeral?” She hated to ask.
“Hard,” he admitted. “I met with the pastor and the cemetery board. We’re putting them in the family plot. It’s all arranged. I went out to clean up around the gravesite yesterday.” His voice caught.
Dinny gripped the phone tighter. “I’m sorry you’re carrying so much.”
“We all are,” he said. “But you’re the one carrying it from the front lines. The rest of us are backing you in prayer.”
Then Henry said quietly, “I miss her too. Wanda.”
“I know,” Dinny said. “I still can’t believe she’s gone.”
“She’d be proud of you, you know.”
“You’re doing what she couldn’t. You’re covering her child in prayer. That’s legacy, Dinny. That’s love.”
A tear slipped down Dinny’s cheek.
“Call me again tomorrow if you can,” she said. “And… keep praying.”
“I won’t stop,” Henry said. “Not until that boy walks out of that hospital.”
They said goodbye. Dinny hung up the receiver with trembling hands.
She stood for a moment, staring at the phone, then turned and walked back down the hall.
The hospital chapel was small, sterile, and mostly empty. Pale wooden pews lined the space. A stained glass panel of a shepherd with his flock filtered soft light through the room. In the far corner stood an artificial plant that hadn’t been dusted in years.Dinny sat in the second row, alone.
Her hands were folded in her lap. A crumpled tissue peeked out from beneath her Bible. Her purse sat on the floor by her feet, untouched.
The funeral in Crossland Hills was beginning right about now. Henry would be there, dressed in his best Sunday suit. Pearl, if strong enough, might have brought a casserole for the family lunch afterward.
Wanda had been her baby sister. The girl she’d prayed over as an infant, braided hair for as a teenager, pleaded with through tears as a grown woman. She should have been at the service. Should have stood beside the casket. Should have said goodbye.
But she couldn’t leave Travis.
Not while he hovered between here and eternity.
A nurse had offered to sit with him. Loretta had offered to drive Dinny back and forth in a single day. Even Margaret from church had called the hospital to say, “God would understand if you went”
The boy needed someone to stand watch in the Spirit. To speak the name of Jesus in his room. To keep the oil burning when hope flickered low.
So she sat in the chapel instead.
Dinny opened her Bible to the bookmarked page. She didn’t read it aloud. She just looked down and mouthed the words to Psalm 55:17. Evening, and morning, and at noon, will I pray, and cry aloud: and he shall hear my voice. And that is what she intended to do until God answered.
There was no echo in the room—just stillness. Sacred and suffocating all at once.
“I don’t understand why it had to be this way,” she whispered. “I begged you to help her. I begged you to bring her out of it. But I didn’t ask you to take her.”
Tears slipped down her cheeks.
“I wanted her free. But I wanted her alive.”
“But I thank you anyway, Lord. Because you’re still good. And you still hear me. And you still love that boy.”
“And I will sit by his bedside as long as it takes. Because prayer is what I have. And You are Who I trust.”
But Dinny knew heaven had heard.
Dinny stood by the window, watching the sky turn lavender. The sun was rising slow, like it didn’t want to face another day of sorrow either.
A soft knock at the door broke the stillness. She turned to see Nurse Jane entering with a clipboard.
Jane’s voice was soft but steady, practiced from years of speaking gentle truths. “I thought you’d want to know—they ran another scan early this morning. His brain pressure has stabilized.”
Dinny’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, thank you, Jesus.”
Jane smiled. “Still a long road ahead, but this is the first real sign we’ve had that he might come through it.”
Dinny looked over at Travis. His little chest rose and fell with the ventilator’s rhythm. He didn’t stir, didn’t move. But the machines blinked with a little less urgency now.
“When will they wake him up?” she asked.
Jane paused. “Not yet. We need a few more days of consistent stability. But the team’s encouraged. That’s new.”
Dinny nodded slowly, grateful.
Dr. Wren entered just behind the nurse. His coat was wrinkled and his tie loosened, but his eyes were kind. “Mrs. Malone, you’ve been here every day. Every hour. I hope you’re resting.”
“I’m praying,” she said, simply.
“Then keep doing what you’re doing,” he said. “Because I have no medical explanation for how that boy’s vitals turned around last night. His oxygen levels jumped. His brain swelling went down. The burns are still serious—but we can manage those. It’s his brain we’ve been worried about.”
Dinny looked back at Travis. “You weren’t the only ones worried.”
Dr. Wren gave her a nod. “Whatever you’re doing… don’t stop.”
The hospital room was quiet again.
The machines kept their rhythm. The monitor blinked green and gold. The IV pump clicked every few seconds.
Dinny had been so thankful when Travis’ brain pressure went down. It had felt like such a miracle. But these three days had been the same as the first. There was no visual indication as far as Dinny could see that Travis had made any progress at all. What if the doctor and nurses just told her that to try to be helpful and give her something to cling to? If his brain pressure went down, why didn’t he wake up? Why didn’t the ventilator come off? Why did everything still feel the same?
Dinny sat in the chair by Travis’s bedside with her Bible open on her lap. Her hand rested lightly on his. She wanted to whisper scriptures to him and pour the word of God into him like a fount. But instead, her arms and her heart felt heavy and weighted.
The phone at the nurse’s desk rang.
A moment later, Nurse Jane peeked into the room. “Miss Dinny? There’s a call for you. She said her name is Margaret Johnson, from Riverside.”
Dinny smiled faintly and rose to her feet. “Thank you, dear.”
She stepped into the hallway, picked up the receiver, and pressed it to her ear.
“Dinny, honey,” Margaret’s voice came warm and full of concern. “I’ve been thinking about you all day. The Lord won’t let me be.”
Dinny’s throat tightened. “Thank you for calling. I needed this.”
Margaret didn’t hesitate. “We’ve been praying. Me, Sister Bernice, and even little Eloise from the youth group. She said, ‘I want to pray for the boy with the bandages.’”
Dinny chuckled softly. “Oh, bless her heart.”
“I’m… tired,” Dinny admitted. “But the doctor said his brain pressure has stabilized.”
A long pause came on the line. Then Margaret began to weep.
“Oh, thank you, Jesus. We’ve been praying, Dinny. I knew God was shifting something. I thought a miracle happened. I was so sure. But no call came, and then last night and all day I simply could not get you out of my mind.”
Dinny leaned against the wall, the phone cord twisting between her fingers. She thought of Moses on the hill above the battle, weak and weary, until Aaron and Hur stepped up to help him hold his arms in the air. Dinny realized the Lord had sent others to help her stand in the gap with her arms outstretched even when she felt alone. “I miss Wanda,” she whispered.
“I know, sweetheart,” Margaret said, voice trembling.
Dinny’s breath caught. She glanced down the hall and lowered her voice. “They’re investigating the accident.” Tears spilled. “They said.” She pressed her eyes closed and shook her head as a sob escaped. She hadn’t told anyone. Not even Henry. It was the detail she had shoved away and refused to acknowledge until now. “They think Paul grabbed the wheel and turned it into the semi.”
Margaret’s tone shifted. Steady. Powerful.
“I want to pray with you, right now.”
Margaret didn’t ask what Dinny needed. She already knew.
Her voice came strong, full of anointing.
“Jesus, we thank you for what you’ve done already. We thank you that Travis is still breathing, still fighting. We know, God, that all things work together for good. We know you can make beauty even in the ashes. And Lord, we ask you to finish what you’ve started. Heal this child and give him life again.”
Dinny closed her eyes, heart beating fast.
“We bind every lie of the enemy. We take authority over fear, over despair, over doubt. We speak life over Travis Tucker. We speak healing over his mind, his body, his spirit.”
The words rolled through her like thunder now. Reviving lost hope. Renewing her resolve.
“You are the resurrection and the life, Lord! You are the balm in Gilead. You are the one who binds up the brokenhearted, who raises the dead, who calls the dry bones to live!”
Dinny’s lips began to move too—soft, urgent: Yes, Lord. Yes, Lord. Do it, Jesus. Dinny felt something lift in the space around her, even through the phone. It was like a wind had passed through the hallway, brushing her spirit with holy fire.
“And Lord… let this be the turning point.”
“Amen,” Dinny whispered, her voice full and trembling. “Amen.”
Margaret sniffled on the other end. “I love you, Dinny.”
Dinny returned to Room 713 with tears streaming down her cheeks. She laid her hand on Travis’s blanket and whispered one more prayer for the night.
“Let it be, Lord. Let it be the turning point.”
Two weeks had passed. It felt like years.
The day had begun like the others.
Dinny was up before sunrise. She had prayed by the window while the sky turned soft and gray. She had read her Bible aloud, laid hands on Travis’s blanket, and whispered Psalm 91 over his still form.
The nurse that morning had even smiled. “He’s holding steady,” she said. “We’re all breathing easier.”
But by late afternoon, something shifted.
It started with the pulse oximeter—a tiny red light blinking a little too fast. Then the ventilator beeped once, sharply. The nurse, Jane, came in and checked the monitor. Then she checked it again.
Two more nurses entered the room, followed by a respiratory therapist. The machines began to sound alarms in patterns Dinny didn’t understand—but the looks on their faces told her enough.
Dr. Wren arrived within minutes. His calm demeanor was intact, but his pace was brisk.
“His blood pressure’s dropping,” he said quickly to the team. “Saturation’s unstable. Increase fluids. Prep epi just in case.”
“What’s happening?” Dinny asked, standing beside the bed, hands trembling.
Dr. Wren turned to her. “There’s a shift in his oxygen levels and brain pressure. Could be a secondary bleed. We’re going to run an emergency scan.”
The nurses were already lowering the bed rails.
“I’ll go with him,” Dinny said.
But Jane stopped her gently. “I’m sorry, Miss Dinny. You’ll have to wait here.”
“No,” she whispered. “Please.”
“We’ll take good care of him. I promise.”
And Dinny was left in the quiet wake of absence.
She sat alone in the same pew as before. The Bible lay open on her lap, but she couldn’t read it. Her eyes wouldn’t focus. Her mind wouldn’t settle.
She felt like a soldier who had watched her post for 14 days—only to have the gates fall anyway.
Tears came, but slower this time. Heavier.
“God, you said you heard me,” she whispered. “I’ve prayed in the evening. In the morning. At noon. I have cried aloud. I have not left. I have not wavered. I have believed.”
She clenched her fists against her skirt.
Her voice cracked. She hunched forward, elbows on her knees.
“If this is the end… If this is the day you take him… I won’t understand. But God… please don’t let him suffer. Not like this. Not after all this.”
The hospital room was still dark when Dinny stirred in the bedside chair.
She had drifted into a shallow, aching sleep sometime after 3:00 a.m., her hand resting lightly on the edge of Travis’s bed. She had cried until her voice was gone. Now only silence remained—thick, sacred, expectant.
She stepped in slowly, clipboard in hand, eyes soft with something Dinny couldn’t quite read.
“How is he?” Dinny whispered, her voice hoarse.
Jane stepped beside the bed and adjusted the IV line. “His vitals stabilized overnight.”
Dinny straightened in her chair.
“Brain pressure’s holding. Oxygen levels improved. His temperature is back in range. Dr. Wren says… it’s time.”
Dinny blinked. “Time for what?”
“To start bringing him out of the coma.”
The words didn’t register at first. They echoed in her mind like someone had shouted in a canyon.
Jane smiled, eyes misty. “Today.”
Dinny’s breath caught. Her hands flew to her mouth. She let out a single, choked sob, then stood up—slow, trembling.
She turned to Travis and laid both hands on the rail of his bed.
“Thank you, Jesus,” she whispered. “Thank you.”
The machines hummed with quiet agreement.
The nurse stepped away to give her a moment.
Dinny pressed her forehead to the cool plastic rail. Her tears came freely now—but this time, they were the kind that cleansed. That washed away the heaviness of waiting. That softened the places in her heart where grief had tried to take root.
“I told you I’d pray, Lord,” she whispered. “And I knew you would hear me.”
She reached for her Bible, opened it to the worn page.
Dr. Wren entered, a small team behind him. He nodded at Dinny as he crossed the room.
“Today’s the day,” he said. “He’s not out of the woods yet, but we’ve turned the corner.”
Dinny looked at him with clear eyes, full of quiet authority.
“No, Doctor,” she said. “The corner turned when God said so.”
He gave her a slow nod. “Then we’ll just catch up.”
As the medical team moved around the bed, adjusting medication and monitoring screens, Dinny returned to her chair. She reached into her purse and pulled out the handkerchief Margaret had mailed her from Riverside. She held it close to her heart.
She didn’t know what the next hours would bring.
God had heard every single prayer.
The sun was climbing higher now, spilling soft golden light across the hospital window. The steady beeps of monitors remained, but they no longer felt ominous—just part of the rhythm of healing.
Dinny was beginning to understand the loneliness that had troubled her at home. God was preparing her.
Travis sat propped up in bed, a small tray in front of him. A pale blue hospital gown covered his bandaged shoulders. His left arm was still wrapped in gauze, but he was holding a plastic fork in his right hand, carefully navigating a plate of slightly rubbery pancakes.
Dinny sat beside him, hands folded in her lap, heart near bursting.
His dark eyes were still heavy from the sedatives.
The first night, Dinny had balked at the mention of medication to put him back to sleep after waiting so long for him to wake up. But the third time he woke up screaming and flailing from the nightmares, she had relented and agreed to sedation.
He hadn’t said much yet—just a raspy “Hi,” and a few whispered yeses and noes to the nurses. But he was awake. He was breathing on his own. He was eating pancakes.
“How’s the syrup?” Dinny asked softly, watching him.
Travis shrugged and gave her a faint smile. “Sticky.”
She laughed gently. “That’s how you know it’s working.”
He took another bite and chewed slowly. She waited. Not rushing. Just letting the moment be what it was.
When he set the fork down and leaned back, Dinny reached for the water cup and held the straw up to his lips.
“Thank you,” he said, barely audible.
A quiet passed between them, soft and sacred.
After a few moments, Dinny smoothed the corner of his blanket, gathering her courage.
“Travis…” she began, “when the doctors say it’s time, I was wondering…”
He looked at her, blinking slow. He had his mother’s eyes.
“…if maybe you’d like to come back with me. To Riverside.”
He didn’t answer, just stared at her with those dark, beautiful eyes.
“You could stay with me in my house. I’ve got plenty of room. JR’s old room is just sitting there waiting on somebody to fill it.”
She smiled a little, not pushing.
“I bet he left behind some groovy toys from back in the day—maybe a plastic race track or a View-Master. We might even find a Hot Wheels car or two hiding in the closet.”
Travis blinked again. He looked down at his tray, then back at her.
“Would that be okay?” he whispered.
Dinny reached out and laid her hand gently on his.
“It’d be more than okay. It’d be an honor.”
His eyes filled. He didn’t cry—not yet. But something unspoken passed between them. Grief, yes. But also something new. Something rooted and growing.
She brushed a lock of hair from his forehead.
“We’ll take it slow. One day at a time. And we’ll pray our way through. Just like we’ve been doing.”
Dinny leaned back in her chair, tears glistening in her eyes. She didn’t need to say anything else. The Lord had heard her voice.
The End.
⌛️
(C) 2025 Wendi S. Harrington
To download As Long As It Takes and see companion material,
visit the author's blog at https://apostolicfiction.com/post/read-mine-here-as-long-as-it-takes
