first day in the hospital had stabilized her, but there was no telling exactly how extensive the damage to her organs was. In addition, she had a broken lower right leg, broken ankle, and fractured wrist. She would likely need surgery to repair the broken leg, and possibly surgery on her back, as well.
Despite all this, Cody kept singing. There was something stripped down and raw about the hymn and its painfully honest message. No matter what a person might go through, God was faithful. He was merciful and loving … and His abundance was new again every morning. Like he’d once heard Bailey’s father, Jim Flanigan, say. “We can have as much of God as we want.”
Cody needed a lot of Him right now. He closed his eyes and kept singing. “All I have needed, thy hand hath provided … great is thy faithfulness, Lord unto me.”
He finished that last line and was just about to head into the chorus when Cheyenne moved. Not a lot or with any sound, but her fingers flexed, and then her arm shifted a few inches on the blanket. Cody breathed sharply and set his guitar down at his side.
“Cheyenne … It’s Cody. Can you hear me?”
Again she moved, and this time she winced.
Cody sat up straighter, his heart thudding hard inside him. If she could feel pain … if she could respond like that, then she had to be better off than they thought, right? “Cheyenne … it’s Cody. I’m here.”
She breathed in deeper than before, deeper than she’d breathed since the accident. And that meant she was responding to his voice. She had to be. Slowly, like someone coming out of a winterlong sleep, Cheyenne tried to blink, tried three times before her eyes opened just the slightest crack.
Cody looked over his shoulder at the door to her hospital room. Should he call for the nurse … tell someone what was happening? He looked back at Cheyenne and decided to wait. Better to put his full attention on her right now and not worry about what the doctors would say, what tests they might want to run now that she was showing signs of consciousness. At least for the first few minutes.
More blinking, more movement — and again she made an expression that showed how much pain she was in. “Cheyenne … I’m here.” He stood and leaned over the bed, touching her healthy hand with the lightest sensation. “It’s Cody … can you hear me?”
Cheyenne turned her head so slowly it was hard to tell she was moving at all. But she did move, and this time she blinked a little faster than before and her eyes remained open. As they did, they found his and they held. She was looking right at him — staring at him. Cody hadn’t known her for very long, but he knew her well enough to be absolutely sure about this: Cheyenne remembered him. Her eyes searched his, and she seemed to have a thousand things to say.
“Can you talk?” He didn’t want to push her, but he was desperate to know exactly how much of her might come back … her mind, her intelligence, her kindness … her love for God and people.
She moved her mouth a few times and then closed her eyes, clearly exhausted.
“Don’t work too hard. It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything. As long as you can understand me.”
Again, she opened her eyes and looked straight at him, and — in a way that was unmistakable — she nodded. Yes … she could hear him. She could understand. She blinked again and the slightest sound came from her throat.
“Are you trying to talk?” She nodded again.
“It’s okay … you can talk later … you’re very tired, Chey … don’t overdo it.” Once more he wondered if he should call for the nurse. But she looked a little less uncomfortable than before, so he let her have this moment. He moved his hand gently over her dark hair. “Does it hurt … are you in pain?” His voice was soft, his tone quiet so she wouldn’t feel startled in any way.
A sigh came from her and she nodded again. But then the corners of her mouth lifted just a little and a hint of the familiar sparkle danced in her eyes. Almost as if to say, Of course it hurts. But none of that mattered as long as she was alive.