Revival Season - Monica West (10 ebook reader .TXT) 📗

the bed’s low metal railing pinned me close. Hoisting myself over the side of the bed, the tray that held the remnants of Micah’s breakfast clanged to the ground. A shallow pool of milk leaked from an open cardboard spout and clumps of eggs dotted the checkerboard linoleum squares.

Ma’s head peered around the corner after the crash, followed by Papa’s and Deacon Johnson’s. “Are you girls okay?” Ma asked.

I looked from their faces to Micah’s. Micah’s was creased with confusion, while theirs were full of concern.

“I’m okay. It was an accident.”

I squatted to scoop the eggs back into Micah’s tray and swiped at the milk with my hand. The floor was as clean as it was going to get, but I waited until their feet retreated into the hallway to stand up.

“Miriam,” she whispered as I backed away from her bed. She beckoned me over with her index finger, and I inched closer until her mattress was pressing against my abdomen. My ear angled close to the line of dried blood that bisected her cracked bottom lip.

“What did you do in the annex?” Her voice was faint.

“I don’t— I didn’t do anything.”

“I woke up and your hands were on me—” she began.

“It didn’t mean anything.”

“What did you do?”

I looked over my shoulder at our families; they were on the opposite side of an open door just a few feet away. “I don’t know. It was all a mistake.”

“I heard you say something. What was it?” Micah’s voice was getting louder. I took a step back, but she grabbed my wrist and pulled me closer. Papa’s voice got quiet in the hallway, and we both paused.

“You can’t tell anyone,” I said when Papa resumed his conversation.

“But if you didn’t do anything, what would I tell?”

“Drop it, Micah.”

“Drop what? That I heard you say something and then I felt something happen in my body and now you’re acting weird?”

I let my wrist go slack in her hand. She had felt something. I had felt something too. The tingly heat from the day before was still close.

“Just tell me what happened!” Her frustrated voice rose an octave as her grip tightened on my wrist. Suddenly the window air conditioner blasted on, making the balloons dance. A line of sweat formed on my top lip even as the rest of my body shuddered.

“I don’t know! I didn’t do anything.”

Just then, Deacon Johnson entered the room, followed by a doctor in pale blue scrubs.

“Can you excuse us?” The doctor encroached on our space with a chart in his hand; on his heels, Micah’s parents wore the worried faces of people who didn’t believe in an all-powerful God. Papa was right behind them like he was a member of the family. In the commotion, Micah let me go and I took several steps back toward the door, near where Ma was standing. Two more steps and I would be out of there. Free.

“They can hear whatever you have to say,” Deacon Johnson said.

My shoulders must have dropped, but I yanked them back up before Ma could see. Soon, we were standing at the edge of the bed next to Papa.

“Micah’s A1c levels are better than they’ve been in two years. I can’t say for sure right now, and we need to observe her further, but it looks like she’s in what we call partial remission.”

“What does that mean?” Mrs. Johnson chimed in.

“We usually see this right after a patient is diagnosed, when they require less insulin and their A1c level remains low. But we don’t usually see it with patients like Micah who were diagnosed two years ago. But it is good news.”

“Praise the Lord for His healing,” Deacon Johnson exclaimed.

“I didn’t say that she’s been healed, Mr. Johnson. Type 1 diabetes is incurable. But for some reason, it looks like the disease is in remission for now. I’ll want to keep her here one more night for observation in case something changes, but if it stays like this, we’ll be able to release her tomorrow.”

“Hallelujah!” Deacon Johnson shouted before the doctor was even finished. My mouth shot open, and my eyes kept slipping back in Micah’s direction even as I wanted to pull them away. Deacon and Mrs. Johnson swarmed the sides of Micah’s bed, smothering her with hugs until her face disappeared behind her father’s suit jacket. Each shriek and praise seemed to pull a little more oxygen out of the room. I tugged Ma’s arm, dragging her away from the edge of Micah’s bed.

“Let’s get out of here. They should be alone.”

“Did you hear that? Micah’s been healed.” Her feet were rooted by the edge of the bed as she raised her hands toward the ceiling in a mini-praise.

“The doctor didn’t say that.” It was supposed to come out in a whisper, but it must have been louder than that because the room went silent. Micah breached her parents’ embrace and sat up in bed, her face aghast like she had just been struck.

“Well, it’s a good thing we don’t serve doctors, isn’t it?” Deacon Johnson said after the room had been silent too long. “Our doctor is the Lord Jesus Christ, hallelujah! And He has declared Micah healed in His eyes, not necessarily in man’s.”

“Samuel, I can’t thank you enough,” Mrs. Johnson chimed in. “You came into the ambulance and healed her. Praise God for you.”

The doctor, still trying to emphasize a point by gesturing to Micah’s chart, finally gave up as the praises rose in volume. He stepped out of the room in the middle of their whoops and cheers.

When Micah’s parents faced her again, Papa shot a glance at Ma. His eyelids fluttered with validation, or even confirmation, and Ma nodded as though to verify his understanding. With their wordless conversation, they seemed to agree that he was indeed back, that Bethel had been a fluke. Ma shuffled over to him and threaded her hand in his, and by the time he squeezed back, they were on one accord. All