Read Online Snow Melts in Spring by Deborah Vogts - Free Book Online

man said. “His speech is impaired, and he’s paralyzed from the waist down. We figure when your horse hit the car windshield, Dillon lost control and smashed into a rock culvert.”
    A woman came to the man’s side and placed her hand on his arm. “The doctors say our son may never walk again.” She wiped her tears with a tissue, then blew her nose.
    Gil stared through the window at the boy. “Does he know about his friend?”
    The father nodded. “The funeral’s tomorrow. He wants to go, but there’s no way . . .”
    “May I see him?” At his question, the man opened the door for Gil.
    The room smelled like disinfectant, a stench he’d grown to despise. He’d been in enough hospitals to last a lifetime, both to visit those who were ill and for his own football injuries. This time was no different. The medicinal odor and confined space made him claustrophobic, made him wish for fresh air.
    White bandages hid Dillon’s face.
    “Hi, there.” Gil offered the signed football he’d brought and laid it on the covers. “I understand you’re the one who ran into my horse the other night.”
    The boy’s lashes blinked and his head moved ever so slightly.
    “I’m Gil McCray, quarterback for the 49ers. I’ve been banged up pretty bad from my time on the field, but I think you’ve beaten me, hands down. Are you in much pain?”
    Again, the head nodded.
    An IV and various clear tubes trickled medicine into the teen. “They probably have you doped up pretty well, and that’s a good thing, believe me.” Gil smiled, growing uncomfortable despite the many times he’d visited kids in hospitals. Even his work with the foundation, which sponsored anti-drinking-and-driving campaigns in schools throughout the nation couldn’t prepare him for the one-on-one talks with kids. Never easy, but especially difficult this time.
    He sat in the chair next to the bed and grabbed the football, wanting a familiar object to give him courage to say what needed to be said.
    “I’m sorry about your friend.” Gil stared at the bandaged boy, concentrated on the sterile dressings rather than the inner wounds. “I know what it’s like to lose someone you care about. When I was your age, I lost my brother. He died in a vehicle accident the same way your friend did. He’d been drinking, and it cost him his life.”
    Gil clutched the football with both hands and squeezed it until his fingers turned white. “His accident’s haunted me for a lot of years. I don’t want to preach, but I hope you understand the magnitude of what’s happened. Your friend died, but God’s given you another chance . . .”

    THAT EVENING AFTER SUPPER, GIL LOUNGED ON THE SOFA, HIS FEET propped on the coffee table. His dad sat across the room in his recliner, the television remote in hand.
    “How is the Marshall boy doing? Jake said you went to see him in the hospital.”
    Gil’s lips scrunched together as he stared at his leather loafers. “Not good. He’s alive, but he doesn’t have much to look forward to. Won’t be scoring any touchdowns, that’s for sure.”
    “Or roping any calves?”
    Gil glanced at his dad and wondered if the jibe was intentional. “The doctors aren’t giving him much hope to walk again.” He shook his head, sickened by what the boy and his family had to deal with, besides the legal repercussions of drunk driving.
    “Do you ever think about Frank?” Gil knew the answer already. How could his father not, when surrounded by the memories? Everywhere Gil looked, Frank or his mama appeared . . . in photographs, china plates, or even a smell. In the last few hours, he’d detected his mother’s scent three or four times, as though it hid in the wallpaper or upholstery and refused to leave.
    His dad nodded, his wrinkles more apparent than before. “Mostly when I sit around with nothing to do. That’s when the mind works the hardest.”
    Gil understood his father’s dilemma. He’d felt the same when he’d been unable to