

### Fixing His Broken Ballerina

Volume 1

By

Sheila Holmes

Copyright © 2016 Sheila Holmes

All rights reserved.

Distributed by Smashwords

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Cover by Sheila Holmes

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, locales or events is entirely coincidental.

# Acknowledgments

Within the Awesome Love Series, this is the second book. I am grateful for the opportunity to complete this book with its characters (old and new), who have the same spiritual assets and liabilities as you and I. And all looking for someone to love them "warts and all."

Daniel, my precious angel of a husband, continues to encourage me and make me laugh when I get far too serious about my writing. Each morning he makes me laugh before I ever get out of bed, and I'm still laughing at his jokes, funny tales, and impersonations when we retire at night. I'm so grateful for his sense of humor.

Our adorable daughter, DanniLaii, continues to be my third best friend, right after Jesus and my husband. She is funny like her dad, and is truly a cohort. Her greatest contribution to this story is making me laugh. That is no small task. I needed her humor to remind me that writing should be a joy, never a burden.

Being members of Westover Church in Greensboro, North Carolina has been one of the outstanding contributors to- and blessings of our lives. Pastor Don is ever faithful (over twenty years now) to not only teach us the uncompromising truths of the Bible, but teach us how to flesh out those truths in our lives. We will ever be thankful for his love of the Savior and teaching us to do the same.

Jesus, thank you for your encouragement as I've written. It has been therapeutic. You and I have had some really wonderful times together while unfolding this tale. When I got stumped in some places, not knowing how to express something most effectively, You stepped right in and showed me. I am thankful for your help, and will ever be thankful to You for redeeming me.

# Books by Sheila Holmes

Wedding Woes Series

A Wedding Disaster... Or Was It?

A Catastrophic Wedding Reception... Or Maybe Not?

Wedding Designed by Email... KiirstiAan's Nightmare?

Non-Fiction

With This Ring: Creative Ways to Give Your Purity Ring to Your Future Spouse

Christmas Romance Plans (How-to) Series

Christmas Romance: 25 Dazzling Days to Romance Your Spouse 'til Christmas

The Twelve Days of Christmas: A Romance Plan

Awesome Love Series

Becoming His Awesome Beauty: Volume 1

Becoming His Awesome Beauty: Volume 2

Fixing His Broken Ballerina: Volume 1

Fixing His Broken Ballerina: Volume 2

All in a Name Series

Joyful, Joyful

From Grace Abounds Grace (coming Winter 2016)

Table of Contents

Acknowledgments

Books by Sheila Holmes

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

A Word about Fixing His Broken Ballerina Volume 2

About the Author

"And we know that all things work together

for good to them that love God, to them who

are the called according to his purpose."

Romans 8:28, The Bible.

# Prologue

Friday morning, the perfect day for packing up the personal belongings from her office (all of which didn't even fill one medium size brown box) and leaving this place. Her boss had told her that he would miss her (and no doubt all the profits she single-handedly brought into the company), and that she should take all the time she needed that morning to reclaim all her "stuff" before turning in her keys and vacating the premises. Plus, he all but begged her to reconsider leaving.

The truth was he really _would_ miss Chelsetta. She was a hard-working and talented young woman who had applied for one job, but handled her interview so well that she had been hired for another at a salary plus commission that was to her just staggering. At first it had scared her, but she took right to it, and in the five years she'd been employed by them, she'd been able to earn and stash away in a savings account a sum that was in the mid five figures. All that and she was only twenty-six years old.

With a small smile, Chelsetta picked up the name plate on her desk. Before tossing it into the box, she read her name on it, and asked herself for the thousandth time who in the world would name a sweet innocent little baby _Chelsetta_? She was more than ok, however, with her last name, Kellington. It was dignified and elegant. She was actually sorry that one day she'd be giving it up and taking on her future husband's name. _Heaven help her. What if his last name was something like Boynton or Gumpton, or Hogg?!_ Well, she'd have to trust the Lord on that one. She was a traditional woman, who would take her husband's name no matter what it was. At least she was pretty sure she would.

During the first two years or so working for this company, the thrill of making each deal sustained her, followed by regular commission checks that would choke a horse. After a short time, however, Chelsetta found that by the time she exited the elevator on the first floor and walked to the bank across the street to deposit them, she felt deflated. No more emotional high. Just a deposit receipt in her hand and the realization that come Monday, she'd have to start the process all over again with a new client or two.

Before the last two drawers of her expensive designer desk were emptied, Chelsetta walked to her designer coffee brewing machine and made herself a cup of designer Island Coconut coffee. After doctoring the liquid with a dollop of creamer, Chelsetta walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows that allowed her an unbelievable view from her sixth floor work domicile.

Her mind wandered as she held with both hands and sipped from her mug, looking from this height down over the busy streets below. Traffic was brutal down there, with people who appeared ant-size scampering to and fro. As she stared mindlessly at the pedestrians crossing the main intersection below, she again reviewed why she was leaving this well-paying position and taking on a teaching position in computer science at a community college across several state lines, in a rather small rural area.

Well, most importantly, that old adage seemed to be true with her. _You can take the girl out of the country, but you can't take the country out of the girl._ She missed living on her daddy's ranch in the white-picket fenced rolling hills of Kentucky. Oh, how she missed getting up in the morning before dawn, saddling Brewster, and riding for an hour before her day started. During that time, she saw no one, just acre after acre of green, green grass. Every morning on her ride, Chelsetta road to the crest of one particular hill, where she'd stop and look down in the valley at the house her dad had built for her seven years before. He had always told her that once she finished her education, he would turn the deed (he called it the "pink slip") over to her and she could start right back into keeping the books for the ranch, only now he'd pay a goodly salary that went along with her degree-achievement, even if her degree _wasn't_ in accounting.

She felt so blessed to have acquired a position at a community college that was only twelve miles from the KMK Ranch. She'd be able to ride in the mornings again. Something she hadn't done in five years. And, although she wasn't interested in any more bookkeeping, her dad still told her the house was hers, regardless of what she chose to do for her livelihood. She couldn't help but grimace when she remembered how she'd told her dad when he first offered her the house, that she had no intention of living in that... _what was it she called it?_ Oh, yeah. That "podunk place." Her sights had been on big city life. Huh! Who would have thought that she'd be headed right back home to the very place she'd tried so hard to get away from.

Chelsetta knew that her daddy's prayers were probably responsible for bringing her back home. And, that was just fine with her. He'd always been a great example of a godly father. After her mom had died following a long, slow fight with breast cancer, he'd grown spiritually even more. He said that he spent a lot more time in The Word and in prayer since he was alone in the evenings. And while Chelsetta wouldn't see him during the day, they'd probably resume the sharing of evening meals. That was more than ok with her!

As she continued sipping from her mug and watching humanity ebb and flow down on the street below, Chelsetta watched the whole upcoming "event" in slow motion. And, she couldn't do one thing to prevent it.

A relatively old beaten up car was making its way through the intersection. The driver wasn't passing through on a yellow light. It was green. She was doing exactly what she responsibly should do on the avenue. She wasn't speeding. Well, at least Chelsetta didn't think she was. She was neck-n-neck with the car in the slow lane. And, all the other cars on either side of the island seemed to be traveling at the same speed.

From the opposite direction came a beautifully stylish luxury car. It was new, and shiny, and going way too fast if, as the rear end turn signal indicated, it planned to turn left.

"No," said Chelsetta in a low voice, almost as though talking to herself. But, right on the heels of it, she spoke louder, as she saw the inevitable unfolding right before her eyes. The upscale vehicle was executing a left turn... directly into the driver's side of the old clunker.

"No!" Chelsetta screamed, then followed it with three more quick bursts. "No! No! No!!!"

Even though she knew it was going to take place whether she wanted it to or not, she jumped when the cars rambunctiously collided, throwing her three-quarter full cup of Island Coconut coffee against the window, shattering the cup and splattering the latte brew all over the window. Strange as it seemed, even to Chelsetta, she couldn't help but notice right there in the middle of that disastrous crash, that the pattern it left on the previously spotless glass was in the rather rudimentary, but still unmistakable shape of the state of Texas. _Huh! How odd!_

When her previously misdirected mind again returned to the horrendous scene six floors below her, she judged by the two extremely accordion-pleated vehicles that the passengers in both cars were either dead or should be. Diving for her desk phone, she ripped it from its charger and returned to the window. She had never needed to dial 911 before, and she was stunned how quickly they responded. The first ring hadn't even completed before she heard the voice saying, "911. What is your emergency?"

"At the corner of Inman and Jefferson... two cars... It looks bad... Has to be injuries, bad ones!... Um... Hurry, please!..." As she continued watching out the window at the cars below, she again confirmed within herself that the extent of the damages to the cars was going to be nothing compared to the damage to the passengers that were still inside them.

"Oh, please hurry! It looks sooo bad!"

"Ma'am. Two rescue vehicles have already been dispatched. You should be seeing them about now..."

Chelsetta disconnected the call without the courtesy of thanking the woman for her assistance. She could see the two rescue vehicles weaving between cars and pulling up into the middle of the intersection. She stood transfixed as she saw the workers remove someone from the luxury car's driver seat and place her... yes _, it was a woman!_ ... on a gurney. Chelsetta could see even from six floors up that she was in bad shape, really bad shape. She realized how correct her evaluation was when she saw a large white sheet or blanket, she couldn't tell which, pulled up over not only her body, but over the woman's head. Chelsetta couldn't see from her distance that the two workers exchanged acknowledging head shakes. She did see, however, that they then slowly wheeled the body off into a newly arrived coroner's wagon.

Oh, no... she's dead!

"Jesus, please help whoever's left!" It was a softly spoken request that escaped Chelsetta's lips. Then, bowing her head, the tears overcoming her, she eased herself for the last time into the cushy and expensive desk chair to mourn the lost one. When she arose, she couldn't bring herself to look yet again out the window, for fear that she might actually see the fate of any other passengers. So instead, she deliberately kept her back to the window and continued her task of clearing out her office.

Within the hour, Chelsetta Kellington vacated both the office and the building, walked with her half-filled box to her car on the third floor of the parking deck diagonally positioned across the street and drove off, never again returning to that place.

She had no idea that as she drove off to experience the unfolding of God's Plan in her own life, that the five sincere words of her prayer petition had already been answered by her Gracious Lord. His Answer? A resounding "Yes, my child! I am in control."

And moreover, the "help" would have a rippling effect that touched not only the lives of the accident victims, but a host of _challenging_ and _challenged_ little ones.

# Chapter 1

Even as Giselle was entering the intersection, she sensed something was not right. The car to her right in the slow lane was slowing down... radically. She couldn't figure out why. They both had the green light. No pedestrians were testing their patience or safety by stepping out into the flow of traffic. She did peripherally see people on the curb looking toward her car, then the big fancy car, then back at her, almost in a breath-held expectancy. _Or was it a breath-held dread?!_ _What was going on?_ Focusing back on the street ahead, she now saw what _they_ saw. That big expensive car had lights signaling for a left turn, but the speed of the vehicle was accelerating... fast! _That didn't make any sense!_

There wasn't one thing she could do to avoid the inevitable. And, as she waited for the impact, which was going to be directly into her driver's side door... _or was it going to be head-on?_ ..., she found herself saying out loud, "That car's going to hit me." It wasn't yelled, or spoken through a panicked voice. It was simply stated as fact.

A split second before impact, however, it was a different story. She let go of the steering wheel, threw her hands up, covering her eyes, and let loose the most blood-curdling scream ever heard. She already knew this was going to be bad, and she didn't want to see it. Not having the presence of mind to brake in order to lessen the impact speed, she simply lifted her foot off the accelerator, drew up both legs and swiveled away from what she knew would be the point of impact.

Gasps and screams could be heard exiting every mouth, whether pedestrian or car passenger, in and around that intersection at the sound of metal smashing metal into an accordion-pleated collage of destruction.

Had either one car or the other been at a stop when the collision occurred, damage to cars and persons in either vehicle would have, of course, been greatly reduced, but still bad. But, that was not the case. Giselle knew her speedometer was reading in the neighborhood of thirty-five miles per hour before impact, while the offending car appeared to be traveling not only faster, according to witnesses, but had continued to increase its speed when it slightly swerved into the oncoming intersection traffic. Put the combined speeds together, and Giselle, as well as the driver of the car at fault, hit each other at an estimated eighty miles per hour. Or, possibly more.

The 911 services had received upwards of thirty to forty phone calls within a two minute time frame, which accounts for their having arrived so quickly. And, it was call number fourteen made by an unnamed young woman on the sixth floor of an office building that made all the difference. It wasn't the call to 911 that was decisive, but the simple prayer petition for help that she had made on behalf of the victims. By all worldly measures, everyone involved should at that moment have been in the presence of either Jesus or... the unthinkable alternative!

*****

Conyer Whitefield and his much loved Aunt Tierney were laughing and talking as she drove them down the main thoroughfare in town. She was pointing to businesses she owned on this main thoroughfare, and telling Conyer the background of how she'd added them to her holdings.

"That one," Tierney said, pointing to the Fresh 'n' Fruity Juice Shoppe, "was an accidental acquisition." Conyer looked where she pointed. _Oh, he'd been to one of those about six blocks from his home. Their drinks were good, really good!_

"Oh!" Conyer responded with surprise, "Aunt Tienrey, I go regularly to one of those close to home. They are so good, I go there probably two to three times weekly as a substitution for lunch. It's on my daily jogging route. So, you own that?"

"Actually, I own fourteen of them. And, until recently I could have named every address and town they're located in. My memory is fuzzy about them now, however. Fortunately, I don't need to remember them. And, I plan to open three more, one locally in the downtown area, and two more in beach towns. One is in a refurbished structure and the other is a new structure... or _will_ be.

"Glad you like the product, Dear Boy, because when this old vessel wears out, and I go to be with Jesus and my precious Derrick, like it or not, they'll be all yours."

The discussion was taking a depressing turn. Conyer was supposed to be having a fun day with his aunt, so he quickly turned the topic around a bit. "How were they an 'accidental' acquisition?"

"Oh, you'll love this.

"I was down here one day taking care of some business elsewhere. And, I started coughing. Could _not_ stop it. Right then I saw that Fresh 'n' Fruity Juice Shoppe and thought I better stop and get a drink. I was planning to just get an iced down soda or sweet iced tea.

"But, the place was filled with other customers and they all had juices. So I decided to try one.

"Now this next part you have to promise me you'll never tell another living soul."

"What did you do, steal it?" Conyer asked.

"No!" answered Aunt Tierney in horror, slightly swatting his shoulder. "I would never have done that!"

"I'm only teasing you, Aunt Tierney. And, I promise I won't tell anyone... well, not as long as you're alive, anyway."

Aunt Tierney reached over and swatted Conyer's arm again.

"Ok, ok. I promise."

Aunt Tierney shot him a sideways you-better-not look, then continued the scenario.

"Anyway..." she said, "I ordered one, and was walking to an available table. I decided I might as well give my full attention to this new drink delight. But, as I was walking to the table, I could hear these two young teenagers talking really loud at the table next to the one I was headed for. One of them was telling the other one a joke.

"I don't remember the whole joke, just the punchline... 'Not on my jungle gym!' The whole thing just seemed so funny and I started to laugh, which meant I was probably going to end up spitting out that mouthful of drink. I was determined that wouldn't happened, because it was so classless, so I forced my mouth to stay shut. Only problem was, I still couldn't stop the laugh..."

"And?..." Conyer prodded her.

"And... I started laughing so hard that the drink spewed out my nose and all over my dress."

"No..." said, Conyer with a shocked voice, as he leaned toward her for details.

"Yes. And here's the part that I would be mortified if anyone had any idea it happened.

"I was so embarrassed, I didn't know what to do, so I faked fainting, and fell to the floor like a sack of potatoes, and just laid there."

"You did not do that!"

"Yes, I'm sorry to say, I did.

"The owner of the store was there that day. He was so sweet and gentle with me, and took such good care of me, offering to dry clean my dress, have an ambulance come get me and take me to the hospital ER to check things out, and he gave me a certificate for unlimited juices for one whole year. I was so grateful, and felt so deceitful, that I told him I wanted to buy his business. Conyer, he never blinked. He said yes, and that was that!"

"I can't believe that. What did Uncle Derrick say?"

"I never told him. I only said that we were buying the juice shop and would be expanding it statewide."

"And, what did he say?"

"What do you think he said?"

At the exact same moment, they said in unison, "'Oh... ok.'" Laughter ensued. When it died down, Conyer was the first to speak.

"I miss Uncle Derrick," he said, with real sadness weighing on his heart. "No one spent as much time with me after Mom's and Dad's deaths as he did. One of my biggest memories of him is when I was about seven or eight.

"You," Conyer said, pointing to his aunt, "were gone doing some charity something or other and he was watching over me. He asked if I wanted to play a game. I told him yes, so he told me to go to the games armoire and pick out anything I wanted and we'd play.

"While I was looking through all the possibilities, he went to the kitchen and made us both his rendition of a fruit smoothie. I don't know what he put in it, but it was utterly disgusting. At least from my seven- or eight-year-old perspective."

By now, Aunt Tierney was smiling broadly, remembering her husband Derrick's enthusiasm over every aspect of life.

"He, on the other hand, thought it was great and consumed not only his twelve ounce glass, but at least six to eight ounces of mine, when I didn't drink it as quickly as he thought I would... or _should_.

"Anyway," he continued, "out of all the games in that armoire, the only one that I was familiar with was Twister."

"Twister... which one is that?" Aunt Tierney asked with a puzzled look on her face as she continued navigating the street in 'Belinda,' the name she had given her new and already beloved black Lexus.

"It's that one where you put the plastic canvas on the floor. It's covered with brightly colored circles..."

"Oh," she interrupted, "then you spin and put your hand or foot on the specified color and keep going until someone falls down. I remember that one. I never played it, though. It seemed so undignified. Yes, I _do_ remember that one. So, what happened?"

"He never told you? Wow, you two had lots of secrets, didn't you."

"Stop that and tell me what happened," Aunt Tierney said, as she lightly shook her head as though Conyer was almost more trouble than he was worth.

"Well, it took us a while to get into the rhythm of the game, so the juice drink had plenty of time to work its way through his system. On one subsequent turn..."

Laughing already, Aunt Tierney could apparently visualize the punch line to the story.

"Did he wet himself?!"

"He was stretched from one end of the board to the other on that turn. He started laughing, and next thing we both knew, he had 'baptized' the board, the floor... and _me_."

"I don't believe you! You're making this up! That never happened!" After denying the whole story as either fiction or a lie, she realized that in fact, she believed Conyer, and she began laughing harder, and began to swerve on the street, having difficulty staying in her lane. Conyer assumed she was just hysterically laughing, having enjoyed his story...

Until he looked at her in the face. Expecting to see her joyful and fun-loving features, he realized her face was screwed up in excruciating pain, one hand on the steering wheel, while the other one clutched her chest.

Continuing to press the accelerator with more pressure as Aunt Tierney writhed in pain, they picked up speed. Unneeded speed, considering they were coming close to entering the intersection ahead, with the intention of making a left turn.

When Conyer couldn't dislodge her foot from the pedal, he had to use his own foot, ramming her leg to move it. He could hear the snap of her ankle bone when he made contact. All the while, Aunt Tierney was clutching her chest and rearing her head back.

By the time Conyer realized that he needed to take reign over the steering wheel to correct their path, it was too late, so he opted for grabbing her upper body and pulling her toward himself in the passenger seat, hoping he could protect her to some degree, since it was obvious her side would take the brunt of the crash.

What he managed to do however, was move her body only far enough that the right side of the steering wheel caught her violently across the chest upon impact. That alone would have killed her. Conyer would never know, but she never felt it. She had already been catapulted into the presence of her Lord.

# Chapter 2

Three excruciating weeks had passed in Clayton Memorial for two of its patients. Twenty-nine year old Conyer Whitefield and twenty-three year old Giselle Danvers. Each of them had been virtually pried from their cars, and whisked away to the "healing halls" of the largest hospital in the tri-county area.

While Giselle had been unconscious when she arrived at Clayton Memorial, Conyer had not. He remembered every miserable and painful tug as the ambulance staff ripped him from the car, placing him on a padded, but still stiff-surfaced gurney, wheeling him to the ambulance, and whisking him away to the hospital. Although conscious, he was, however, in shock. Even in the obvious pain he suffered, judging from the moans and groans that emitted from his lips, the only words he kept voicing were, "How's my aunt?" and "What about the people in the other car?"

The ambulance staff was efficient, if _not_ obliging him with answers to his multitudinous requests for information on the condition of the others involved in the car crash. Once they'd attached his IV, relayed his stats from the emergency vehicle to the attending physician in the hospital's ER wing, they continued their journey to the hospital in relative silence, other than the white noise conveyed to them via their radio. Silence, that is, until a voice came back on the radio.

"Are we talking about Conyer Whitefield, as in Derrick and Tierney Whitefield?"

"Just a moment, and we'll check," responded one of the emergency services workers.

"Are you related to Derrick and Tierney Whitefield?" one of them asked Conyer.

"Yes. My aunt and u..." he responded until the grip of pain became overwhelming. Reaching for his leg, the worker on that side took hold of his hand, keeping it from grabbing the injury, and held it until it again became limp. He then replaced it on the gurney next to Conyer, this time beneath the strap that kept him captive on its surface.

"Yes, this is the nephew," was the response from the ambulance to the faceless voice on the other end of the radio.

"This is Doctor Timeron. Please bring this patient directly to x-ray. Do not take him through Registration. Understood?"

"Understood," responded the driver of the ambulance.

"I'm looking at his charts here. And, it sounds in the background there like he's in pain. Give him..." and he continued to specify the pain medication and dosage to be administered through the IV line.

Once the call had been disconnected, the driver threw the following comment over his shoulder to the two attending emergency workers in the back, "The Whitefields must be something special to get this kinda treatment for their nephew."

"Ah... nepotism, ain't it grand?!" said one of the other workers. When there was total silence in response, he further said, "Don't worry. He's out. Didn't hear a word!" And, while he was wrong, Conyer _had_ heard every word, none of it registered because of the potent pain medication beginning to flow through his veins.

*****

Giselle had been the biggest problem in evacuation. Aunt Tierney was already deceased, and Conyer, while seriously injured, had not born the brunt of the impact. Giselle, on the other hand, while unconscious, was still breathing, but almost puzzle-pieced into the accordion pleated metal that kept her in position behind the steering wheel. It was a slow removal process.

When standard measures of removing the car door were accomplished, that ended what could be done without the Jaws-of-Life machinery. Fortunately, someone amongst all the attending workers had had the foresight to summon this special piece of machinery, so once the door and roof were removed, they could move right in.

From the onlookers' perspective, it appeared that this person was going to be a fatality. Low moans of sympathy came from them as they watched the door removed, but once they could see clearly into the mauled insides of the car, they gasped loudly when they saw Giselle. She seemed to be in what was almost a ridiculous, completely impossible contortion amongst the metal.

The roof was grasped between metal claws, ripped away, and slowly they extracted her from the wreckage. Placing her gently, but quickly onto the gurney, they couldn't seem to get her to the rescue vehicle fast enough.

And it was from that point, unconscious, bruised, broken, and torn, that Giselle Danvers was whisked away to the IC unit at Clayton Memorial. It didn't look good. It didn't look good at all!

*****

During the last three weeks, five days of her stay in the hospital was spent in ICU. The staff was ever vigilant over Giselle around the clock.

Between the one hundred-thirteen sutures needed to close wounds on both arms, both legs, and her torso, and the concussion over which the staff was ever vigilant, Giselle had undergone surgery to place a screw in her left knee just to insure the integrity of that leg's future functionality. So much damage to such a delicate little body!

During those first few days, the IC unit had worn a pall over its halls. The staff was used to the sights and sounds of those who clung precariously to life, many of them losing their battle. But, when Giselle entered those same halls, it felt completely different to the staff. Even when receiving a continuous drip of pain medication, she moaned and groaned, at all hours of the day and night. The compassionate doctors, nurses, and even the janitorial staff wandered into her room unbidden. Some would check her vitals, even though it wasn't needed at that time; some simply stood and watched her in her pain, and yet another, Conyer Whitefield, maneuvered his wheelchair right up to the side of her bed, took her hand gently and prayed that the Lord would please help this beautiful young woman. He prayed for her far more than he asked for any healing for himself.

Having insisted on knowing Giselle's location in the hospital on Day One, Conyer had visited Giselle multiple times daily while she was in ICU, which is exactly where he was as well. Truth be known, however, he was really only in the ICU because of his family ties to the Whitefield hospital benefactors, who gave exorbitantly large sums of money to the hospital. The staff were given special instructions that they make sure Conyer was a "happy camper" at all times while in residence.

At first, Conyer was in a wheelchair, with someone pushing him to Giselle's room. During the five minute wheelchair ride from his room to hers, the assigned attendant would ask repeatedly if Conyer was ok. After the third or fourth time, Conyer would simply give the attendant the _ok-that's-enough_ look. True, he was in pain and the attached IV made things a little awkward, but he was determined to attend to _her_ , despite his own extensive injuries. Because Giselle was unconscious, Conyer was unable to communicate with her. But, he could pray for her, and that's exactly what he did.

While praying, Conyer always checked whatever areas of Giselle's body were exposed for the condition of her wounds. Each area on her arms containing sutures, he laid his fingers lightly on the wound and pray specifically that the Lord would heal that place.

When Giselle was moaning in pain, Conyer's whole body would tense up and he'd hold to her hand so tightly that Giselle, even in her agony of pain from other unrelated parts of her body, would wince and try to jerk her hand away. He'd then loosen his grip, but not let go. Somehow he needed the physical connection, obviously more than Giselle did at that point.

When she was quiet, eyes closed in a drugged sleep, Conyer had a different activity that occupied his visits. After finishing his prayers for her, he would begin telling her stories about his youth. He wasn't exactly sure why he did it, but since he didn't know what else to talk to her about, that was the topic he chose. He began with the Twister-story that included his Uncle Derrick, then worked his way to the Fresh-'n'-Fruity-Juice-Shoppe story starring his Aunt Tierney.

From that point, anything was fair game. Conyer told Giselle about the time he held on to the rear bumper of his Uncle Derrick's car while wearing his skates, almost managing to do himself considerable damage when his uncle broke quickly to avoid hitting a dog that darted into the street, and he'd flown under the car.

Moving on, there was the time he'd asked a girl out on a date in high school. By the time he'd gotten to the girl's house, he was so nervous that as soon as he'd been invited into the house, he'd made a bee-line for their bathroom, where he vomited on the floor, because he couldn't make it all the way to the toilet. So mortified he couldn't face any of them, he opened the bathroom window, climbed out, and drove home. Of course, he didn't want them to know he'd defected until after he was long gone, so he didn't turn on his headlights before driving off. And, of course, he managed to crash into two full trash cans he never saw at the curb, throwing filth all over that neighbor's beautifully manicured grass... and the wrought iron love seat that adorned the front lawn.

There had to be at least fifteen different tales from Conyer's childhood that he'd shared with an elegantly graceful-looking, beautiful and broken young woman who seemingly didn't hear a single word of any of them.

Through talking with Dr. Timeron, on-duty nurses, and careless chit-chat around the nurses' station, Conyer had learned that Giselle Danvers was, in fact, a ballerina. She had trained at what was arguably the finest performance school in the United States and was scheduled to be leaving with her co-performers on a tour of Europe within the next week. She was planning to be gone for a complete tour, returning in the spring of the following year. Dr. Timeron had shared with Conyer on one doctor-patient visit that he and his wife had tickets to one of the performances at Palais Garnier in Paris, close to where they planned to vacation later in the season.

Conyer took the brochure offered to him for his perusal. When he saw the extravagance of Palais Garnier, he winced. The entire structure inside and out wreaked of wealth and culture, the dreamed-of world for many young dancers.

Conyer pulled his gaze back up to the doctor, asking with his eyes if this young woman would ever be able to resume her beloved dancing. Dr. Timeron could not give Conyer any spoken assessment or prognosis, because of doctor-patient privilege. But, words were not necessary. The doctor's furrowed brow and saddened eyes told Conyer everything he needed to know. Unless the Lord interceded, her dancing days were unequivocally over.

*****

On Day Four, Conyer was both out of ICU and out of the wheelchair, transporting himself on crutches up to Giselle's room. It was slow-going, but he had been faithful to his routine of making the trek back-and-forth to see her several times daily.

Exhausting himself by the time he reached Giselle's room on one particular visit, he was delighted to see she was awake and eating. Actually, she was taking small bites of anemic-looking pudding, each time screwing up her face in an involuntary response, obviously relaying her distaste for it.

"Enjoying that, are you?" Conyer jokingly asked her. When her sad eyes looked up to see a most attractive man in silk pajamas and expensive robe entering her room on crutches, she had no idea who he was, other than another patient. Tired, in pain, and not really wanting any visitors, she still couldn't bring herself to be other than at least nominally pleasant to him.

"Now I understand all the negative comments about hospital food," she responded with a hint of a smile. However, since she didn't know him, she assumed he either thought she was someone else, or thought there was a known roommate behind the long curtain next to her bed. "This is a single occupancy room, if you were looking for someone else." His good looks notwithstanding, she hoped he would leave and do it soon.

Taking a few more steps into the room, Conyer edged to the foot of Giselle's bed. He had sat directly beside her several days, even holding her hand, but she'd never been awake. It might frighten her if he showed a familiarity that was strictly one-sided, so he kept the length of the bed between them.

Looking at the charts hanging from the end of her bed, Conyer looked down at them. Lifting his head back up, acting as though he had just now read her name from her charts, he said, "Hello, Giselle. My name is Conyer."

A quick wave of nausea caught her. She suspected it was from the pudding. It made it difficult to converse. "Hi... What was your name?"

"Conyer."

"Hi, Conyer." No sooner had she spoken, when she said she was going to be sick. Conyer quickly moved himself, although unsteadily, on his crutches to her side. Almost falling, he grabbed the kidney-shaped pan from her bedside table and held it under her chin. Before she could even grab hold of it herself, she heaved into it, bringing up not only her pudding, but other bits of unidentifiable content. Needless to say, she was totally mortified, especially when she could see splatters on Conyer's expensive nightwear.

Sensing her discomfort at his presence, Conyer said he was going to leave and get the nurse to come in. Giselle was thrilled when he left. She hoped he wouldn't return along with the nurse. She'd had enough embarrassment for one day. _Conyer, huh?... it was nice of him to come in and check on her. Did she really just throw up on that handsome young man?! So much for any attraction to her on his part. He was no doubt totally grossed out! Maybe with any luck she wouldn't run into him ever again while here at the hospital!_ Her embarrassment ran deeper than having just thrown up while he watched. For some reason his presence had caused her to search the extent of her injuries.

# Chapter 3

It was the first time since being admitted, and right after Conyer's visit, Giselle had had the bravery to unwrap her blanket, exposing the entirety of her "brokenness." She only had the courage to do so after the nurse came and cleaned her up after her vomiting had ended, then left, and her door was shut, with no one being party to the self-examination.

When Giselle saw all the raw damage done to her previously pristine torso and legs, she knew that no man would ever want her in this lifetime. Even to her, it seemed strange that her first consideration was about a future mate. But, the second contemplation was what ramifications there would be to her dancing. _She was supposed to have already left on tour. No, no... oh, no!_

As quiet tears ran down her cheeks, Giselle removed the bandaging from every location, groaning loudly in horror at each newly exposed laceration, each precariously held together with black sutures. Against her fair skin, the sutures appeared to be made of the _blackest black_ she'd ever seen.

"No!" escaped her lips with each new wound discovered, until fourteen leg and torso injuries made themselves known.

Once Giselle had finished her examination, it occurred to her that she'd never checked her arms, and there was one particularly sore place in her right arm crease. Pulling up the sleeves of her hospital garb, she was horrified to find seven more places between them that were red, raw, and held together by the bold black "thread." By now she was beside herself, and the tears began to stream in serious torrents.

Somehow in her distress, she thought subconsciously that she could escape her ravaged body if she ran away... far, far away! And, with that thought in the recesses of her mind, Giselle threw off all her covers, carelessly threw her legs over one side of the bed, and practically jumped out onto the floor to begin her escape. Unfortunately, her new knee screw, while insuring her leg would remain functional, was in no condition to have her body weight balanced on it yet. It was, after all, a serious surgical procedure, which would need plenty of time to heal. Not to mention all the rehabilitation ahead of her.

As was inevitable, Giselle splatted on the floor. Splatted? Well, actually more like a thrrr...ump. It was loud, and although the floor didn't shake to alert the staff, the sound of unknown origin reached down the hall to the nurses' station. If the sound of her fall hadn't, the scream that emitted from her mouth simultaneously would have brought help from any of the staff on the floor. Before one could count to three, Giselle was surrounded by three nurses, one orderly, a maintenance worker, and Dr. Timeron. The doctor had actually been walking down the hall to her room when the fall occurred, so he was the first to arrive at the scene.

"Pick her up carefully," Dr. Timeron instructed the three nurses, when they'd entered the room. Her body being limp, however, nothing more than dead weight, they couldn't seem to get a sturdy hold on her. When it became apparent they weren't going to be able to lift her, the doctor turned to the husky maintenance man and asked if he thought he could lift her up onto the bed. Nodding his head, he stepped forward and the nurses parted. As though she were practically weightless, he swooped her up and placed her on the bed, gently laying her head back on the pillow. Dr. Timeron thanked him, and although he didn't tell him, or any of the others to get out, he might as well have, because they all knew instinctively that he no longer wanted any of them in the room.

As they exited, all five of them kept their eyes locked on the willowy young woman, who was conscious and unabashedly wailing. Her deep sobs grabbed the hearts of all of them, and as they walked out the door, each one was already trying to mentally come up with some way they could return with some little gift or prize that might lighten her physical and emotional load, if only for a moment.

While Dr. Timeron felt no less compassionate, he felt the need to keep a modicum of professionalism, so he stood erect at the foot of her bed, referring continually to her charts so that he wouldn't have to look at her in the face, and began.

"Giselle, what were you doing out of bed? I gave express instructions to the nursing staff that you are to remain in bed for at least two more days. You shouldn't be putting weight on that leg yet. It's far too fragile at this point."

When she didn't acknowledge anything he said, he didn't know what to do other than continue.

"I'm assuming, since several of your bandages are on the floor, you've seen the extent of the work we've accomplished thus far." _The extent of the work_ we've _accomplished???_ Even to him it sounded stilted... and lame.

"Obviously your knee is weak. We've placed a screw in it to assure that you'll have a measure of functionality in the future. In addition..."

"'Level of functionality?'" Giselle asked, in a cross between a whisper and a sob.

"Well, yes. After rehabilitation is completed, you'll be able to return to daily activities with hopefully no pain, and few limitations."

"Doctor..." Giselle began, with actual fear in her voice. "I'm a dancer. I need both my legs _fully_ functional! Will they both be ok after rehabilitation?" Giselle thought her question perfectly reasonable. She knew her legs would bare some ugly and permanent scars, but when she danced, she always wore tights, so their damage would be hidden.

At this point, before beginning to speak, Dr. Timeron decided he needed to sit and speak with her at eye level. It wouldn't change what he had to say, but it seemed less cold and detached.

"Giselle. You have extensive muscle damage in your leg," he said, pointing to the same leg that now housed a metal screw in its knee joint. "These two lacerations", he continued, pointing to the two largest ones beneath the knee, "tore into the muscle. And, while you'll be able to walk..." He didn't know how to end this sentence.

"God! Oh, God, no!" Giselle was a believer, but no matter how one tried to excuse it, there was no communication between she and the Lord at that moment. It was what it was, the reflexive cry of general pleading for help from _anyone_ or _anything_ "out there" that had power over what was happening.

"You're saying I won't be able to dance again?! Is that what you're saying?!" Her voice was loud and urgent. At the very moment her questions were out, she belted out a frightening yelp, which was followed by echoing cries of helplessness. When a nurse immediately showed at the door of Giselle's room in response to her cries, the doctor mouthed to her to close the door, everything was ok.

"Where is your family, Giselle?" When she didn't respond, he asked again, "Your family, Miss Danvers, where are they?"

"My mother and father are missionaries. They're in Zimbabwe. They're 'church planters.' I won't bother them with this. There's nothing they can do. I don't want them to see me like this anyway. I'll let them know after I'm up and dancing again. I _will_ dance again! I _have_ to dance again!!"

"Give me the number they can be reached at. I'll call and talk to them myself, so I can answer any of their questions. And, maybe I can put their minds to rest about everything."

Shaking her head with an unequivocal no, she re-iterated that she would not be telling them right now, and vehemently refused to tell him their contact information. When his jaw began to set firmly, as though he would demand the information, she reminded him that she was of age, and this was _her_ decision to make, not his.

Seeing that she wasn't going to give on this, he tried another approach.

"Ok. What is your current address? And, who is around that can help you when you leave the hospital?"

This she decided to respond to, but it didn't help the doctor any.

"I've just returned from being away at school. I was selected as part of the company to go on tour. I only came back here because it seemed familiar. This is where I grew up and where my home church is. I'm staying in a motel. I was supposed to be leaving to meet the rest of the company as soon as I came here long enough to do a few things to close out here." Even as she spoke, she was thinking, _What things do I have to close out? Mom and Dad put all my belongings in storage, and even with the key, I don't need to go there and retrieve anything from the storage unit. I won't need any of it until after the tour, and maybe not even then!_

In reality, the only thing Giselle needed yet to do before leaving was buy a handful of cosmetics and toiletries, get a new pair of soft dance slippers, and renew and pick up her allergy prescription. She was planning to go to Open Door of Faith, her home church, at least once before leaving, but realized that after being gone for four years to school, she didn't even know who she would say goodbye to there.

Out of the blue, Giselle forgot all else momentarily. Her eyes became even larger than they normally were. Dr. Timeron noticed and asked her if she was ok.

"Doctor, how is all this being paid for? My parents have a little insurance to help out with this, but it will in no way cover all this! And, I don't have any employment now that I'm not touring with my dance company!

"What about the other car? They're going to pay, right? It was _their_ fault, not mine!" Her voice was raising to a pitch unacceptable in the hospital. She was speaking so loud that she could be heard up and down the hall.

Dr. Timeron jumped in before Giselle's uncontrolled anger and frustration got anymore out of control.

"Miss Danvers. Please lower your voice, and I'll explain."

When Giselle quieted down, Dr. Timeron told her simply that he wasn't able to tell her by what means the bill would be paid, only that it was taken care of in its entirety. Including all present and future rehabilitation.

"Who's paying?" she asked.

"Miss Danvers, I'm not in a position to supply you with that information, but it is true. The entirety is being taken care of." Dr. Timeron knew this information, because Conyer had given him the ok to send all bills to him at his aunt's house. He didn't plan to even defer to any insurance his aunt had. At least not at this juncture. And, he told the doctor that he could put Giselle's mind to rest on this, should she ask, but he could not tell her _he_ would be making financial restitution. When Dr. Timeron gave indication that he thought maybe Giselle should be told, he in no uncertain terms advised the good doctor that as he said before... he would be paying and she was not to know. Before he would let it go, Conyer had extracted a promise from the doctor that he would abide by Conyer's decision.

Once Giselle had calmed down to a semblance of calmness, Dr. Timeron advised her that she would be moving to a regular care floor, and that rehabilitation would begin.

"You mean... today?" Giselle asked, now breathing more normally.

"Actually, I'd like you to remain here until tomorrow morning. You'll be moved then."

After trying one last time to get Giselle's family information -to no avail- Dr. Timeron told her he'd see her tomorrow in her new room and Giselle's "real work" would start.

# Chapter 4

Barely on the heels of Dr. Timeron clearing the door frame while exiting her room, Giselle was horrified when Conyer entered her small domain. She hadn't forgotten the vomiting-ordeal, and she was quite sure he hadn't either.

"Good morning!" Conyer said, with his big, bright smile and adorable crinkled eyes. Although he sported a number of face and neck bruises, he was extremely attractive, there was no doubt about it. It was unsettling. It somehow made Giselle feel more vulnerable.

She was understandably feeling emotionally down after her talk with Dr. Timeron and it could be seen in her countenance.

"Hello, Connor." It was stated crisply and matter-of-fact. There was no warmth at all in Giselle's greeting. And, if that weren't unwelcoming enough to Conyer, she was looking down at her hands when she spoke.

"It's Conyer, but my friends and family call me..." He hadn't been given even the required second to say his nickname. So, she didn't know that he was going to disclose that his nickname was Connie.

"I'm sorry,... Conyer."

"I've been moved down two floors," he said, "and have been involved with the rehabilitation, so that's why it's been a while since I've been here to see how you're doing,"

"Oh." It was all she could summon up.

"Uh... I can see that maybe this is a bad time to come visit, but I actually came for two reasons."

When Giselle raised her eyes to him, he figured he'd better quickly take advantage of it, before she closed down again.

"Um... I brought you this," Conyer said, as he offered Giselle a Bible. "I thought you might enjoy having something to read while you're in the hospital. And, you can take it home with you when you leave."

Giselle was still in a fitful mood, angry at the doctor, angry at her circumstances, and angry with whoever caused this mayhem in her life. She couldn't even conjure up a pretend gratefulness. Instead she almost barked at him.

"I'm a Christian. I have my own Bible!"

"Oh, I'm sorry. I just didn't see one anywhere in the room when I was here to see you last time, so I thought maybe you'd like having it."

When Giselle still didn't take the Bible from his hand, he walked on his crutches, with the Bible under his arm, over to Giselle's bedside table and laid it gently on its surface.

Giselle didn't respond in any way. No spoken thank you. No instructions to remove it. Nothing.

"You said there were two reasons you came to see me. What's the other?" Giselle had not spoken these words in any semblance of graciousness or invitation to a cordial visit between them. More of a hurry-up-and-get-your-business-done-and-leave directive.

"Oh, yes... well... I needed to tell you something. And, it's pretty important..."

"Well, tell me and then. I really need to get some rest."

"Oh, yes... you do need plenty of rest before starting rehabilitation."

"How'd you know I'd be doing rehabilitation here?" Giselle demanded. "Who told you?!"

"Well, I guess I just assumed. You've been in ICU for days. They wouldn't have brought you up here if your injuries didn't need further attending."

"Oh. Yeah. Well, anyway... what did you need to tell me?"

Conyer had a choice between two chairs. One was at the wall at the foot of Giselle's bed, and the other was directly next to her bed. Somehow in her present mood, he felt like he'd be pushing his luck sitting anywhere close to her, so he maneuvered his way to the chair that was further away. It seemed too far, though, so he pulled it a couple of feet closer to her proximity.

"Well... I'm not sure what you remember about your accident... I mean, do you remember _anything_ from your accident?"

"No, I only remember a big black fancy car coming towards me..." Giselle started, but stopped and instead ended it with, "Why?"

"Well, Giselle,... um, I was in that car that hit you. And... well, I'm just so sorry..."

" _You_ did this?!" With a huge movement that actually caused renewed pain in the sutured elbow bend, Giselle swept away the blanket and revealed all the bandages covering her legs.

Before even giving Conyer a moment to explain he wasn't the one driving, she raged on.

"Take a good look! And, these don't count all the stitches in my stomach and arms! And, here... here, look at this knee! When you ran me down, did it ever occur to you that the person you hit was a dancer, someone who might need their legs for more than just standing on! I'm supposed to be leaving on a European tour, but not now! Not now! According to Dr. Timeron," she said, in biting and accusatory terms, "because of _your_ carelessness, I not only won't be going on this tour, I won't ever dance again!" By now, Giselle was crying so hard, she couldn't speak momentarily, which was probably good, since her now-uncontrolled tongue would have spewed forth such ugliness that the venom of the words would have rendered Conyer poisoned beyond anything he'd ever experienced in his life.

"Giselle... I..."

But, she wouldn't let him say that he wasn't driving, it was his aunt, who lost control of the car because of a massive heart attack.

Leering at him, Giselle spat out one final thing.

"Get out of my room, and don't you ever come back! I don't ever want to see you or talk to you again!"

There was nothing Conyer could do but remove himself from her room, and possibly from her life. _From her life?!_ His Bible, however, remained on her bedside table when he exited.

# Chapter 5

After two more meltdowns, two confrontations with nurses who didn't attend to her the way she thought they should, five times ignoring people saying hello when they passed or came into the room, and one refusal to even say she was sorry to the janitor who had to clean up the mess she had caused when she shoved her meal tray away and onto the floor, making the point that she would not eat, Giselle had been moved down two floors to a "regular care" room.

Rather than feeling any gratefulness that she was making progress and could be de-classified, no longer a "critical care" patient, Giselle was perturbed that she had to share the room with another patient. In fact, she summoned a nurse immediately. When the nurse responded, asking if she could help Giselle with anything, Giselle set her jaw and told the nurse that she wanted a single-occupancy room. Knowing that her bill was being handled had given her a sense of entitlement and an obnoxious demanding spirit. She didn't hold down her voice. In fact, when the nurse said she'd find out about the possibility, Giselle raised her voice and told the nurse "That's all!," virtually dismissing her. She couldn't see around the partially closed curtain between her bed, so she had no idea that the other patient and her guest were rolling their eyes at each other, and mouthing "Whoa!"

After several moments, the nurse returned to advise Giselle that there were no single-occupancy rooms available at that time, on that floor or any other. Giselle's response was predictable. "Yeah, right. Thanks a lot!"

Yet again, two young women behind the privacy curtains reacted to the new patient in the room. This time it was a shake of their heads, and one mouthed to the other, "Unbelievable!"

Giselle would have preferred the curtain remain between them. She was in no mood to talk to anyone, but that wasn't what happened.

The visitor pulled back the curtain, revealing both herself and the patient she was visiting.

The patient was the first to speak.

"Hi, my name is Doris. We thought we should open this curtain so you could get some of this sunshine on your side too."

Giselle responded half-heartedly. "Thanks."

"And, my name is Awsty," added the visitor.

A quick heartless response, "Hi. I'm Giselle."

When Giselle seemed unlikely to share some pleasant conversation with them, Awsty and Doris continued talking with each other.

"Well, I'm getting really close to finishing classes, and pretty soon I'll be taking my state nursing board exams. I'm spending almost every day and night studying, and that's when I'm not actually in conference with my advisor or at the hospital."

"How's Mason reacting to not getting you exclusively to himself?" Doris asked.

"Well, you know Mason. He's just so sweet and patient. I'm so blessed, Doris. I just love that man so much!"

"You're blessed. That's for sure."

The very second the word "blessed" had escaped Doris's lips, Giselle made a humph sound that was meant to mock the very word itself.

"Blessed," mocked Giselle, in a quiet voice, but one she very much meant for the two young women to hear.

Ignoring her, although they both had heard and knew it was a pointed commentary on Giselle's emotional and spiritual condition, they continued their conversation.

"So, how go things with you?" asked Awsty. Since you two broke up, are you seeing anyone else? And, by the way, what happened with you two?"

Doris shrugged her shoulders. "I really was starting to care about him, Awsty. But, something happened that made me question his character, and after that it just went downhill."

"What?"

"Well, we went out to dinner one night. We were having a super time. He was so congenial, and warm, and I just thought everything he said was so funny. We laughed and laughed until I actually had a stomach ache. I had been thinking for some time that I truly hoped the relationship would lead to something permanent."

"And..." Awsty prompted.

"Well. We'd finished our dinner and had decided to get some yogurt at that cute little place on Davis Avenue.

"Within no more than three minutes after we pulled into their parking lot, another car came in. It was obviously another couple on a date.

"When the guy opened his car door, he thrust it open too far and it really slammed into our car. Right on the passenger side, where I was sitting.

"The guy had a bit of an attitude and kind of sneered at us when he got out of the car and stood there examining the extent of the damage.

As soon as we heard the guy's sneer, he yelled at the guy, "What? You think this is funny?!"

The guy didn't say anything, he just grinned. To be honest, I just think he didn't know how to react in front of the girl he was with. I think if he'd just apologized and told us he would take care of it, and given us his insurance information, it would have been over. But, he didn't. He just went around his own car the other way, and opened the door for his date.

"He lost it. He ran around to where the guy was standing and shoved him. And, of course, the guy shoved back. Then he started swearing at the guy. I've never heard such language in my life! Not from a believer!"

"What did you do?" asked Awsty, with a shocked expression on her face.

"I walked around and took hold of his arm. I was going to ask him to let it go. Just get the guy's license and insurance information and we could go."

"And..." Awsty prompted again.

When Doris didn't respond, Awsty asked again, "And..."

"He shoved me. Pretty hard, too. And told me to stay out of it."

"He _shoved_ you?!"

"Yeah. Awsty, I was so embarrassed. I wasn't hurt physically, but by now there were people standing around, watching, and I was just plain humiliated. And, I haven't seen him at church since. Someone said he's started going to another church. Seems like he just slunk away."

Giselle had not been part of the conversation, but she had obviously been eavesdropping, because out of nowhere she piped in, "Yeah. Guys stink! You should see the guy who did this to me! And he thinks we're going to get all buddy-buddy now. I told him today to get out and not come back."

Simultaneously, Awsty and Doris turned to see Giselle exposing her pitifully broken body.

Both girls gasped when they saw her. Giselle was actually glad that the bandages were no longer on her lacerations. The black sutures made everything look so much more gruesome than if they'd been just covered white patches of gauze. If she looked like this, and there was nothing she could do about it, she was going to milk the sympathy for all it was worth.

"Oh, Giselle. I'm so sorry!" This from Doris.

Awsty stood and went to Giselle's side. She took Giselle's hand and held it in both of her own.

"Oh, Giselle!" She wanted to say more, but what could she possibly add?

At this sudden display of sympathy from someone that didn't know her, Giselle reached around with her free hand and grabbed Awsty around the neck. Pulling her toward herself, she broke down for the zillionth time that day and cried deep racking sobs that sounded to Awsty as though they came from the deepest part of Giselle's soul.

When no further words of comfort came from either girl, Giselle just clung to Awsty's neck. And that was fine with Awsty. She ached for this young woman. She knew she would sit here hugging Giselle, until _Giselle_ decided it was time to break apart.

*****

As per her promise to both patients, Awsty returned to the hospital the next day after school. And, as per her second promise, she brought both Doris and Giselle a prize. She knew she should probably be studying, but she truly felt like her poor brain couldn't take in anymore academic information. And, as much as she wanted to visit again with Doris after her appendectomy, her heart was just breaking for the young woman named Giselle.

Arriving late-afternoon, Giselle wasn't in the room. The bed was made and Awsty wondered if Giselle had been dismissed already. _That couldn't be, could it?!_ Her injuries were too extensive. And, she had only been brought down from ICU yesterday, or was it the day before? She couldn't remember.

"Hey, girl! How you feelin' today?" asked Awsty, with her usual broad smile. Between the Lord and her new husband, Mason, Awsty almost always had a grin that just couldn't be turned off.

"Ok. Well, actually, I'm not feeling great. I'm in a lot of pain still. In fact, I think it's getting worse. Looks like I might have to stay a day or two longer than planned.

"In fact, when you leave today, would you call Pastor Johnston or Pastor Greg and tell them I don't think I'll be back to work until the middle of next week?"

"Of course. I'm so sorry, Doris. I know you must be feeling disappointed. But, in another couple of weeks you'll be back to your ol' self and chasin' Pastor Greg and Pastor Johnston around their desks," said, Awsty, trying to get her to cheer up some.

"And, where's Giselle? Surely they haven't released her yet, have they?"

"No. She's down in therapy. I think it might be another hour or more before she's back."

"How's she doing today? She just broke my heart yesterday! She never said what happened to the guy, did she? Surely he's been arrested by now, right?

Before Awsty even finished talking, Doris simulated a pouting child.

Without answering the question Awsty proffered, instead Doris said, "You said yesterday that you were going to bring Giselle and me a prize today."

"I did."

"Well, where do you have it hidden? There's nothing here but you, and your purse."

Before answering, Awsty unzipped her voluminous purse and pulled out a zippered storage bag, and a hair dryer.

When Doris saw the two pitiful items taken out, it was apparent on her face that she was disappointed. She told Awsty minutes later that when she saw the hair dryer, that she thought Awsty was going to do something with her hair, and since she would be lying around in bed for days yet, it seemed like an exercise in futility.

"Hey, before you get all pitiful on me, wouldn't you like to know what I've brought? Geez, girl, at least let me open the bag and show you the wealth of 'gorgeousness' I've got inside."

With these words, Awsty unzipped, turned the bag upside down and allowed the entire contents to fall on the bed next to Doris. The response was an immediate squeal of delight from the ailing Doris.

"You brought the nail wraps! You brought the nail wraps! Do I get to pick out my own?!"

Awsty laughed at Doris' enthusiasm and told her that she absolutely _could_ pick out her own wraps.

There must have been twenty different styles, everything from demure to raucous and almost bawdy. Doris stopped talking with Awsty and focused all her attention on the adorable nail wrap possibilities.

Deciding within three minutes which ones she wanted applied, Doris hugged her chosen wraps to her chest.

"Oh, I just love these!" They were a white background with musical notes all over a treble staff.

"Awsty, I've never had nail wraps before. I'd never even heard of them until you told me about them. This is just the most exciting gift I've ever been given when I'm sick and pitiful. Well, at least they're in the running for first place with these..." And, with lightning speed, she opened her bedside table and pulled out a sampler box of chocolates.

"Ooooo..." replied Awsty, who loudly slurped and swiped imaginary drool from her mouth and chin. Doris got the point and offered Awsty one. Her choice was even faster than Doris' choice of nail wraps. _A_ c _hocolate-covered pecan cluster!_ Awsty popped the whole thing in her mouth with no ceremony at all. All Doris could do was laugh, with each guffaw, holding her appendectomy site. Awsty giggled too, but only until the chocolatey goodness began spreading in her mouth. Then, Doris might as well have been out of the room, because Awsty closed her eyes, chewed slowly and "Mmmmm'ed" her way through the sugary delight with total concentration.

"Who gave these to you?" asked Awsty after enjoying her piece of chocolate sugariness.

"It's from the church staff. Pastor Greg brought it by earlier."

Once the cluster had been consumed, while Doris thoroughly perused the wraps she'd chosen, Awsty began setting up the items she'd brought and would need. Orange stick, coarse nail file, smoothing nail file, a small pair of pair of nail scissors, alcohol swabs, cotton balls, and of course, the already displayed hair dryer.

As Doris' eyes landed yet again on the hair dryer, she whimpered, "Oh, no!"

"What?"

"You're not allowed to bring anything electric in the rooms. They won't let us use the outlets. They're supposed to be used explicitly for hospital-related things."

"Yeah. I knew that. That's why I brought my battery-operated one. Although..." Awsty hesitantly said, "I forgot to check to make sure the batteries in it are still good."

Quickly turning on the appliance, Awsty and Doris simultaneously responded in kind.

"Whew!"

*****

During the application of wraps to the first hand, neither Awsty nor Doris spoke. Awsty had only applied the fashionable nail wraps to her own nails, and seemed a bit stumped on how to turn Doris' hand to get the best position for application. She was too focused on her task to chat. But, by the second hand, and after at least a gazillion times Doris sighing, "Oooh..." in total appreciation of the first hand's fingernail adornment, the girls began their casual conversation.

"What made you choose the musical pattern? Oh, wait... a memorial to the seven years of piano you took, right?"

"Yes, m'am. I may not play the piano much anymore, but it's still a very real part of who I am."

Awsty was quiet for a couple of minutes, while she used her own nails to force the wrap of the current finger as far back into the cuticle as possible.

"Owww!" yelped Doris.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Dor. Sometimes I forget everybody isn't as insensitive to this as me." She lifted Doris' finger up to her lips as though she were going to kiss "the boo-boo," but let go of Doris' hand when Doris started laughing.

A few more minutes of silence ensued before changing the conversation to something new.

"How was Giselle doing this morning? I know she was rude and unkind yesterday, but, Dor, that girl has really been through something horrible. You couldn't see her wounds as well from the bed here, but I saw them up close and personal. She must be in such emotional turmoil, as well as being so beat up! My heart just breaks for her. And, I'd like to wring the neck of the guy that did this to her!"

"Oh, Aws, you have no idea! I got to talk to her in length yesterday afternoon and evening after you left."

"Oh good. I had the feeling she needed to vent."

"More than you can even imagine.

"First off, she won't be having _anyone_ visiting her or taking her home. Her folks are missionaries in..." She paused, thinking. "I think it's Guatemala. Maybe Zimbabwe. I can't remember.

"Anyway... she hasn't even told them what happened. She said she told the doctor she'd tell them about it when it's all behind her."

"Poor thing. No support. No wonder she's so distressed."

"Oh, you haven't even heard the worst of it. She's a professional ballerina. She was supposed to be going on a European tour with her dance company in a few days..."

"Oh, no. You're kidding."

"No, and it gets even worse. The doctor told her there was so much muscle damage to one of her legs, as well as a screw having just been put in to hold one of her legs together, that she won't be able to dance anymore."

Awsty sat slump-shouldered as she finished up Doris' nail wraps. There was little casual chit-chat. When she finished, she told Doris to hold up her nails and look at them.

In usual circumstances, Doris and Awsty both would have been oooing and aahing, but the mood in the room had changed radically. Both women were deeply saddened over Giselle's situation. Especially, since they had no idea what to do to help her.

Doris put her hands down finally, and looked Awsty in the eye.

"Aws, that's not even the end of it."

"Oh, Dor, what else could there be!?"

"She has no place to live. She came back home just long enough to gather a few things her parents put in storage for her, and then go join her dance company. She's been staying in a motel."

"Doris, what's she going to do?"

"I don't know. I just feel so bad."

When Giselle entered the room, both women perked up immediately and acted, for Giselle's benefit, that everything was fine.

# Chapter 6

"Hey, Giselle. I'd ask how you're doing today, but I can see from your flushed face, that they've worked you hard down in physical therapy." Shaking her finger at the girl as though she were warning a small child, Awsty said, "You better have behaved yourself down there and worked hard, or I'm not giving you the prize I promised yesterday."

The truth was that Giselle was so worn out, that she didn't know if she should just say that she had worked hard, or if she should just acknowledge Awsty's comments with a nod.

She decided on the prior. It took all the little bit of remaining energy she had just to get up out of her wheelchair and onto her bed, after which she turned her head to face Awsty and simply and softly said, "Hi."

Awsty could see from the lack luster of Giselle's response, that she was both tired and frustrated. Awsty decided not to tease her. Giselle wasn't up to it. Instead she left Doris' bed and scooted a chair over beside Giselle.

"Hard time down there in therapy today?" It was obvious by the furrowed brow and the compassion in her eyes that Awsty felt great sympathy for Giselle's plight.

Giselle only nodded her head, then silent tears began to slide down each eye. She never bothered to brush them away.

Awsty immediately went right into her compassionate nursing mode. She jumped up from her chair and ran into the adjoining bathroom, where she wet down a washcloth with cold water. After wringing all excess cool water from it, Awsty walked back into Giselle, where she used one hand to pull Giselle's long damp auburn locks away from her face and the other to wipe her face with long strokes. Hoping it would cool Giselle down some, she asked, "Any better?" She was, of course, referring to having freshened Giselle's face, not her general well-being.

"Well, other than the fact that I can hardly walk, the therapist hates me, and my life is over, I'm just fine! Really! Couldn't be better!"

Awsty knew it was the pain, the tiredness, and frustration speaking, and decided not to add to it by throwing out some snappy comeback to let Giselle know she couldn't speak to her like that. Instead, she said, "I know."

"Do you?! Do you know?! I don't think so! You probably came from a family with mom, dad, two point five kids (all perfect, of course), a beautiful house with a white picket fence, and of course, there was Rover, the loving family dog. And, nothing could compare to the way they doted over you, giving you everything on a silver platter." Every word came venomously through a set jaw and snarling lips.

Now it was Awsty's time to make a decision. Should she just let the comments go, or let Giselle know that the whole world didn't revolve around her and her problems, voluminous as they were.

"Actually, Giselle..." answered Awsty, in a soft even voice, "I don't know who my father is. And, my mother was a drug addict. Notice I said _was_. I ran away right after high school graduation, and lived on the streets for three years, during which time she died from a drug overdose. And, yeah, there was a dog, only I don't know what his name was, because every couple of days when he snarled around under the bridge or alleyway I called home at that moment, I ran from him in fear that he would either kill me or at the very least take a generous bite out of me. No time to learn his name... or give him one.

"And, about the whole 'giving me everything' deal... Yes, my mother gave me everything. A filthy trailer to start life in, a lack of her presence when she was out hustling drugs, a boatload of men that visited us in the wee hours of the morning, and total and complete indifference.

"And my education still isn't done. I paid for the first half myself by juggling work and school, and my husband is paying for the second half.

"Yeah, my life from the very beginning was quite the dream-come-true."

Awsty hadn't been planning on saying everything she did. When she looked back at Doris, Doris' eyes were so widely opened in surprise that a half dollar coin could have been propped in them. Returning her gaze back to Giselle, and holding it, it was Giselle who averted her eyes and mumbled, "I'm sorry."

"It's ok," Awsty mumbled.

Deciding to let the past few minutes of awkwardness go, Awsty lightened the mood.

"Ok, Giselle, I only brought one prize to Doris. But, I brought _you_ two."

"Hey!" Doris blurted out the word, playing along as though she'd been cheated.

Awsty ignored her, and kept her eyes on Giselle, who had a slight smile that she was struggling to keep undercover.

"First, I brought you a milkshake. Chocolate. I know I never asked, but a person has to be crazy not to love chocolate, right?!"

Giselle, wearing the smile that had won out, said, "Yes. I'm addicted." She didn't even wait for Awsty to hold it out to her. She reached out her hand and repeatedly wiggled her fingers, indicating someone needed to hurry up and hand it to her.

Awsty obliged her and popping off the lid, she handed it, along with a long handled spoon to the little ballerina. Looking back to Doris, they shared a wink. Both women were thrilled to see the painfully thin girl begin voraciously consuming it, spoonful after spoonful.

While Giselle fully concentrated on her scrumptious shake, Awsty began telling her about the second prize.

"Doris, show Giselle your nails." When Doris began "twinkling" her fingers about for Giselle to admire, the response was overwhelming.

Putting her shake on the bedside table between the beds, she gasped and asked, "Are those the things I used to see advertised on tv? Nail wrappers?"

Her name for them tickled Doris, who giggled a bit before correcting her.

"They're called 'nail wraps.' This is my first set. I love them!" Seeing that Giselle was leaning toward Dori's bed, straining to clearly see the pattern, Doris added, "They're musical notes on treble staffs. I took seven years of piano when I was growing up, and even though I don't really play anymore, I decided to go with them."

"Oh, I love them!" Giselle was hooked. Turning back to Awsty, she asked with hopeful longing, "Are you going to do nail wrappers... I mean nail wraps on _my_ nails?"

Awsty's answer was a small accessory bag, which she unzipped and dumped on Giselle's bed, on her lap.

Immediately upon seeing the contents spread around on Giselle's legs, Awsty winced. She had one set of wraps that were a soft pink with a laced-together pair of ballet slippers on them. She had meant to remove those from the stack. She didn't want to remind Giselle of her heartache of a dancing path she'd never follow again.

However, after looking through most of them, Giselle saw that set peeking from the midst of fifteen different sets. She slowly pulled out that set and held it in her hand. As she sat staring at them through tears that quietly streamed down both eyes, Awsty softly reached out and caressed Giselle's shoulder.

"I'm sorry. I should have taken that set out."

"No," Giselle answered, as she swiped below each tear-stained eye. "This is where my heart will always be. I may never dance again, but in my heart, I'll always be dancing.

"These are the ones I want," Giselle confirmed by handing Awsty the set.

Wanting to affirm Giselle in her choice, Awsty smiled and simply said, "Beautiful!"

*****

Forty-five minutes later, Giselle, Awsty and Doris were admiring Giselle's nail wraps that spoke of ballet in all its glory. Giselle smiled a smile that was from deep within, as she admired her nails. Awsty and Doris could see that this was the highlight of Giselle's life for at least many, many weeks. And, possibly for some time to come.

After completing two sets of nail wraps, Awsty was pretty tired, especially after having spent the earlier part of her day in the hospital working, chipping away at the hours needed to complete her nursing internship. It was definitely time to go home. She desperately needed rest as well as to hug and kiss her adorable husband.

Giselle thanked Awsty for the prizes, told her yet again how much she loved her nail wraps, and tipped the milkshake cup toward Awsty, so that the empty cup would prove that Giselle had all but thrown her head into the cup to lick every delicious drop from it.

In response, Awsty walked over to Giselle and patted her head and said, "Good girl! Now, do yourself a favor and eat something healthy for dinner tonight."

"Ugh! Hospital food!" Giselle's face was scrunched up when she said it.

Awsty just giggled.

"Well as much as I hate to agree, it is pretty awful, for the most part. Although it's a whole lot better than it used to be, I understand."

When Awsty was leaning over Doris to give her a goodbye hug, Doris whispered, "Call me when you get home. I need some counsel and a prayer partner."

Awsty, looking somewhat perplexed, nodded that she would call when she got home, and left the girls' hospital room.

As Awsty exited the room, she saw Conyer Whitefield all the way down at the opposite end of the hall, across from a nurses' station, talking with a nurse. Conyer and Awsty were already solid friends, both members of Open Door of Faith. Awsty had a deep respect for the faith walk Conyer had.

Walking in his direction, she held back a dozen steps, as she allowed Conyer to finish his conversation with the nurse. When they had finished talking and the nurse had turned and walked in a different direction, Awsty stepped up to the nurses' station desk he was leaning against and greeted him.

Her mouth ready to speak, it was Conyer, however, who greeted her first.

"Well, hi, Awsty. I didn't see you coming. How are you? Visiting someone?"

"Yes. Well, two actually. But you only know one of them. Doris is here. She had to have an emergency appendectomy. But she's doing ok now. She'll probably go home tomorrow or the next day."

"I thought appendectomies were in-n-out-quickly procedures."

"Well, yeah, they usually are. But, she hasn't been eating well and she's dropped several pounds since the surgery. For some reason, she can't seem to eat much, and what she does eat, she can't seem to keep down. Just pray for her when you think about her."

"You know I will."

Getting ready to say bye and take off for home, she realized she hadn't asked him how _he_ was and what he was doing at the hospital.

"How are _you_ doing? And, what are _you_ doing here today? You visiting someone, too?"

Not sure how to answer, he decided to let her in on the car accident, telling her about his Aunt Tierney's massive heart attack, death, and the resultant crash, in which he sustained some injuries and a young woman was seriously injured. This was the first moment she noticed that there was a pair of crutches propped up behind him.

"Oh, Connie, you were hurt too!"

"Yes, but I'm out already and home again. I'm over at Aunt Tierney's house, trying to put things in order."

"Who was the young woman, anyone I would know?"

"No, she isn't from church."

"So, are you visiting _her_?"

"Well, I thought maybe I would, but I needed to talk with the nurse first."

Almost asking him what business they had been discussing, Awsty realized she would be over-stepping her bounds, so she left her question unasked, and instead said, "Well, it was good to see you, Connie. Guess I'll see you on Sunday."

Before responding with his own goodbye, he said he wouldn't be at church services on Sunday. He was being sent by Open Door of Faith to take over the morning and evening services at a tiny little church down the street from Open Door. Their minister had come down with food poisoning Friday night, and a replacement needed to be found quickly. Because the church congregation was so small, there was no one who could take over the pulpit duties while the pastor was out. When the minister's wife called Pastor Johnston, he suggested Conyer. Awsty wasn't surprised he'd be going. He was an amazingly godly man who loved sharing his faith and God's Word with anyone who would listen.

"Oh. Well, then I guess I'll see you the _next_ Sunday."

Conyer smiled and said, "Hope so. Bye." Then, he turned and headed down the hall toward Giselle's room. Awsty winced as she saw him haltingly walking on his crutches. Awsty had no idea that Conyer would momentarily be entering the same room she'd just exited moments before, nor that they both knew Giselle... one in a pleasant new friendship relationship, and the other trying to enter into a friendship relationship, but instead considered by Giselle to be the destroyer of her life.

# Chapter 7

Nothing had changed. It was the same every time Conyer tried to talk with Giselle. It wasn't enough that he felt sick at heart at not being able to attend his Aunt Tierney's memorial service because of the seriousness of his own injuries, thus confining him to his hospital bed, but now he had to immediately move on to dealing with Giselle, who showed him nothing less than total disdain and disgust.

When he said hi to her when they were both in the physical therapy room at the same time, she either shot him an ugly, hateful look, or ignored him altogether.

When they passed in the halls taking a stroll to regain their strength since the accident, Giselle would actually stop walking or wheeling herself, depending whether she was on crutches or in her wheelchair, turn around, and head back in the opposite direction.

When he came to her room, she either asked any attending nurse to please close the door before he entered, or she would simply turn over in bed and lie in the opposite direction with her eyes closed, refusing to acknowledge his presence.

Not one single word had been exchanged since the day she made it clear he should go away and never come back into her room.

Conyer went back and forth in his thinking. One moment he felt compassion for her, realizing that she had lost both health and her livelihood in one fell swoop. The next moment, he thought she was a mean-spirited person, selfish in all her dealings. One moment he felt like praying for her, and the next, he felt like doing anything _but_ praying for her.

Feeling like he was on an emotional- and spiritual roller coaster ever since the car crash, Conyer knew that for both himself and Giselle, he needed to reach the young woman somehow.

He thought maybe he could just drop by her room for a few minutes and see if she would talk to him at all, even if it was just to say hi. She had made it perfectly clear that they would never be good friends, or friends at all. But, having her so angry with him, and no doubt blaming _him_ for the accident, just left him feeling unsettled and helpless. Since he had been released, he decided to return to the hospital and give it one more shot and drop by her room right then.

Standing at a hidden angle in the hall, from which he could only see Giselle and not her roommate, Doris, he could see Giselle laughingly talk with whoever her hidden roommate was. Without exposing himself, he watched Giselle for a couple of minutes, during which time he could hear her say how much she loved her nail wraps. She was exclaiming both their beauty and her astonishment that they had the ballet slippers on them. When she asked the roommate to see hers again, he could see the hands of the other patient, but not the patient's face. They seemed to be having such a good time that he decided he would come back and make another visitation attempt the next day. It would give him an opportunity to maybe speak with her alone. Plus, he would have had a decent night's sleep, so he'd just generally feel better.

As Conyer turned and walked away from Giselle's room, he offered a simple prayer that the Lord would both heal this beautiful young woman's wounds and begin to soften her heart, both towards him and the Lord.

Lord, I just don't know what to do at this point. Please help Giselle, and me too!

*****

Conyer only made it down to the hospital entry before reconsidering going back to talk with Giselle. Turning himself right back around, with a what-in-the-world-am-I-doing expression on his face, he entered the elevator and made yet a second attempt to travel to Giselle's room. His progress was slower than it was the first time, just a while ago. While he was grateful for the assistance his crutches gave him, his armpits were feeling the strain from them. He briefly thought about going to the nurses' station and asking for the use of a wheelchair, but decided if he was ever going to regain his strength it would only be achieved by doing as much walking as possible.

Conyer was going to need all the strength he could muster in the next weeks and months to come. Being the sole beneficiary of his aunt's and uncle's holdings, as well as executor of their Living Trust, he knew it would stretch him mentally- and emotionally to the limits. He didn't even know what all their holdings were, much less what to do with them when he figured it out. But, he couldn't think about that right now. Right now he needed to somehow let Giselle know that he was not the enemy. The car accident was just that... an accident. He needed her to know that he wasn't driving. It was his Aunt Tierney, who had a massive heart attack while driving and had hit her car.

Her car! It may have been a piece of junk, but it was Giselle's transportation. Now she had none! She couldn't possibly have had insurance on that old thing. What was she going to drive now? Oh, man! One more thing to have to figure out!

Every moment seemed to Conyer to be fraught with new problems. He decided to blank out everything else right now and just get Giselle talking to him, or at least to listen to him.

By the time Conyer arrived again at Giselle's room, Doris was gone. She knew that if she didn't get up and move more, she was going to pay the price later. So, she began walking up the hall. When she got to the end of the hall, she decided to brave it and turn the corner. Consequently, she was no where to be found when Conyer entered Giselle's room.

Although Conyer knew her first name, he somehow felt like he better keep things a little less familiar, so as he stood in the doorway, he said, "Miss Danvers, may I come in?"

Giselle recognized his voice now from all the times he'd tried to talk with her before, so it worked out fine that her back was to him. She had been lying in bed, tears quietly flowing, as she thought about how her life's dream of dancing had been blown to pieces in that one horrible moment of time. Quickly closing her eyes, so that if the 'killer of her dreams' walked around to the other side, it would appear she was sleeping.

Unfortunately for her strategy, however, because she was lying on her side, a teardrop made its way from the highest eye and plowed a path over the bridge of her nose and down the opposite cheek. In and of itself, that wasn't a bad thing, except that the path it had taken left an unquenchable desire to scratch the itch it had created. Reaching to get relief by a quick swipe, accompanied by a sniffle, she had given away that she was, indeed, awake.

"Miss Danvers, may I..."

"Please go away."

"I was just hoping I could talk to you for a minute."

"Conyer, I asked you to please go away. I don't feel like talking to you," Giselle said more forcefully.

Now dropping her last name, he continued.

"Giselle, I know you don't want to talk with me, but I'm afraid we have to. There are some things that we need to discuss..." Before he could even finish his thoughts, Giselle turned over to face him. Obviously he wasn't going to leave. She thought that if she just laid there and glared at him, not talking, he'd go away. She determined she wasn't going to say one word to this man who had single-handedly destroyed her life.

Conyer stood there a moment silently, thinking that when she had turned to face him, she wanted to speak. Not only did she not speak. Not only did she lie there glaring at him. She now crossed her arms over her blanket-covered midriff. She did this deliberately, knowing that it would add a no-nonsense seriousness to her demeanor.

Seeing her arms crossed over her chest, however, disarmed him for a moment. He saw her nail wraps, the very ones she and her roommate were admiring earlier when he'd come by and watched from the hall. He couldn't help himself from smiling when he saw them so close. They were ballet shoes. _Ballet shoes! Of course, they were ballet shoes! What else would they be?! She's a ballerina!_

Never taking his eyes off her nails, he delayed his real mission, and spoke something personal to her, never wondering if it would be a welcomed compliment or not.

"Oh, your nails have ballet shoes on them! I like them!" He paused, then looked up in her eyes, and said yet again, "I really like your nails."

Wrong thing to do!

Never taking her eyes off his, she suddenly reached down with great deliberation and began clawing at the corners of each wrap. It took her no more than thirty seconds to rip every last one off and throw them all around her on her bed's surface.

Conyer stood transfixed through the whole process. He couldn't believe she was tearing off the beautiful nail wraps... just to make a point!

With the obvious question of why in his eyes, he said only one word. "Giselle."

With a controlled but starchy voice, she made one last comment before turning her back on him again.

"I will ask you one more time nicely... _Please_ leave!"

As Conyer turned and left her room, he didn't see the flood of tears that she couldn't control, and the two anguished questions that softly escaped her lips.

" _Jesus, why did You let this happen?! Why did You betray me like this?!"_

_*_ ****

Remembering her promise to Doris to call her after she left the hospital, Awsty pulled over to the side of the street, grabbed her iPhone from off the front passenger seat, and speed dialed Doris.

"Hi, Aws. Thanks for calling me back."

"Sure. What's up?"

"Well, after you left the hospital, the wheels fell off. I don't even know where to begin to tell you."

"Well, just start at the beginning, I guess."

"Ok. So... when you left Giselle and me, everything was ok for a while. We were laughing and admiring our nail wraps. She shared a lot about herself and what's going on in her life. Then we'd admire our nail wraps again. It was just a lot of fun. I got to know quite a bit about her, _and_ we both just loved our wraps!"

Giggling a bit, Awsty responded. "Yeah. Ok. I get the idea. You both love the wraps."

"No, I said we _loved_ the wraps. As in past tense."

"What do you mean? Did someone say they didn't like them and you both decided you don't like them anymore either? Tell me you both didn't just take them off."

"No, actually. I _do_ still love mine."

"Dors, I'm having to work too hard here. Just tell me what happened."

"Ok... I decided sometime after you left that I should really be doing more walking, 'cause I need to get my strength back. So, I decided I'd walk around the unit once. The whole circle. I knew it'd take me a while, but I also knew if I didn't prove I could navigate on my own, they might decide to keep me longer."

Doris stopped talking for a few seconds, in case Awsty wanted to say something, or ask a question. When she heard only silence on the other end of the phone, she continued.

"I was gone quite a while, 'cause I walk at a snail's pace. But, when I was coming back and just a couple of doors from our room, I could already hear Giselle crying. It was that kind with the quick intakes of breath, like she was almost hysterical or something.

"So, I walked as fast as I could to the door. And, when I looked in, Giselle was almost hysterically sobbing. And... on the bed all around her were her ripped-off nail wraps. That was bad enough, but when I saw the blood on her blanket, I couldn't figure out what in the world had happened while I was in the halls walking."

"And?" Awsty prompted.

"Turns out the guy that's responsible for all her injuries came to the room today while I was gone. She says he forced his way into the room, acting like they were all buddy-buddy, and wouldn't leave. She says it's like he won't even acknowledge this whole thing was all his fault. That because of him, she'll never dance again."

"Dors, what happened with the wraps?"

"Well, she says that part was her fault, but he instigated it. She says that after all he's done to hurt her, he had the nerve to tell her the ballet-slipper wraps looked nice. She says he told her a couple times. And, he still wouldn't leave. She says there was nothing she could do, and she was so angry that she just ripped them all off right then, while he stood there and watched. She says at the moment she did it, she felt like it was the only power she wielded over him. And, one of them she ripped at so hard that she ripped the whole nail off all the way back to the quick. From all the blood, you'd think someone had stabbed her or something."

"Ok. Give her your phone, and let me talk to her."

"I'm out in the hall. When I checked caller ID and saw it was you, I came out here so we could talk privately."

"Oh. Well, when we're through, go back in and tell her I have all kinds of other wraps and I'll come back either tomorrow or the next day and she can pick out a different set.

"Sounds more like a temper tantrum on her part, but maybe I'm missing something, since I wasn't there. Man... what did that guy do to her?! I even asked her what he'd done to hurt her so badly, and why hadn't she didn't call the police at that time, but she just cried harder and shook her head repeatedly. It must have been really awful, 'cause she didn't want to tell me.

"Her whole world has been turned upside down though, that's for sure, so I guess I feel like I need to be patient with her.

"Just tell her I'll come back and re-do with a different set. She looked at a couple other sets a lot. Maybe she can wear one of those instead."

"Awsty, now I remember why I just love you so much. You are so sweet to do that for her."

"Well, do you remember me when I first came to Open Door? Everyone there was so patient and sweet to me. I learned from watching you all what being a Christ-follower was really all about. Maybe the Lord is giving me this opportunity to minister to her like all of you did to me."

There was a small lull of silence.

"Aws, the real reason I asked you to call me back is to get your counsel on something, though."

"Really? Sure. What is it?"

Doris was feeling rather weak by now and looked around the hall to see if she could locate a chair or bench. Fortunately, she saw one just a couple doors away, so she walked over to it and slowly sat, wincing at the pain that still surrounded the surgical wound.

"Well, I've had a lot of time to talk with Giselle and she's in a whole lot worse mess than I even realized.

"She not only doesn't have a car anymore, but she also has no job, and nowhere to live."

"Ooo... Doris, you're not suggesting she come to live with you, are you? You don't know enough about her, do you? Is she a Christian? How will she pay for her share of rent and food? And..."

"Hold on," Doris said, before Awsty could go on.

"I'm not suggesting she live with me permanently. I just thought that she could stay with me a couple of weeks or so until she gets her act together and figures out what to do now that dancing is out of the forecast."

"Dors, you can't afford that, can you? I mean, she'll be stuck at the apartment, no car, and she has to eat, you know. You can't afford to double your grocery bill and utilities. I just can't see how this would work out."

Doris never let a breath's time lapse before jumping back in.

"Ok, first off, it's just a couple of weeks. And, I have to pay rent anyway, so that isn't an added cost. And if the way she eats here is any indication, I'll be spending a maximum of fifty cents more weekly than I do now."

Awsty shook her head and grinned at Doris' comment. She knew Doris was making the point that Giselle probably ate like a bird to be so tiny.

"I know she doesn't have a car, but they have this new invention called a telephone," Giselle continued.

Awsty giggled again. Doris could turn almost all situations into a comedy. At least in the way she verbalized them.

"She can use the apartment landline and start making job inquiries, and find out what to do about a replacement car. If she has any errands to run, I can take her after work, or even during my work lunch break."

"Speaking of which. You need someone to take care of _you_ until you go back to work. Not the other way around. When are you planning to go back to work?"

"I'm going back around Wednesday."

"Oh, Dors, that's too soon, isn't it?"

"No, I need to get back. Pastor Johnston called me yesterday. You know what an encourager he is. But, he said he misses me terribly and wants me to hurry up and come back to work."

"He sure is a precious man, isn't he? Well, I suppose, on the other hand, it could be a good thing having her with you a couple of weeks. She can help you with meals and cleaning, so you don't have to do all the work. And, if she's home anyway, maybe you could get her to help with the laundry. I guess you can tell her you'll supply the quarters if she'll do the actual laundry duties."

"Yeah, I didn't even think about the advantages of having her. I was thinking of helping her. But, she could really be of help to me while she's there. In fact, I could present it to her that it would really be a service to me if she comes back to the apartment with me a couple of weeks while she's making plans."

Awsty cautiously gave her an "ok" from _her_ perspective, under one condition.

"While she's with you, you allow Mason and me to chip in financially."

"Uh-uh. No way! Don't even go there!"

"Dors..." Awsty broke in. "Mason and I would like to minister to Giselle during this time, too. But, if you don't allow us this privilege, I don't see how that would happen.

"She's got a huge burden to bear right now and it will probably be quite some time before she's on her feet. If her family isn't here, she has no friends here, how will she ever make it through this?"

"I didn't think of it like that, but you're right. She needs help from every source that's willing. Ok... thank you for the financial help while she stays with me, and thank you for being a good friend... and a wise one. I love you!"

"I love you back. Listen. One more thing before I go. When you get out, I'm coming a couple of days after work and help you get things set up for the two of you. I'll help clean some, and help you get your kitchen pantry and fridge stocked.

"Listen...gotta go. Knowing Mason, he'll be standing in the driveway waiting for me. Ooo.. how I love that man! Bye, Dors."

"Bye, Aws."

It was settled. Doris was going to invite Giselle to come live with her for a couple of weeks during her transition back into the "non-dancing" world. It would be days probably before Giselle would even be released. It would give Doris time to build some strength and get the apartment guest-ready.

# Chapter 8

The day was warm and sunny. Unusual for late autumn. But, with the sun shining in her hospital window, Giselle opened her puffy eyes, created by all the tears she'd shed during the night, when she should have been gaining some restorative sleep. The horror of her situation and her dismal life prospects with no dancing were keeping her both awake and tearful almost all the time.

Giselle looked in the direction of the warmth source. Although she lay in the bed furthest away from the windows, the sun was already shining in enough that it had crawled more than half way into the room and reached half the length of her body. She pulled herself closer to that edge of the bed to hopefully gain a bit more desired body heat.

As Giselle lay there, she allowed her gaze to roam over to the now-empty bed where Doris had spent her post-surgical time. Doris had vacated both the room and the premises earlier, Although Giselle knew that after her release she would be staying for a small amount of time with Doris while she tried to get her life back in some semblance of order, she was now quite literally alone, and the sole resident of room 512.

She was doing everything she was supposed to. She was eating the disgusting food that was brought her at each mealtime. Or, at least she was giving it a good attempt. Some foods were edible, others just made her gag.

As she thought about it now though, she was somewhat confused about the whole 'food thing.' Some days the meals were gross beyond words, then other times a fantastic cheeseburger and fries or cheese pizza and milkshake would arrive. When she asked any staff present in her room how the meals could so radically vary in both type and 'deliciousness,' no one seemed to know how it could happen. Not that they lied, but they had been instructed to not give Giselle the information that it was Conyer Whitefield who was bringing those meals to her.

Conyer always seemed to arrive within minutes before meal delivery in that hall. He would remove the food on Giselle's tray, and replace it with whatever he brought. Or leave the food that the hospital served, removing only the dessert they included, and replacing it with something like a hot fudge sundae.

Her physical therapy sessions were getting slightly easier daily as she ate her 'special foods' and moved around. Taking daily walks around the halls were good for her, but even though she did them, she was embarrassed by the staff and visitors that ogled her while she was learning to master her crutches. It wasn't that she minded people looking at her. Heaven knows they had done that all the time while she was dancing, whether in school, or at school performances. But this was different. Everyone looked at her with pity, rather than the admiration she had become used to.

Giselle had tried a couple of times to walk without the crutches assisting her, but each time one leg or the other gave out on her, so she no longer even tried. She had admitted to herself that it was going to be a long time before she reached anything even near normal again.

So it was that morning, with a depressing resolve to accept her temporary limitations, she slowly swung her legs over the edge of the bed, grabbed the crutches and slowly and agonizingly headed out her hospital room. Fortunately there were few people in the hall. Mostly there were staff and doctors, all of which were running around at a bustling pace, that day ignoring her altogether.

Passing a room just four doors from her own, she heard the raised voice of a young girl.

"Excuse me..."

Giselle assumed the young girl was calling someone else, so she continued to walk. But, before she could even clear the doorway as she slowly walked down the hall, the girl called again.

"Excuse me!" This time it had been a little louder. Giselle couldn't keep from turning her head and looking into the room. The little girl was looking right at her.

"Were you talking to me?" Giselle asked softly, removing one hand from the crutch hand-hold and pointing to herself.

"Yes. I could use a little help. Could you get one of the nurses to come here?"

"Of course, but you know that you have a button there you can push to get someone to come and help you."

"I know," the girl said, looking down at the floor, "but I dropped it and I can't get out of bed to get it."

That was the first time Giselle actually looked at the girl. Not just a casual glance, but really looked at her. She felt a sweeping wave of nausea course through her when she saw that the little girl had two casts, one on each leg. Giselle's first impression was that something was terribly awry, not including the casts themselves. One cast seemed to be considerably shorter than the other. _Why is that one so short and the other one...?_ The question was never completed, as reality dawned on her. One of the child's legs was apparently amputated, or she had been born with it like that. Either way, Giselle was sickened to the core of her being.

Trying to maintain a smile, anemic though it was, Giselle maneuvered herself into the room, where the young girl was housed in a single-occupancy room. When she arrived next to the girl's bed, she laid one crutch on the floor and used the other to brace herself as best she could while bending down to pick up the call button. Unfortunately, her balance was precarious at best, and Giselle managed to splat right there on the floor. And, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't seem to get up. Apparently, however, the little girl thought she had fallen on purpose to make her laugh, so laugh she did. First, it was a slight giggle, but the more Giselle struggled to get up and couldn't, the more the little girl's giggles turned into serious laughter. By the time Giselle actually arose from the floor, she was at a crossroads. She didn't know if she should get mad at the girl for laughing at her, or should giggle a bit herself, letting the little girl know that she could see the humor in it all.

Looking, however, into the face of this child who was so disadvantaged, she decided to act as though she'd done it on purpose. So, now sitting in the chair beside the bed, having already attached the call button to the safety bars on the side of the bed, she joined the girl in a bit of silly laughing.

"Did you see how goofy I looked when I fell?"

"Yeah. I didn't know if I should laugh, but I just couldn't help myself."

"I know what you mean. I couldn't see myself, but I could feel my legs and arms going in different directions. I know I looked crazy! You have to promise you won't tell anybody."

"Oh, I promise."

"Pinky-swear?"

"Pinky-swear. What's that?"

Giselle leaned close to the little girl.

"You've never heard of a pinky-swear? Ok, take hold of my pinky here with your pinky." The little girl obeyed.

"Now, we snap them apart..." Giselle spoke while they did it, "then a hand movement like an explosion." The little girl didn't know exactly what Giselle meant, but the very second Giselle's "explosion" was executed, the girl copied. And finally, Giselle said, "Then, make it rain." She used her fingers, pulling them down as they wriggled.

"Ok," said Giselle, "are you ready? Let's do the whole thing together once slowly." They did.

"Ok, now let's do it faster." When they completed it perfectly, both the girl and Giselle laughed.

"Wow, you learned that so fast..., uh, what's your name?" Giselle asked.

"Tawny. Tawny Burnette."

"You learned that so fast, Tawny. And, my name is Giselle."

Once they'd done their pinky-swear hand movements one last time after promising not to tell anyone how goofy Giselle looked when she fell on the floor, Giselle became more sober.

"Tawny, I got hurt in a car accident. How'd you get hurt?"

Imitating Giselle's seriousness, she responded, "I didn't get hurt. My legs were kind of like this when I was born. That was nine years ago, in case you were wondering. But, the doctors said I had some things they could fix some if I had a couple operations. This is my second operation. I had one last year too. And, this one..." pointing to her partial leg, "they took off some more this operation. And, when it heals, they're gonna make me a pros-te-dic so that I can walk."

Giselle knew Tawny meant "prosthetic," but didn't correct her.

"Oh, I'm so glad you'll be able to walk."

"Yeah, me too."

Giselle figured she might be wearing Tawny out by this time, so she told her that this was a wonderful visit and that if Tawny was going to be here a while, maybe she'd be able to come back and visit her again.

As Giselle was exiting Tawny's room and turning the corner of the door frame, she slipped slightly and almost fell again. She looked back around the frame, swiped her brow, and mouthed, "Whew!" to Tawny. Tawny grinned and said out loud, "It's a good thing you didn't fall again, 'cause I only made that promise for the _first_ time you fell. If you'd done it again, I'd just have to tell somebody. I couldn't stand not to."

Giselle just grinned, removing one hand from its crutch long enough to wag her index finger at Tawny and shake her head, then she continued back through the hall to her own room.

*****

Lying in her bed all afternoon was going to be boring. Boring, boring, boring! She had nothing to occupy her time other than tv, which didn't particularly interest her.

Looking over at her bedside table, Giselle saw Conyer's Bible resting easily on its surface. For the briefest of seconds she considered picking it up and reading some in it, but actually scowled at it when she thought how God had betrayed her.

Her mind gave voice to things her mouth would never say.

God, you let me go through all those years of training, allowing me to think You not only were giving me that schooling as a gift of grace, but made me think I was actually going to be able to put it to use. You know how much I love dancing and that I could hardly wait to go on the European tour, then You turned it into some kind of game that You could watch, and laugh at me when it was all taken away!

When Giselle realized what she'd been thinking, she looked over at the Bible and slightly grimaced, expecting God to strike her, maybe not with lightning, but just as fatal would be a heart attack. Or the ceiling collapsing, and crushing her. She knew it was ridiculous, that the Lord didn't get some kind of thrill by "zapping" His kids. And, it was this realization that gave her a brazen desire to continue ranting.

You talk in Your Word about being a loving God. Well, frankly, I don't see anything very loving about You at all right now!

Like, what's up with Tawny? That little nine year old girl hasn't hurt anybody, but You let her be born all messed up. There's no reason in this world that you couldn't have made her with strong good legs, or healed her at some point. I used to hear in Sunday School about Your Miracles all the time when I was a kid. But, to tell the truth, since You're so keen on truth, I've never ever experienced one first hand, or even known of anyone who has. Sometimes I can't help but wonder if this whole "Christian thing" is bogus.

And, what about Mom and Daddy? They've barely had enough support while ministering on the mission field, and they're doing all that for You! But, if it hadn't been for scholarships and financial aid, I couldn't even have gone to a performance arts school!

It's just not fair! You just seem to never come through for us!

At this very moment, she felt rebelliously empowered as she reminded God of something.

Remember when Jesus was on the cross and He asked You why You'd forsaken Him? Well, I know just how He felt. I feel like You've done nothing but betray me!

Thinking she'd run out of things with which she could indict God, she was actually, and perversely, pleased when she realized she had one more thing to accuse Him of.

You allowed that Conyer guy to destroy my body, my car, and my life, and then You let him show up right here... not once, mind You, but multiple times! And when he did, he never even apologized for ruining my life, but somehow seemed to think that we were going to be some kind of bosom buddies. And then he comes up with that 'liking my nails' thing! Who cares if he likes my nails or not?! Not even did he have the decency to apologize or ask my forgiveness... No! He needs to actually ask me, "Will you forgive me?" In fact, he needs to do both! But, I don't think what he's done is even worthy of forgiveness. Look at all the damage he's done! All of it irreparable! And yet, You let him walk away almost unhurt at all! That tiny little limp he has isn't worthy of any sympathy. In a few weeks his limp will be gone, but not mine! My wounds will be around for a lifetime! God, what are You doing, anyway?! You've protected the one who caused it all! It's just not fair! You're not fair!

Unable to think of any other fuel with which to batter God, His plans, purposes and methods, Giselle wadded her hands into fists, shook them toward the ceiling and now said out loud, "It's not fair and You can't be trusted!"

Immediately upon those escaped words, Giselle turned her head and buried her face in her pillow. Hoping no one would hear her, she screamed into the pillow. It muffled the sound, of course, but at least she'd been able to vent. Now, with a sense of sadness, helplessness, and hopelessness, she turned her face to the side, closed her eyes, and fell into the fitful, nightmare-ish world of what seemed like ghosts and goblins... or perhaps demons? Giselle's hardening heart gave her no peace, and all aspects of her 'slumbering rest' were anything _but_ restful.

# Chapter 9

After his release from the hospital, Conyer disobeyed the doctor's and staff's admonishments to go home and get plenty of rest for the next week to ten days. He was only supposed to transport himself to the physical therapy location, then back home on a bi-weekly schedule, where he was to continue re-cooperating. The doctor didn't care if he stayed at his own residence or his Aunt Tierney's, as long as one or the other didn't keep him from his therapy, or his much needed rest.

Conyer had no appointments or paperwork that demanded his attention right at that moment, so instead of going into Aunt Tierney's house and making himself comfortable for a few days, he slowly meandered from the taxi that had delivered him to his aunt's house straight to his car, which had been sitting in her driveway ever since the morning they'd taken off to town together with Tierney at the wheel of her Lexus.

His destination? The "scene of the crime." He'd run over the happenings of that day until his brain was almost fried. In every scenario, however, the same thing happened. Aunt Tierney clutched her chest, and ultimately rammed directly into the car carrying Giselle Danvers.

Feeling emotionally down, and certainly tired, Conyer headed toward the intersection in which one person died and one was injured to the point of destruction of her life's dream. He could have added, "one who was injured, but not irreparably," but he didn't feel he himself should even be included in the damage-evaluation. His life would go on relatively unscathed, other than hurting from the loss of his beloved Aunt Tierney, and mourning the bodily damage and career-death of the poor, pitiful... and... beautiful Giselle. Interestingly, Conyer never once considered positively how his previously financially ok life had just been catapulted into realms of wealth that relatively few people would _ever_ experience in their lifetime.

Parking his car almost a block away, down a side street, removed from the intersection itself, Conyer slowly got out of his car. From this fairly great distance, he was going back and forth in his mind as to whether he should even get any closer to the location of impact.

Granted the intersection had been cleaned up, cars towed away, and gave no apparent indication that something so tragic had happened that Friday afternoon, but in Conyer's mind he could only see it as it had looked that day.

Trying to blink away the image of mangled car metal, and worse, mangled bodies, he decided that he couldn't do it. He just couldn't make himself walk up to the corner. The memory was still too new, and he ached so desperately for his dead aunt, and even more for the young woman whose life would never be the same. After all, Aunt Tierney had had a wonderful life. God had blessed her with a fun-loving and godly husband, a life of many earthly goods to make them more than comfortable, and given them a nephew who thought they were both two of the greatest treasures of his life.

The point of decision came after crawling back into his car. He was actually closing the door, when in mid-motion, he let go of the handle and pushed the door back open with his still-healing left leg. The pressure of the door against his still damaged leg made him wince. Knowing he couldn't think too much about it, he quickly got back out of the car, pulled his cane out, propped himself up with it on the sidewalk, slammed the door and began a purposeful and steady pace toward the intersection.

*****

Staring fiercely at the exact place where lives had forever been changed, he could identify two oil puddles, but that was almost all there was to identify the horrendous happening of that infamous day. Conyer thought how strange it was that there were no hints of skid marks. He replayed the scene in his mind.

He knew his aunt hadn't braked. She was accelerating as they approached impact. But, apparently Giselle hadn't braked either. Actually, he wished he didn't know this, because that meant she probably hadn't had the presence of mind to slam down on the brake, or time enough. She probably had just seen the inevitable coming, closed her eyes and waited. The thought made Conyer involuntarily shudder. He tried to shake away the mental picture, but was having a difficult time succeeding. All he could think was how terrified she must have been.

"Do you need help crossing, sir?"

"What?" Conyer asked, not having expected anyone to speak to him at that moment of mentally reliving the moments of the crash.

"May I help you cross the street?"

"Oh, yes please."

The older woman had seen him standing immobile at the corner and thought he was struggling to get off the curb to cross the street. Somehow he couldn't bring himself to disappoint her kindness, so he told her yes, he could just use some help stepping off the curb. Once she supported his free arm, he used the cane in his other hand to assist him in stepping down. After thanking her several times, he began the walk across the street.

Where he was going, he didn't know. He had no need to cross. And, even as he did, he realized he was stepping directly into the exact place where the two cars battered each other. Something about that knowledge made him shiver, as well as unconsciously step more quickly to vacate the area.

Once standing on the opposite side of the street corner, Conyer took a long sweeping glance in both directions. He knew it was unreasonable, but somehow he felt like if he stayed in that stationary position, there would be an actual repeat of the car crash, so he quickly turned and began walking down the street, heading for who-knew-where, as long as it was _away_ from the crash site.

*****

The window of "Whittier's Wood Whittling" was the only thing that halted Conyer's walk. He wasn't sure how much longer he would have mindlessly walked that side of the street if he hadn't seen the store. He knew it was the image of the crash that had propelled him on this walk. But, he had no idea how much further he would have gone in that direction before turning around and heading back to his car, if the store's window content hadn't interceded.

As he stood looking in the window at all the amazing sculpted wood pieces, he realized for the first time since turning his back on the intersection and rushing away that he had no business taking this long constitutional. The doctor had very plainly told him that it would be a very long time before his leg would be in any kind of condition for extensive exercise. He knew this, and yet...

There he stood, taking one long glance back to see that he had covered just slightly less than a city block to this storefront. It had felt like he'd walked for a mile or two... or three. Probably because each step had been so painful, not to mention slow. The cane helped, but it was no cure-all. In fact, not only was his leg in excruciating pain, but his left hand and wrist were throbbing. He realized he'd been gripping way too hard on the cane's handle, much more than was necessary, but he felt so uncertain about his injured leg while walking, that he had over-compensated by holding the handle of his cane as though if he loosened his grip, a hole in the ground would open up and swallow him whole.

Returning his attention to the beauty captured in wood sculptures that all but filled the display window, Conyer was immediately lost in their delicacy, intricate designs, and nostalgic shapes. His aunt and uncle had taught Conyer to appreciate the lines, textures, and designs of different art mediums by exposing him to that element of life. And, he couldn't remember ever seeing such beautiful pieces of art as what he was gazing on, well, other than oil paintings by one or two particular artists with whom he was enamored. And, of course, some glass blown works that always mesmerized him and took his thoughts to far away islands... he didn't know why. Aunt Tierney always had told Conyer that art of any kind, if worthy of one's interest, should move one emotionally. And, these wood sculpture pieces truly did just that.

Slowly perusing each piece, then moving to the next, Conyer's perusal came to a screeching halt when he spied one specific sculpture that all but took his breath away. He didn't know if it was the piece itself, or that it immediately transported his thoughts into the presence of Giselle Danvers.

There, standing no more than ten to twelve inches in height, were two slender legs, the feet of which were enclosed in a pair of delicate pink laced-up ballet slippers. Both feet were balanced on their toes. The legs at top started perhaps mid-calf. For some reason it made him think of the famous piece of sculpture of a woman whose arms were both missing, and yet it didn't detract from the magnificence of the work exactly as it was.

While he stood transfixed, examining every square inch of its surface, there was a rapping on the window. When Conyer jumped slightly, the man inside the window saw and realized he'd startled the potential _customer_ ... he hoped! Hoped he would be a customer, that is.

The man inside removed the ballerina sculpture from the window and walked with it to the door of the establishment. Conyer followed his lead and joined him in the now-open doorway.

"Hi. I saw you looking at this piece, and thought you might want to see it 'up close and personal.' Would you like to hold it?" he said, as he proffered the beautiful piece of artwork to Conyer.

"I'd love to, but I'm kind of unsteady on my feet since my accident," responded Conyer.

When the man's smile began turning down, Conyer quickly restored it by asking the man if he could come into the store and either sit somewhere, or balance against the counter and examine the sculpture up close.

"Yes, of course you can," stated the salesman. "Here," he said, as he walked away to a small table with a long-legged stool next to it. Conyer would much have preferred to be in a chair with arms and definitely at a lower level, but responded graciously by thanking the salesman and seating himself. It was awkward, because Conyer had to essentially sit on one hip, while letting his injured leg hang straight to the floor.

Totally oblivious to Conyer's awkward and uncomfortable position, the salesman began spouting an obviously pre-rehearsed spiel on all the virtues of this piece of art. Conyer pretty much tuned the salesman out and silently began touching and turning the piece, using long finger strokes on the ballet slippers and ties.

After the salesperson asked Conyer several questions, none of which Conyer answered, nor even appeared to have heard, the salesman realized he was neither needed nor wanted, and simply walked away. He, of course, left the sculpted piece with Conyer. He was hoping that while Conyer sat alone with the piece, he'd fall more in love with it and would find it harder not to own it.

*****

Fifteen minutes later Conyer Whitefield had just purchased the sculpted wood ballerina feet, standing en pointe. He hadn't previously known the term "en pointe", until the salesman educated him. The term jumped into his mental schemata and there it stayed comfortably and permanently.

There had been several tense moments while Conyer and the man haggled over the price. The salesman kept expounding its virtues after each of his counter offers. Conyer, on the other hand, simply stated a counter price each time, and when the salesman shook his head, Conyer would simply push the art piece a couple of inches toward the salesman. Then the salesman would make another lowered counter price, then push the piece back toward Conyer. Had anyone been watching the exchange from outside the business window, they would have questioned if the two men were playing some kind of new-fangled chess game, or such.

After the counter-bid-then-push having been executed four or five time between them, Conyer looked up from the wood sculpture and asked, "What's your name?"

The salesman answered, "My name's Connor, but most people call me Connie."

"Connie?! That's my nickname!"

"No kiddin'? What's your given name?"

"Conyer."

For no more than ten or fifteen seconds, they sat staring at each other, with grins on their faces.

Before Conyer could say anything further, Connor said, "Well, hey... in my whole life I've never known another _male_ Connie, have you?"

His grin widening, Conyer answered, "No, I never have either."

Quickly, before Connor said anything else, Conyer jumped back in.

"Tell you what... Just take another twenty-five bucks off the price and I'll take it."

With his head shaking slightly and a bit of a snarl on his face, Connor stalled, trying to make Conyer think he was going to turn down the offer. The truth was, however, his business was hurting financially. It was one thing to hold out when one could afford to, and it was quite another if one really needed a sale badly.

When Conyer finally shook Connie's hand in agreement of the price, he asked him a favor. But, first he offered an explanation.

"I suspect you know about the car accident that happened not that long ago on that corner," Conyer said, pointing in the general direction of the intersection.

"Yeah. I actually heard the crash, but they wouldn't let the public get close. But even from the door here, I could see it was really bad."

"It was," Conyer responded, nodding his head, mainly to himself.

"Ya know..." Connor said, "I read about it at the online local news web site. And, I realized I recognized the girl, but I couldn't figure out how until I was in bed two or three nights ago."

"So..."

"Well... for several days before the accident, this girl would show up at the window and just stand there," Connor said, looking beyond Conyer to the window location he was speaking of. She would look at this," now looking at the sculptured wood piece Conyer had just purchased, "and then walk off. I thought she was so pretty. Kinda looked like she could be a ballerina herself. You know... slim, long arms and legs.

Conyer felt an immediate twinge of jealousy at the phrase, "... she was so pretty." He wasn't sure why. It wasn't like they were dating. She wouldn't even talk to him, much less date him. He gave himself a quick mental equivalent to a 'good swift kick in the pants', telling himself to get a grip on reality.

Connor continued. "She looked like she was daydreaming when she stood and looked at it. Then, she'd just walk away... like she'd just come out of a trance or somethin'.

"When I read about the accident, I saw her picture, and read that she _was_ a ballerina.

"Weird, huh?"

"Weird?'"

"Oh, I don't know. Just that she was a ballerina, and according to the article, she was pretty messed up. Like she'd probably never dance again."

Conyer's thoughts drifted back to his first sight of Giselle after the accident. It was in the hospital, and he knew she probably wouldn't ever dance again, or possibly even walk. It made him shutter.

Connor's voice interrupted Conyer's thoughts.

"Why'd you ask if I knew about the accident?"

"Well, she's still in the hospital, and I thought maybe it would cheer her up to get this as a Get Well gift, or at least let her know someone was thinking about her."

Connor asked, "Oh, you know her. Is she here at Clayton Memorial?"

"Yeah, she is. Why?"

"Well, I offer a delivery service. No charge. I figured I could get this over to her easier than you can. It's probably hard for you to walk in the hospital halls. And, I'm already going out on another delivery in about thirty minutes." He knew it was a lie. He had no delivery, but this was his opportunity to go see the pretty girl that loved this sculpture.

"Oh, man. That would be great!"

Connor handed Conyer a card from the stack of greeting cards at the cash register. This was the first purchase that had been made where someone would actually use them.

"Just write a message of your own and sign it. I'll deliver it right to her hospital room. And, speaking of which, how are you getting back to wherever you need to go? I didn't see a car out front."

Conyer was jerked into reality by the question.

"Oh, yeah. I forgot I have to get back to my car. Hey, could I get you to drop me off on the southwest corner of the intersection. I walked from my car here, but I don't think I can make it back too easily."

Connor said the right things, but the truth was, he wasn't all that concerned about Conyer's limp and cane, or how he came by the injury in the first place. His thinking was preoccupied with a gorgeous young woman he was going to be seeing in the next half hour or so.

"Yeah, absolutely. Let me lock the front door, put up the 'Back Soon' sign and we'll go out the back door. You write your card while I lock up."

After Connor had locked the door, put up the sign, and walked back to place the Conyer was completing his card, he carefully placed the wood sculptured ballet piece into a store bag topped with crisp white tissue peeking from its top, Conyer had completed his card, sealed it, and put it in the bag with the stunning piece of wood sculpture.

# Chapter 10

When Connor dropped Conyer off at his car, he told Conyer he'd have the purchased gift to Giselle within thirty minutes. He thanked Conyer again for the purchase, rolled up his window and left Conyer standing by his car. He hoped that Giselle would love his gift, and know that it came from the heart of someone who cared about her, and wanted to be her friend.

Lord, I don't know if she'll even keep it when she reads the card and realizes it's from me. Please take care of her. Heal her and... help her to see that I'm not her enemy.

It was time that he got back to Aunt Tierney's house and started organizing. That included making her house his, organizing her business paperwork, and finding out exactly what was in her Living Trust.

Given the choice, he'd rather have Aunt Tierney back. He didn't want her "stuff," he wanted _her_.

He was dreading the whole process that lay ahead of him. And, the tough part was that he'd have to do it all alone. No family to share the work... or the grief.

As Conyer exited his car in Aunt Tierney's driveway and looked up at the expensive, lavishly landscaped grounds that in a minute would lead him up to the expensive, lavish house, whose doors when opened, would take him inside to the expensive, lavish interior, he sighed. Lavish, lavish, lavish! Everything about it spoke of wealth! He supposed many people would love to own a home like this, but to Conyer, without people who loved each other living together in it, it was just a big, empty house. Not a home. Just a _house_.

*****

"Hi. I hope I'm not disturbing your rest, but I wanted to deliver this," he said, as he held out the gift Conyer had purchased for her at his store. "I hope it'll cheer you up."

Connor was thrilled to be the deliverer of this expensive gift to this beautiful young woman. True, it was part of the services offered by his business, but it didn't hurt being in the presence of Giselle. He remembered her from the several times she'd stood in front of his store weeks ago, mesmerized by the ballerina sculpture.

This time, however, Giselle looked tired, her face was a bit drawn, and there were deep circles under both eyes. She looked to him like she'd really been put through the wringer. His gaze shifted to one exposed foot that peeked out from under the sheet and two thin blankets that covered most of Giselle's body. _Wow! What must the rest of her body look like since this accident if her foot and leg were in that bad of shape._

There was bruising that went from the tips of her gnarled toes to almost her instep. The nails were in various stages of bruising. From deep purple to green to yellow. And, there was no nail at all on the big toe. Three of the toe knuckles had what appeared to be red blood blisters on them. They looked as if if one blown breath on them would puncture them, spewing blood everywhere. But, the most repulsive aspect of her foot was the big toe, which was twisted almost completely under the second toe... totally deformed. At least they looked deformed to Connor. He actually shuddered slightly, which drew Giselle's eyes down to where he was looking. When she realized it was the sight of her foot that had apparently repulsed him to a substantial degree, she yanked her foot quickly back under the covers. Although Giselle knew her feet looked like this all the time, she found herself hoping this appealing young man thought it was from the accident, not her point slippers, and would heal and disappear.

"Oh, hi. I recognize you, but I can't remember from where." She had just finished a long and tedious round of physical therapy and she felt as though she could sleep for a week.

Her morning session of therapy had concentrated explicitly on her legs. The therapist had quickly learned that Giselle had great arm strength, as she demonstrated on the parallel walking bars. Even though her legs desperately struggled to walk, her arms relentlessly forced her on, then stabilized her while her feet caught up.

Giselle felt as though she had walked back-and-forth on that one exerciser for miles, although in truth she only walked it twice, round trip. She felt discouraged that she wasn't bouncing back as quickly as she thought she should, but her resolve to dance again made her push herself beyond what the average patient did. As a result, however, she was desperately tired. All she wanted to do was sleep. Just a short while. Change that. She wanted to sleep away the afternoon until she was yet again summoned to another session with Greg, her therapist.

The sight of the 'Whittier's Wood Whittling' bag brought her around somewhat. She didn't bounce up with glee and enthusiasm, but it certainly awoke a curiosity within her.

"You have something for me? What is it?" asked Giselle. Slowly sitting up in bed, she looked back at the cute guy that stood before her with an identifiable store bag in his hands.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "I know where I've seen you! Inside the store window." The store logo and name printed on the bag triggered her memory. She remembered that this guy had waved at her once or twice in the few times she'd stood at the window, perusing every curve of that beautiful ballerina sculpture, as it stood poised in the window. He beckoned her to come in, but each time she pointed to her wristwatch, implying that there was no time. In actuality, she could easily have gone in every time, but for what purpose? She had no money. She couldn't buy even the least expensive item within the store domain. No point in torturing herself. So, her routine had become to wait until he was looking elsewhere, usually talking with a customer, or dusting inventory, then slip away down the street.

Grinning, seemingly pleased that she recognized him, he walked forward and held the bag out for her to take.

When she hesitated to take hold of it, he took a couple steps closer until he was standing directly next to her. Again, he offered it.

For the briefest second, Giselle remembered what her mother had taught her as a young child. She was never to take anything from a stranger. Not candy, not a toy, not a proffered hand. The remembrance made her smile. She missed her mom. And, her dad. But especially her mom. She so wished she was here right now. Giselle knew she would walk through the door, throw both arms open wide and engulf her within the "realm" of her love.

That smile, although for the memory, seemed an official "welcome" to Connor. He believed she was sincerely glad to see him. _Wow, she was really beautiful when she smiled!_ _Well, as beautiful as anyone could be who had just been in a car crash._

The bag, now in Giselle's hands, was inviting. Giselle had always loved surprises. And, because of the prize in her hands, another memory was triggered into her consciousness.

She had been no more than eight or nine. She had been home-schooled through those first formative academic years.

Her mother would occasionally and randomly interrupt Giselle's work by saying, "Giselle, spell ______," inserting the word. If she spelled it incorrectly, her mom would make her stop whatever work she was doing, go retrieve the worn dictionary from the living room bookcase, and look it up. It had happened often enough that Giselle knew the routine. She would look up the word, copy it down on paper, as well as write down its definition. The last step would be to write it ten times on paper and use it in a sentence.

That process had stuck those words like glue into her head. Mainly because she hated looking up words and writing them down. But because it often interrupted her train of thought on the work she had to return to, she truly hated it.

But, if she spelled the word correctly, her mother would give her a prize. Usually it was a cookie, thirty minutes delayed bedtime in the evening, or some other little indication that she had succeeded in the spelling challenge.

One particular day, her mom had walked into the kitchen to the table at which Giselle was working, and said, "Giselle, spell 'loquacious.'"

_What in the world did that word mean?!_ She was convinced she'd never heard it in her whole life. Knowing, however, that she was required to respond to the challenge, she slowly began. Her mother usually suggested words that had unusual spellings, so Giselle braced herself for the challenge.

"L-O-C..." At this third letter, Giselle's mother never said anything, but Giselle could see the slightest furrowing of her mother's brow. It was just enough that Giselle knew this letter was wrong.

"No wait," Giselle quickly said. "Let me try again."

"L-O-..." she hesitated. She wasn't sure, but at this point, she only knew that "C" wasn't right. She could only think of two other letters that would produce the hard "C" sound, and they were "K" and "Q."

"L-O-Q-U-A-..." She paused slightly, as she considered whether to go with "S-C" or just a "C."

Taking a deep breath, she plunged ahead. Desperately not wanting to have to go through the "looking up" process, and so wanting the cookie she thought she might get if she got it right, she continued.

"...C-I-O-U-S." Her face was screwed up in expectation of her mom saying it was time to look it up.

"Excellent, Sweet Girl. Perfect!" her mother exclaimed. "So, what would you like to have as your reward today?"

"You mean I get to choose this time?" asked the very excited Giselle.

"Yes, that word was really difficult, and you spelled it right. I think this deserves something special."

"Well, you know that commercial on tv that I was telling you about with the lip gloss? I would love to have one of those. You've seen it with me. The girls wearing it are a little older than me, but not much. I really think I'm old enough, Momma."

Hoping with all her might that her mother would at least say she'd consider it, that is if her father agreed, Giselle was flabbergasted when her mother abruptly pulled the very gloss container out of her pocket and asked, "Oh... you mean like this one?!"

Giselle had squealed, grabbed it from her mother's hand, opened it and applied it to her own lips. She then stole a glance out the kitchen window to see if she could see her reflection. She could. It was shiny and looked a bit different in color than her usual lip color. She was elated. Throwing her arms around her mother's waist, she sighed, "Oh, thank you, Mommy. I love it!"

Her mother responded with a hug of her own around Giselle's slender shoulders, and said, "You're welcome, Sweetheart."

As Giselle's mother turned and retreated to the kitchen sink, she abruptly stopped, turned back to Giselle, and pulling something from her left side apron pocket, she tossed it to Giselle, who had now returned to her schoolwork. Giselle wasn't expecting it, so she couldn't react quickly enough to catch it. It dropped directly into the middle of the math paper she was working on. It stayed pretty much intact, other than some crumbs, which flew all around it on the paper. A big round chocolate chip cookie. Her favorite!

Giselle and her mom both laughed when the dropped cookie hit the edge of the pencil, catapulting it into the air.

By the time this memory had completed itself, Giselle was almost grinning. For just a split second, she wished her mom was here to comfort her. But, almost as quickly, her heart hardened again, and she knew she wouldn't let her parents know what happened until she was completely recovered. She knew her mom and dad's reactions would be to ask Giselle why she didn't want them to know. And, they'd ask her why she wouldn't allow them to give her the greatest gift they could give... prayer for healing. They would tell her she'd taken away _their_ blessing and her own.

In the heaviness of the moment, the Holy Spirit tried to remind her of her worth to God, with or without the use of her legs, but she would have none of it. She cut Him off before He could fully give the message of _His_ Restoration, which was of far more worth, but during that moment of time, Giselle's heart would not accept it, and her smile waned.

She looked back up at Connor. When he had seen her smile begin to fade, his smile mirrored hers. Giselle watched his smile turning downward, and re-instated her toothy grin, which in turn brought his smile back. Connor was convinced that whatever had dimmed her countenance momentarily was banished when Giselle looked directly into his face. He was convinced that this beautiful, albeit battered and bruised, young woman was charmed by his presence.

*****

Conyer walked through the big and lavish house that Aunt Tierney and Uncle Derrick had built and lived in for many, many years. Succumbing to his melancholy, he talked aloud. He told the structure that it was beautiful, strong, and elegantly decorated as he visually scanned its expanse.

Walking through the various rooms, he reassured the house that a coat of paint here and there in a more updated color, and some furniture replacements would make it more awesome than it already was. But, no matter where he walked, or what he saw, he knew that although this home was now his, it was of little value to him if there was no one to share it with.

Trying to imagine any of the three girls he'd ever dated living in this mansion was disastrous.

Ginnifer, his high school girlfriend, would have been running around the house from one end to the other, emphatically stating that 'this' and 'that' would simply have to go, making room for a different 'this' or 'that.' Bouncing through every nook and cranny, she'd exclaim that 'this' was too old-fashioned, and 'that' was worn out and antiquated. In his mind, he saw her in her cheerleader outfit, complete with pom-poms, which she'd shake at anything that actually 'worked' for her, which would be few and far between.

Cherise, his girlfriend the first two years of college, was the future "psychiatrist par excellence." She would analyze everything about- and in the house, expounding on its merits versus its liabilities. She wouldn't care at all about the sentimental value to Conyer. Her job would be to logically decide what worked and what did not in light of a list of criteria that she would have written out on a legal pad before even arriving at the house.

And, heaven help us, DeAnna, his girlfriend in college during his senior year, would be the worst of the three. She was only in college because her parents insisted. She'd stuck it out the duration, but knew from Day One of her freshman year that the very day she graduated she'd be flying back home, where she would find a man, marry and have children _en masse_. She would probably love the house, but since it was local, she'd say it needed to be sold immediately, so that the profits could be re-invested in a huge McMansion in her folks' home town.

Then, without meaning to, Conyer shifted his gears from his past to his present by mentally inviting Giselle into his aunt's and uncle's home. He saw her open the door and enter into the stately foyer. Her eyes would increase in size to that of a silver dollar, and her mouth would open to a large "O," and the first words from her mouth would be... and that's where his vision stalled.

When he realized he was mentally inviting a woman into his newly inherited home, he was embarrassed. And, even though there was no one present who even suspected it, he couldn't rid himself of the feeling that he was doing something wrong by thinking such serious thoughts about a young woman, who from all appearances, hated him. She just hated him. _Why did she hate him? It made no sense. He wasn't driving. He didn't cause the crash. Couldn't she see how unfair it was to hold him accountable for something in which he was faultless?_

# Chapter 11

While walking through Aunt Tierney's estate home, Conyer smiled off and on repeatedly. There wasn't a direction he looked that didn't bring old and sweet memories.

In the kitchen, he looked up at a particular place in the ceiling. It was still there!

When he was no more than ten years old, he was spending the day with Uncle Derrick. The day included lunch. Uncle Derrick was delegated to making the two of them a fresh fruit smoothie, while Conyer made peanut butter and marmalade sandwiches on pumpernickel bread. Conyer remembered how he'd turned up his nose at the sandwich combination. Uncle Derrick told him he'd never tried one before either, but there was little choice, since pumpernickel was the only bread in the kitchen, and the only jam was orange marmalade.

Neither of them was really excited with the combination, but decided to at least try it. Uncle Derrick had told Conyer that if it tasted bad, they'd throw it out and each have a bowl of cereal instead. The only cereal choice was Raisin Bran, so even that wasn't much of a consolation. Interestingly enough, they both were stunned when they ate their first bite of sandwich. They chewed while facing each other. Then, they swallowed and each took another bite. Conyer was the first to voice his opinion.

"Woo hoo! This is great, Uncle Derrick!" Uncle Derrick agreed. As it turned out, they both liked it so much that they each had a second sandwich.

But, Conyer looked back up at the ceiling which had triggered the memory in the first place. It wasn't the sandwich memory that was the "real memory." It was the ceiling!

Since Uncle Derrick was in charge of the fruit smoothies, Conyer wasn't paying close attention as his uncle began his concoction. And, had he, he would have been pleasantly surprised. There were grapes, bananas, strawberries, peaches and blueberries... all of Conyer's favorites.

Unfortunately, however, it was the creation _process_ that went awry. Poor Uncle Derrick had been paying such close attention to what went _in_ the smoothie, that he ignored what didn't go _on_ the smoothie... the blender lid. At the first flip of the power button to the high setting, it was as though Mount Vesuvius had chosen their kitchen in which to erupt. Uncle Derrick quickly flipped off the switch, but not before at least half of the smoothie contents became residents on the ceiling. _What a mess!_ Conyer had felt the pulling toward laughter beginning within him, but knew this was not a good thing that had happened. However, when the whole event broke Uncle Derrick into a fit of laughter, Conyer had no trouble joining him. Within fifteen seconds flat, both of them were sitting on the floor, unable to control themselves as they watched large plops of juicy fruit pieces dive to the floor, leaving colorful splotches behind. Especially Uncle Derrick, who for the second time, in Conyer's memory bank, had wet his pants.

Conyer was transfixed by the ceiling stain that still remained to this day. Conyer never knew why they didn't have the ceiling refinished. Heaven knew they had enough money to not only fix the ceiling, but abandon the house and build a whole new house, if they wanted to instead.

Uncle Derrick had, of course, wiped down the ceiling, but a faint pinkish stain remained to this day. He was happy to see the stain was still there. It was a part of his lifetime of memories. He wished he could share this memory with Giselle. _What?! What made him think of her again?! Like she'd care anyway!_

Walking around the rooms, there were few locations in the house that didn't trigger more memories of his childhood, and this aunt and uncle who had so richly blessed his life. And, without exception, as he mentally recounted each one, he was telling them to Giselle. Of course, in his mental fantasy, she was laughing and rejoicing in the telling of each one. At a point when he yet again realized he was having sweet fantasies of telling Giselle his stories, but that in fact the woman wouldn't even talk to him, his heart fell, and his face lost the sweet smile each one brought.

What Conyer began to ponder at that point was that Giselle had said at the hospital that she was a Christian. If his memory was correct, when he'd offer the gift of his Bible, she had said she was a Christian and had her own Bible. What he remembered most, however, was the venom with which she'd spewed this information.

Knowing that Christians had angry moments just like anyone else, he admitted that she had been through quite the trauma, lost her car, probably irreparably injured her leg, and lost her dancing career.

Either Giselle was going through the stages of loss, anger being the one she was stalled in right now, or she possibly wasn't really a Christian. _Oh, how he hoped she was!_ And, with the support of family and friends, she would come out the other end of the process in victory. He knew he prayed for her many times daily. And, although he was still banned from visiting her in her hospital room, he so hoped that the ballerina sculpture would bring some joy to her, and let her know someone really cared about her.

Conyer wished he could be in her room when the ballerina sculpture was delivered to her. He had been told at the store that she had gazed at it longingly several times. Maybe it would both bring her some joy in this turmoil, and soften her heart toward him. He so wanted to be able to tell her exactly what happened that day, and share her pain in its ultimate demise of her dancing dreams.

As he thought about it now, he questioned his decision to sign the gift card with his nickname. Connie was what he was as often as not called by friends from church and community, but those were people who knew and loved him. Giselle wouldn't even talk with him, acted as though she actually hated him, so maybe he should have signed it more formally from Conyer Whitefield. _Oh well... too late to change it now! "Connie W." as the signature on the gift would have to do._

Conyer didn't even remember that he'd never been allowed to say his nickname when he was telling Giselle. She had abruptly stopped his comment about what his family and friends called him mid-sentence. To her, he was Conyer... simply Conyer.

Maybe he'd go to see her in another day or so to see how she had viewed his giving her this gift. Surely Connor would tell her that he, Conyer, knew that she'd been looking at it several times through the window. Maybe when she could see that he was thinking of her, she'd warm up to him... maybe just a little.

Aunt Tierney had taught Conyer as a child that whenever someone came into your thoughts, you should immediately lift them up to the Lord, because you never knew if they needed prayer at that very time. So, Conyer brought Giselle Danvers before the Throne of Grace at that very moment, asking that the Lord would work in Giselle, healing her body and her spirit.

*****

"Ooooo...," Giselle sighed as she reached into the bag Connor had handed her and "unearthed" the magnificent wood-carved ballerina sculpture. For a moment she forgot to breathe, so in awe of the gift as she was. When she did finally remember to take in a fresh, cleansing breath, the look on her face and the words of her mouth gave Connor true indication of how deeply touched she was that someone had actually given it to her. _All hers! For always!_

"Oh, it's the ballerina slippers sculpture! It's truly the most beautiful thing I've ever seen!" In the moment Connor saw her reaction and heard her words, for a micro-second he wished he had been the one to give this gift to her, rather than just the "delivery man".

Several minutes passed with no words between them as Giselle turned the sculpture around and around, sliding her fingers lovingly over every square inch. And, where much of the time her face since the accident was etched with frustration and undeniable anger, at this moment all lines disappeared and were replaced with the innocent look of pleasure as one would see on the face of a child having just received a longed-for Christmas present.

Connor watched her quietly until the silence became uncomfortable for him.

"Do you like it? If I had to guess..." he said, with a huge grin, "I'd say the answer is a resounding yes!"

This was the first time Giselle had looked up at Connor since first laying eyes on the coveted piece of art.

"This is for me? You mean it's mine?!"

"Yes, of course."

"But, this is too expensive. I saw the price tag when it was in the window. I can't accept this!" As Giselle placed the sculpture back in the bag and was handing it back to Connor, he could see that she believed _he_ was the giver, and this was the perfect moment for Connor to say that someone else had purchased it for her. Unfortunately, in that moment of weakness, he was having difficulty doing so.

Remembering, of course, that Conyer had included a gift card with it, he knew he'd be discovered as soon as she read it, so he resolved within himself to tell her.

"No... you see..." And, it was during this moment that Giselle noticed the gift card that had been attached. She wildly tore it open. Somehow she knew that what Connor was going to say would probably be revealed in the gift card. She held up her index finger to silence him while she read: _Giselle, Praying for you daily. Connie W._

"Connie... right? Connie, what did you say your last name is?"

"Whittier," Connor replied, confused by her question at that moment, and not continuing to explain the gift wasn't from him.

"Oh, you _own_ the store," she said, as she again gazed at the logo and wording on the bag. And, it matched the name signed on the card. _Not only was this gift from him, but he made it himself._

"Yeah. I haven't had the store that long, and it's yet to be decided whether it will be successful or not, but I do own it."

Giselle decided in that split second that if Connie was the owner of the store, and he was the wood sculptor as well, she guessed there was no reason that she couldn't accept it. After all, it was his work to give away, if he chose. She'd looked at it longingly for some time. It had never occurred to her that she had been gazing at a piece of art that would belong to her in a few short days.

As pale and bruised as Giselle still looked, her face did have beauty to it in spite of the ravages of the accident. For a split second, Connor remembered the look of her damaged foot and leg and his face slightly screwed up in some revulsion. But, with the hope that she would make progress physically and return to the looks of the elegant and graceful young woman that stood at his store window those several remembered days, a smile returned to his lips as he told her he was so glad she liked it as much as she did.

For just a split second, for no apparent reason, Connor thought of another beautiful young woman named Doris, that he had so terribly disappointed, to the point that he couldn't even darken the steps of their shared home church again. _What about this young woman made him think of Doris? They weren't anything alike._ He guessed it was because he remembered the hurt on the face of Doris when he'd sworn and shoved her in the parking lot of the dessert place when that guy rammed the door of his own car against the passenger door of Connor's car. First her look of shock, then disappointment. Somehow he wondered if Giselle would react with the same shock, then disappointment when she realized he wasn't the giver of the wood sculpture, but had allowed her to think he was. Interestingly enough, he still didn't tell her. After all, he'd never actually _said_ it was from him. It wasn't his fault that she thought it was.

Looking at the artwork once again, Giselle told Connor that she didn't know anyone could create something so beautiful as this.

"Thank you. I'm honored that you think my wood sculpting is worthy."

Opening her lips to continue her praise and thanks, her comments were stopped by the entrance of her therapist.

"Time for you to come with me, young lady," Greg said, smiling. "You've got some pretty important work to do with me this afternoon."

Connor could see by his scrubs that he was associated with the hospital, and quickly figured that he must be Giselle's physical therapist. Standing quietly where he was, Connor watched the physical therapist bring the wheelchair he entered with around to the side of her bed that was away from his location. Giselle asked him to throw her her sweats, which lay at the foot of her bed. When he did, she asked him to help her into her wheelchair, and told him it would just take a second for her to wheel into the bathroom and get changed into them before he wheeled her off to the therapy room.

Giselle was uncomfortable having Connor.. no, _Connie_ , stand and watch her, but even after looking over at him and thanking him again for bringing the lovely gift, hopefully dismissing him from the room, he stayed where he was.

She didn't want to hurt his feelings after he had brought her such a lovely gift, so Giselle tried to ignore his presence and pull herself off the bed and into her wheelchair. When Connor heard her repeatedly grunt and moan while transferring her body weight from bed to chair, he decided he'd had enough. With one last glance at Giselle, as she painfully moved, Connor said, "Bye, Giselle. Feel better," and disappeared out through the hospital room door.

With one last backward glance into Giselle's 'hospital domain', Connor saw Giselle white-knuckle the armrests of her chair while hunting for security in her seating position. Not knowing that the nasty-looking nails on her fingers, inclusive of one nail that was broken a long way back into the nail bed, were the result of tearing her own nail wraps off when Conyer had admired them, Connor assumed they were the sad "tell-tales" of the horrendousness of her car crash. He immediately screwed up his face into one of disdain, but released it quickly when Giselle caught his backward glance. She was hoping he was already gone, but he wasn't. She looked back at her hands, the obvious focus of his facial reaction, realizing that when she'd let her uncontrolled nail-wrap-removal temper take over, she had... as the saying goes... "cut off her nose to spite her face." No one was any worse off, but her.

Giselle needed for Awsty to come back and apply new wraps, but Awsty's nursing internship had been so hectic, that between time at the hospital and study time at home, she hadn't had the time yet to come back. On the one occasion Awsty had simply shown up, Giselle had been out of the room and down in her therapy session. There was just a quick moment of realizing that she had made that bad decision herself, and only she was responsible for that portion of her pathetic appearance. But, she managed to squash it in a flash, replacing it with renewed anger at Conyer for "making her do it." Although she immediately regretted even thinking that thought, she steeled herself quickly against taking responsibility for her own actions, and turned all her anger again toward Conyer.

# Chapter 12

After all the weeks of physical pain and struggle, mental anguish over her present situation, and spiritual hardness through her own neglect of reading the Bible and lack of any kind of prayer life, Giselle was going to be leaving the hospital the next day, but she experienced no gratefulness at the prospect. She was glad she'd be leaving the sterile environment of the hospital and that she could go then to Doris' apartment to stay with her there until she could get some decisions made about her future, like work, a transportation mode since her car had been totaled in the accident, and when to let her folks know what was going on in her life recently.

Although Giselle was glad she had somewhere to stay when she left the hospital, it never once occurred to her to give credit to God's abundant Mercy and Grace in supplying her shelter, provided by Doris' generosity, and Awsty's willingness to let go of some saved-for clothing purchases for herself to instead purchase some things she thought Giselle could use.

Awsty had bought some pretty new underclothing, casual pants and tops to put in the drawers of Giselle's new room at Doris' apartment. She'd also purchased a few new dresses for Giselle to wear for Sunday services at Open Door of Faith which already hung in the closet, and two pairs of shoes that could be worn with any of the new clothes.

*****

Lying in her hospital bed, eating her last lunch before being discharged the next morning, Giselle had no idea what her afternoon would hold. The acts of mercy, as well as the large, unexpected miracle. And, so it was that with a delectable lunch of pepperoni pizza, a bubbly cold soda, and a specialty cupcake from Deliriously Decadent Cupcakes, Giselle downed every bite and every swallow.

By now she had gotten used to having specialty foods untypical to hospitals. Deep within, she knew that someone was responsible for catering to her tastes. Even so, she didn't pursue finding her benefactor, and came to expect, with little thankfulness, the luxuries that no other patients experienced. In the back of her mind, now and then, Giselle wondered if Conyer had anything to do with the food. _Well... if he did, he should! After all, it was he alone who had destroyed her career dreams. And, if he thought she would thank him for his cuisine insights, he had another think coming! No amount of meals were going to undo the irreparable damage he'd already caused her!_

Looking into the small bakery box, Giselle realized there were two cupcakes temptingly laying on the ruffled doily. Both looked scrumptious, but totally different. A small card with the bakery logo was inserted beneath each cupcake. One was labeled Pudgy Fudgy Caramel Chaos, the other bore the name Flight of Fruity Fancy.

As she sat looking from one to the next, knowing that she only had room for one after having consumed the entire individual pan pizza and soda, she knew immediately which one her chocolate-addiction would favor. But, at that very moment, the notion hit her that she should go to Tawny's room to say goodbye and share one of the cupcakes with her. For only a flickering second, she thought she would let Tawny decide which _she_ wanted, and Giselle would eat the other. But, even in this small ministry opportunity, knowing that the young girl would probably choose the chocolate one, Giselle grabbed the wrapper, pulled it off, and stuffed the chocolate cupcake into her greedy mouth, taking a hefty bite of it. Guilt immediately engulfed her. She knew selfishness was an ugly liability, but because of the general coldness of her heart since her accident, Giselle reasoned that the cupcakes had been given to _her_ , and Tawny was lucky she was even considering sharing one with her.

Temporarily placing the partially consumed cupcake back in the box with the untouched fruity one, Giselle crawled slowly out of bed. She could have used her crutches, or perhaps even slowly and stumblingly made her way to Tawny's room, but how would she carry the bakery box? Not willing to take the chance of dropping it, she opted to use her wheelchair.

Balancing the bakery box on her lap, Giselle wheeled herself to Tawny's room. Poking her head around the corner hoping to see Tawny's smile, at which time she would wheel herself into the room and ceremoniously open the box, presenting Tawny with the fruity cupcake, she was disappointed when Tawny was a no-show. Her seemingly sacrificial gift was disingenuous anyway. Giselle was highly disappointed, since she not only wanted to say bye to Tawny, but receive the praise that Tawny would unselfishly offer for the afternoon snack.

After fifteen minutes of waiting, a nurse happened into the room. Seeing Giselle sitting in her wheelchair by Tawny's bed, she assumed Giselle was waiting to visit with the young girl.

"Oh, are you here to see Tawny? She's down in therapy for another..." said the nurse, checking her watch, "forty-five minutes. Maybe more, if she has the stamina."

"Oh, well, could you give her a message for me?"

"Sure, I'd be glad to."

Removing the chocolate cupcake from the bakery box, she placed it in her lap. She would continue eating it as she rolled herself back to her own room. Then, closing the fruity cupcake in the box, she scooted it over onto Tawny's bedside table, knocking over a small plastic glass, filled half way with water. It splattered the liquid all over the bedside table and dribbled down onto the floor. Jumping in an effort to grab the glass before any spillage, the chocolate cupcake flew from her lap onto the floor.

Giselle first reacted with a sound that was a cross between a grunt and a moan, then decided she wasn't willing to give up the sugary delight without a fight. Arising from her wheelchair, she barely took one step toward the now crumbly mess when she saw a nasty bloody Band-Aid laying no more than two inches from it, with a long dark brown hair laying across it. Upon inspection as she got closer, she realized the the follicle had worked itself partially across the cupcake. How that had happened, Giselle didn't know, since the Band-Aid was there first. All she could figure was that the breeze caused by the flying cupcake had caused the hair to flutter up, then land on top of it. The sight of it now sickened Giselle, who dry-heaved twice before the nurse swooped down and grabbed it, throwing it into the wastebasket.

Had the nurse not been in the room, Giselle would have re-claimed the fruity dessert cupcake for herself. Tawny wasn't expecting it, so she wouldn't feel slighted. Unfortunately, however, the nurse was not only in the room, but spoke to Giselle quickly.

"Oh, I'm so sorry that you lost your cupcake! But, Tawny will be thrilled you brought _her_ one! Who should I tell her left it for her?"

"Giselle," She grunted out her name.

"Any message?" the nurse asked, as she removed a tissue from Tawny's bedside table and swiped the streaks of chocolate fudge icing from the floor. Giselle had been planning to write out Doris' phone number, in case Tawny wanted to call her after she left the hospital in the morning to go to Doris' apartment, but she was so out-of-sorts now that she abruptly said, "No," and wheeled herself out of the room, heading back to her own.

If Giselle had ever been in a foul mood before, it was nothing compared to her present status. She scowled all the way back to her room. And, in her angry haste, she managed to bump into the janitor's cart in the hall, knocking over his mop, splattering dirty floor water on herself. Rather than apologizing to the janitor, however, she just raised hateful eyes toward him and said, "You shouldn't leave things like this in the halls. Look at my gown!"

"I'm really sorry, Miss."

Although it had been her fault, she just harrumphed his apology, and navigated around him.

*****

As Giselle awoke from her fitful afternoon nap, she turned over and glanced into the hall, just in time to see someone flitting across her line of sight. It was fleeting, at best, but Giselle thought whoever it was looked a lot like Conyer. _Ugh!_

She couldn't decide if she was glad it apparently wasn't him, so that she didn't have to deal with him, the loser! Or, if she wished it had actually been him, so that she could verbally rage against him again for having, with no apparent remorse, ruined her life, taking away every dream she'd ever had for her future.

As a result of Conyer having been in her thoughts at that moment, it left Giselle in the most disagreeable mood one could imagine. She danced around between anger, frustration, and hopelessness.

Almost wishing it had been Conyer in the hall, she realized that that was most unlikely. The clothing worn by the fast-moving visage was unlike she could ever imagine that jerk wearing. Loose knee shorts, crazy and colorful socks, and tennis shoes. The shirt was also colorful and frankly, didn't match the goofy socks at all. Almost circus like. For just a moment, she actually hoped it had been him, so she could add a new facet to his person: someone totally lacking in style! She didn't really know what his typical daily clothing consisted of, but it was probably too stuffy and dignified to even wear something like she'd just seen in the hall.

While mulling over her thoughts of Conyer, disagreeable as they were, a well-dressed middle-aged man entered her hospital room. Giselle wasn't adept at judging peoples' ages, but she guessed him to be in his late thirties or early forties. Although he wasn't fully regaled in a suit, he exuded class in his appearance.

In the moment before he spoke, Giselle analyzed him from head to toe. Literally, from head to toe.

First she noticed his hair. It hadn't simply been washed, dried and combed. It had been "styled." Like in one of those exorbitantly pricey downtown hair salons. Although she didn't recognize the fragrance, she could still smell the hair glaze that accounted for the shine, not to mention its having done its job in making his hair obedient to the stylist's wooing.

The glasses he wore on his bronzed face were easily identifiable as designer. In fact, she was pretty sure she'd seen a picture of some celebrity wearing the same ones, probably in a magazine.

Giselle found her gaze stopped for several seconds on his shirt. Although the color was a standard ivory, it was the nape of the fabric that gave pause. It appeared that the whole shirt had been cut on the diagonal, across a monochromatic plaid. It was the most unusual and fascinating fabric application Giselle had ever seen. Even though Giselle had had no textiles training, she would have been a fool to think the shirt had cost him any less than five hundred dollars, more if he'd had it made internationally and imported to the states. Giselle smiled briefly as she thought how most men would probably try to wear it with a tie. Garish! This man had known better.

Above the dark dress pants whose razor-sharp pressed seam could have sliced through a warm loaf of bread, a belt of some kind of animal skin was worn. The only break in the belt was a platinum ichthus. _An ichthus? Wait a minute... that's the fish signifying Christianity. This man was a Christian?_

Sporting an interesting wedding ring of what appeared to be a design of interwoven vines, Giselle's first thought was that some woman had hooked a "real package" here. Looks and money!

Because his bearing was straight and authoritarian, Giselle automatically assumed he was someone important. _But who? And, what did he want? Was he maybe in the wrong room?_

Walking directly to Giselle's bedside, extending his hand, she at first thought he wanted to shake hands. However, since she didn't know who he was or what he wanted, she didn't reciprocate. Both of her hands remained across her waist over the blanket that covered her from the waist down.

"Hello, Giselle," he said, extending what appeared to be a business card. He followed the greeting with the warmest smile she remembered ever seeing, one completely guileless. She reacted with her own smile. Hers, however, was seated on a fence with one leg dangling on each side... one on the side of welcome and the other of wariness. She couldn't seem to decide which would win out.

As Giselle finally took hold of the card he offered, he continued speaking.

"If you'll look at my card, you'll see I am with the law firm, Leonard, Leonard, Barrett & Crayton. I'm the _least_ of the foursome. My name's Daniel Crayton." He smiled at this point, and Giselle couldn't help smiling back. He had one of those faces that invited trust. Good, bad, or indifferent, she had the feeling that whatever he was selling, she'd be buying.

# Chapter 13

"So if you'll just sign here..." he said, as he pointed to the line with the red "X" marked before it, "and initial here, here, here, and... here," as he flipped to each page and appropriate signature line. Giselle thought she'd asked all the right questions, but the truth was she had no idea if she had. She'd never totaled a car before, nor had her parents not been around to take care of all her needs, including reading and evaluating any legal documents or contracts. She obediently signed or initialed, however, at each location Daniel indicated.

"So, Miss Danvers, how would you like to take delivery on your new car? I'm assuming you'll want it delivered to your home address. And, of course, I'll meet you there to help you take possession from the dealer's delivery service. At that time, you can sign the insurance papers. We've taken the liberty of insuring the car for both collision and liability, with, of course, no deductible." Giselle thought she was with him. Everything made sense, except for the "liability" phrase.

"Can you explain once more how the "collision and liability" thing works?"

"Of course. It would be the same as your old car."

"Mr. Crayton, the only coverage I had on my old car was paid for by my parents. And, it was only to protect anyone I hit. The car wouldn't have been repaired or replaced. If you'd seen it, even _before_ the crash, you'd understand."

Daniel smiled at Giselle. To him, she seemed like such an innocent. It was actually hard for him to believe that she was a legal adult. _She must have really been protected and cared for by her parents._

After Daniel explained in layman's terms, making sure Giselle understood thoroughly, he made one more declarative statement.

"Oh... lest I forget. When the car is delivered, at that time I'll also turn over a check in the amount of one thousand dollars, which is the one-year gasoline budget for you.

"Oh, I forgot all about the picture of your new car." With this statement, Daniel removed a large magazine picture of the brand new white SUV from his brief case and handed it over to Giselle.

When Giselle's mouth flew open, Daniel agreed. "Beautiful, isn't it?!"

"Mr. Crayton, it's the most beautiful car I've ever seen! I thought maybe insurance on the... ' _offending party's'_ part would maybe get me a slightly newer clunker than I had. It never occurred to me that I'd get a brand new car. With insurance paid for one year, and a gas allowance!

"Now, at the end of that first year, I begin insurance payments and pay for my own gas, right?"

"Exactly."

Thank you so much for all you've done, Mr. Crayton. You've just been so helpful. I'm so grateful."

"Well, I only am taking care of the transferal funds and legal documents as per my client's instructions, but you're most welcome. I am so sorry about the whole accident, and hope that you'll recover soon and completely. I've been praying for you ever since I heard of the incident. My wife and I both have."

"Your client's instructions?" Giselle interrupted. "What do you mean? This is just an insurance thing, isn't it?" Again she asked, " _Your client's_ instructions?"

Although he was already edging toward the door, he stopped fully and responded to her question.

"Yes. My client. I believe you know him. Conyer...?" He didn't have time to even speak his last name (which Giselle _still_ didn't know), before Giselle jumped in with heated speech.

"What do you mean... his 'instructions'?" She used her hands to make air quotes around the term.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I thought you understood. No insurance is being used. My instructions were to sign over this car to you, and advise of both the insurance and gasoline allowances."

"So, now I'm beholding to him for gracing me with a new car, and some arbitrarily decided upon gas allowance?! This accident was not my fault. And, my dancing career is over! Does he think that buying me a car is going to make this whole thing go away?!" The venom with which Giselle spoke left Daniel no doubt whatsoever that she held Conyer fully responsible for the mayhem - the total disaster - in her life.

"Miss Danvers, about the car crash. You do know that it was _not_ ..."

"What?! Not what he planned to do that day to me?! And yet, that is exactly what he did!"

"Actually, what I was going to say was that the car accident _wasn't_ ..."

"Mr. Crayton," Giselle interrupted yet again, "I'm going to accept this car, the insurance, and the gasoline allowance money, because I deserve it, and so much more, after what he's done. But, if he thinks this makes everything right, he's very, very wrong!"

"I'll relay your sentiments to him."

"Yes, see that you do. And, as for you, Mr. Crayton," she said, as she looked at his business card, still in her hand, "I'll call you when I can give you both the address I'll be staying at and a time that will be convenient for me to take possession of my car."

"Thank you, Miss Danvers." As he walked from Giselle's hospital room, Daniel's eyes flew open, as he rolled his eyes and silently mouthed, "Unbelievable!"

# Chapter 14

Talking to herself after Daniel Crayton, Conyer's attorney, left her alone in her hospital room, Giselle began grumbling to herself of all her grievances against Conyer, including her possible intentions of bringing a lawsuit against him for reckless driving. _Why... he could have very easily killed her! And, maybe there were other charges. Somehow reckless driving didn't capture the extent of what he'd done._ In her present state, she even questioned if perhaps "attempted murder" could be applied in this situation. _Well, maybe that was stretching it some, but he had still ruined her life!_

"You've got to be kidding me!" she heatedly began. "He thinks that because he's bought this car to replace my old one, come by a couple of times to say hi, and complimented me on my nail wraps that he's off the hook for everything?! What an idiot!"

Having just spoken of the nail wraps she'd ripped off her own fingers, she looked down at her hands. Awsty had never found the time to come back and put new ones on her. And, if that weren't enough, the skin around her cuticles looked cracked, dry and generally unkempt.

Reaching over to her bedside table to grab the hand cream Doris had told Giselle she could have when she herself was packing to go home from the hospital, Giselle's vision drifted over the hand cream to a stack of envelopes also on the table top. Some were plain enough, just white paper in white envelopes, with computer typed messages. But, others were beautiful cards, not only with sweet, thoughtful messages of well wishes, but handwritten hopes for her recovery, each having some Bible verse reference added that gave Giselle encouragement at moments when it was so needed.

Pulling the stack of six notes, she re-opened each of them, re-read them, neatly placed them back in their envelopes and stacked them on the blanket resting over her lower torso and legs. Almost immediately, however, she re-opened two. One typed and one handwritten one. She examined them side-by-side.

Isn't that interesting the way Connie wrote some on these beautiful greeting cards and others on white paper? It shows how multi-faceted his personality is that sometimes he writes such casual messages, and other times the depth of his spirituality shows through so clearly.

Still looking at the two greetings that still lay opened on her lap, she read each out loud.

On the white paper was simply typed: _Hope you're feeling better today. Connie._

She couldn't help but smile when she thought how that message differed from the one he wrote on the beautiful greeting card. It's picture was so calm and peaceful. The water rippling over the brook. The fauna along the river bank spoke of the nourishing life-giving waters the brook had dispersed along its edges. And, across its cover were the words "You're on My Mind."

Once again opening the card, she was in awe of the depth of his caring and thought: _Have been thinking again today how much you've endured in these past weeks. I just wanted you to know that I have been lifting you up to the Lord as often as he brings you to mind, which is many times daily. Know that I will continue to pray for your physical healing, and that He will give you peace about all things. "And the peace of God, which surpasses all comprehension, will guard your heart and your mind in Christ Jesus." Philippians 4:7. Connie W._

All of a sudden, something pricked at Giselle's mind that she hadn't questioned before when reading Connie's notes. Grabbing each and every note, she read the messages again. But, there it was. She had been right. Each time Connie typed his message on white paper, he'd signed his name "Connie." Whereas, each time he'd handwritten his message on one of the beautiful cards, he'd signed his name "Connie W". Without exception!

_Huh! Isn't that funny?! Wonder why he did that? Wonder if he realized he even did it?!_ She couldn't even think of any scenario in which one would be considered better than the other. _And, to do it repeatedly, and without exception. Huh!_

The truth was, she really loved the cards best. Not just because they were so beautiful, but because she loved that he shared his spiritual depth, and gave her real encouragement in those. Praying for her and all. Not to mention that she thought it was adorable the way he referred to himself as "Connie W" on the cards, not just "Connie", as he did on the white computer paper. _Funny! And, endearing! Conyer could learn something from this selfless man who carved a beautiful piece of relevant art for her, then left her all kinds of cards. Six of them! Maybe if Conyer would take some life lessons from this amazing wood sculptor, he would have been more careful when he was driving that day, thinking of others' welfare, and not just his own._

With a smile on her face born of the thoughts of the cute young man called Connie, Giselle packed all her cards and the ballerina sculpture into the hospital bag she'd been given to tote all her belongings home in when she was discharged the next morning. As she packed, the face of Conyer came to her mind. She _almost_ smiled at the remembrance of his appeal. More just a barely-there upturn of her lips. _He wasn't drop-dead gorgeous, but there was something so... what?... No, no, no! She wasn't going there! He may be pleasant to look at, but she didn't know if she could ever forgive him for what he'd done to her._ She knew that scripturally she was supposed to, but the truth was, she was far from being ready for that. Maybe she wouldn't pursue a lawsuit. She knew that Christians weren't supposed to sue their brothers and sisters in Christ, but...

Everything Giselle had in the way of personal belongings were packed in her hospital tote. Well... except for her toothbrush, toothpaste, and brush. She'd need those the next morning to get ready to leave the sterile surroundings that had been her home for what seemed like months, although it had only been weeks.

It was hard to believe that everything she had with her was able to fit into one medium-sized plastic bag. Doris had returned several times since being released herself to say hi, tell Giselle what she'd been doing to prepare for her homecoming, and take this or that home to her own apartment, actually... hers _and_ Giselle's apartment. Doris let Giselle know that she'd already been ok'd to take off the entire next day, so that she could drive Giselle home and get her settled in her new surroundings. Neither of them voiced it to the other, but they were both a little nervous how things would go once they were sharing a living space. But, also there was an air of excitement in that they both would be trying a new living arrangement... with another person. Doris had shared with Awsty just the day before that she was hopeful that sharing her apartment with Giselle would be something good for both of them.

Giselle knew unequivocally by the way Doris behaved with others, and the way she loved to both read God's Word and talk about spiritual truth, that she was a dedicated child of God. Doris, on the other hand, was still a bit uncomfortable with Giselle's level of spiritual commitment. She had believed Giselle when she told Doris that she was a Christian, but some of her behaviors and attitudes didn't really coincide with what the Bible taught. Awsty brought this up to Doris on several occasions as they prepared Doris' apartment for the day of Giselle's homecoming. But, faithful friend that Doris was trying to be to Giselle, she reminded Awsty that some really terrible things had happened to her lately... loss of health, loss of career, loss of her only means of transportation. Well, actually Doris realized that the last one was soon to be rectified. She had been told by Giselle of the new car to be delivered to the apartment shortly... in a day or two probably. But, even with a new car, which certainly would be a blessing, Doris said the other two things were quite enough to deal with. She knew that Giselle was already stressed out over what she was going to do now to earn a living.

With great gusto, Awsty and Doris had prepared the apartment with so many amenities for Giselle, and were so excited for Giselle to see what things they'd done for her.

Awsty and Doris had simply packed the kitchen cabinets, pantry, and fridge with not only good, nutritious foods, but lots and lots of "indulgences". They didn't know what Giselle's appetite would be like, but they wanted to be prepared to tempt her with many varieties of edibles.

The two friends had made Giselle's bedroom a serene and beautiful haven. They'd washed the existing bedspread, but sewed up some bright and beautiful new throw pillows to throw across that vicinity to perk up the room, but also to give Giselle plenty of comfort. Awsty had brought enough of one of the fabrics used for the pillows to quickly sew up some new curtains to put at the one-and-only bedroom window. Granted, that window looked out on the parking garage, but they were hoping they could camouflage that fact by hanging the curtains from halfway down the window and closing them, so that it would give Giselle privacy, but she could still look out the upper half of the window to see sky and trees.

Doris had drug in an old vanity table that she had stuck in her own bedroom closet. She'd been using it to store items she really didn't use much. The girls had emptied and taken it down one flight of stairs and out to the parking garage, and after spreading newspapers under it, they'd spray-painted it with a bright new coat of ivory paint. When they saw how beautiful the paint made the vanity look, they considered also painting the chair that was part of the set. But, decided against it. Mainly, because they didn't have enough paint left, and then found they actually liked the contrast in color between the ivory vanity and the walnut colored chair. With the newly covered cushion on the old chair, it made a charming place for Giselle to sit and do... whatever!

After dusting the room, cleaning the vanity mirror, and placing a vase of bright yellow Gerbera daisies on top of the chest of drawers, the two stood at the door and looked at their handiwork. They held hands and squealed when they realized that the room couldn't be anymore adorable than it was.

But, the last and most important thing they did before ending their preparations for Giselle's homecoming, was stand at that bedroom door, bow their heads, and ask the Lord to bless Giselle, help her to continue to physically heal, help her feel loved and welcome at this new "home", and take care of all the details of Giselle's life that they couldn't. They then thanked the Lord, before the fact, for all the yet unseen work He was going to do in Giselle's heart and life.

As Awsty was preparing to leave Doris' apartment, Doris asked Awsty to stop for just one more minute. When Awsty halted and waited, Doris took her hands once more, bowed her head and asked the Lord to help Giselle forgive the man who had been responsible for hurting Giselle. Together they softly pronounced a benediction with a sweet "Amen." Even though Giselle had finally broken down and explained to them that the man hadn't beaten her, but rather he'd run his car into her, she had, as yet, an unforgiving spirit that neither Awsty nor Doris could change. Doris added the request of the Lord to heal the man (although neither of them knew it was Conyer they were praying for). Unfortunately, Giselle had not disclosed Conyer's name, which could have saved so much time in the healing process for all concerned. She chose to keep him as a "negative phantom" in her life. One that she could cast aspersions on, and no one would be able to check on, or perhaps find that he was an "ok" guy. She wanted to nurse her wounds as long as possible, using all their sympathy to fuel her present unforgiving spirit.

# Chapter 15

As Giselle woke up that morning, while she was dressing for work, she realized that today marked exactly three weeks of sharing Doris' apartment, and she couldn't help but mentally review where these weeks had taken her and how much had happened.

She recalled with a smile on her face her first reaction to her bedroom.

Giselle had been rather depressed on the afternoon she first arrived at the apartment. She was under the impression that she would be released right after breakfast at the hospital, but it ended up being afternoon before she was actually wheeled out the hospital doors to Doris' car. That had already put her into a less-than-congenial mood. She loudly sighed and moaned as she waited in her hospital room for the doctor to arrive. The fact that Doctor Timeron had been in surgery for several hours that morning, the last surgery lasting forty-five minutes longer than anticipated had thrown a wrench in his schedule.

As if the longer surgery time hadn't been stressful enough, something he ate at breakfast had caused him nausea that lasted the entire way through both surgeries. At one point in between them, he thought he was going to have to re-schedule the second surgery, but the nausea subsided and he began the second procedure. Unfortunately, about midway his stomach began roiling again. By the time the procedure was completed, he literally said thanks to everyone assisting, ran out of the OR into the staff bathroom and emptied his stomach contents into the first toilet stall. Although evacuating his stomach contents helped, he still felt poorly and walked slowly into a staff lounge, crawled onto one of the sofas, laid down, and drifted off for almost an hour.

Awakening with a start, Dr. Timeron rose, checked his watch, rinsed his mouth out in a sink and slowly walked to the elevator. By the time he'd gotten to Giselle's floor, and walked its length to her room, he gave himself a shake, perked himself up and walked in.

"How are you feeling today, Giselle?" he asked, trying to maintain an unaffected face as he spoke.

"Ok. I thought I was supposed to be released this morning right after breakfast."

"Yes, I'm so sorry. One of my morning surgeries was a little more... _uncooperative_ than I'd hoped." He never mentioned about his own bout of nausea and vomiting.

When she realized he'd been in surgery all morning, her aggravated facial features relaxed somewhat and she managed a half-hearted, "Oh, I'm sorry."

"Thank you. But, let's talk about you..." That phrase began his questioning of how she felt, whether she was able to eat, whether she felt ready to go home, and various other doctor-patient communications that were typical precursors to writing up the release for a hospital patient.

"Ok. I guess we're going to let you go home then," he said, with a smile. "Someone's coming to pick you up, right? And, you'll be staying at a location in which you can have some good, healthy food in the days to come, as well as someone who can assist you in any other ways? I'm only asking this, since the last time we discussed it, you said you weren't going to advise your parents of your accident until your health had been restored. Are they back and planning to care for you?"

Doris, who was in the room with her, seated at a chair on the other side of the room and was closest to the windows, jumped in, "Actually, Dr. Timeron, she's coming home with me. Actually, we're going to look after each other for a while."

Looking at Doris, thinking what an appealing young woman she was rather than thinking about whether or not everything for Giselle's release was a "go", allowed himself the quick thought that even in roommates, people had a tendency to end up paired with people who were pretty much equally attractive, whether dating, marrying, or apparently even sharing an apartment. _Interesting!_

"Great!" responded Dr. Timeron. "Sounds like you two are all set.

"Giselle," he continued, "I'm not going to write any prescriptions for you, but I would advise you to keep some acetaminophen handy for any residual pain, which you _will_ experience after each of your physical therapy sessions. You'll be going to those twice weekly. And, you'll be going to those until I authorize you to stop.

"Got it?" he asked, with a mock tough-guy look, consisting of tipping his head forward, looking over his glasses with a squint, and pursing his lips.

That was the only thing that morning that Giselle had responded to positively.

"Yes, Sir!" she snapped out as she saluted him.

"And," he continued, "Give my office a call within the next day or two and schedule an appointment for... four weeks from now. My office already has your file flagged and will be expecting your call." He had added this, just in case Giselle had any ideas about not showing.

"Any questions?" When Giselle didn't respond, he turned to Doris, raising both eyebrows, to see if she had anything to add. When Doris nodded affirmatively, he walked up to Giselle, laid his hand on her shoulder.

"Give yourself some time to get used to things, Giselle. Don't allow yourself to get discouraged when you don't think you're making progress as quickly as you think you should. I'm expecting great things from you, young lady."

Without thinking, Giselle's reflex was to place her hand over his.

"Thank you, Dr. Timeron. I appreciate everything you've done for me."

Patting her shoulder, he turned and waved to Doris, then began to walk toward the exit door. Feeling a prick of conscience after being so curt with him when he came in, Giselle softly said to his retreating back, "Thank you for everything, Dr. Timeron." Although he didn't turn around, he raised his hand in a silent acknowledgment.

As he walked down the hall toward the elevator, he was shaking his head. Very softly he spoke. "Wow! From professional ballerina to...... to what? That young woman has a long, hard row to hoe." He knew very well that when he and his wife were in Paris, watching the ballet at Palais Garnier, he would be sadly thinking about Giselle Danvers, who should have been on stage with all the other performers.

*****

Conyer was doing some paperwork at his Aunt Tierney's house, in the study. He had been living in her home, now his, ever since he'd been released from the hospital. He wondered if he'd ever think of it as _his_ home.

Looking at the clock, he realized that Giselle was being released this morning and kind of wanted to be at the hospital to yet-again try to say hello, and tell her he was glad she was able to finally go home. He knew these next few days, probably weeks, were going to be a real testing ground for her. She'd be adjusting to a new roommate, new surroundings, and the ever-present question of what to do with the rest of her life. He couldn't help but wonder if she was somehow still clinging to the hope of returning to ballet. This thought prompted him to rub his own leg, still given to frequent bouts of pain, often giving him aggravation.

Bowing his head, Conyer asked the Lord to please help Giselle, wherever she was, whatever she was doing, help her forgive him for any part she thought he had in hurting her so badly, and help her find life's work that she would find satisfying. Interestingly, he never asked the Lord to restore her to her prior dream of being a professional ballerina.

He had already written a greeting card for her with another bit of encouragement and a Bible verse that had been on his heart. Because of the contract he'd drawn up with his lawyer, Daniel Crayton, Conyer was privy to Giselle's post-hospital address. Once Giselle had signed the contract accepting the new car, Conyer had been given a copy by his lawyer.

Having referred to the address on the contract, and having addressed the envelope, he placed the greeting card with the stack of other things to be mailed, mainly utility bills, insurance payments, and continued with the mountains of paperwork pertaining to his aunt's businesses and their Living Trust. For a break at one point, he picked up the card to Giselle one more time. Staring at the envelope, he couldn't help but wonder if they would ever be on a talking basis. He wanted so badly for her to know that he had nothing to do with her injuries. Also, he wanted so badly to share with her about his beloved Aunt Tierney.

As Conyer was holding the envelope, he realized he hadn't put a return address on it. He almost had the pen to the envelope, when he thought that perhaps it was better if he didn't. He wasn't sure if she had any knowledge of his new address, but he didn't want to take the chance she might know it and seeing it, would refuse to open the card. _Better just leave that information off._ He placed the envelope back on the stack of bills and other important written communications.

*****

An outsider would have thought they were three little girls, if they could only hear them, and not see them.

"Okay, close your eyes. Aws, you hold her arm on that side, and I'll hold this arm."

Giselle reacted with some excitement. She was actually looking forward to seeing where she'd be living for... well, however long it ended up being.

"Don't let me fall!" Because her eyes were closed, she didn't see Awsty and Doris look around her at each other. She already walked with a pronounced limp, and they just felt so sorry for her that they couldn't help but look at each other with a sad, sympathetic poor-little-thing face.

Once inside her bedroom, they told her not to open her eyes yet. Backing off to the doorway, leaving her in the center of the room, they counted down together.

"Three... two... one... open your eyes!"

Giselle's eyes immediately flew wide-open. She didn't know where to look first. It looked like a model home room... country vintage! With her eyes still wide, her mouth flew into a perfectly round "O". Then she circled around three times, each time oooing and ahhhing over each aspect of the decorations, always holding the knee that had virtually robbed her of any future dream of dancing before kings and queens.

"I can't believe you guys did this for me! It's just beautiful! It looks so expensive! Oh, I hope you didn't spend a lot of money on all this! You did, didn't you? You must have. It's just gorgeous! I've never had a room like this!"

When she had stopped spinning, Doris summoned her over to the closet.

"Wanna know what's inside?" Doris drew out the question in something of a sing-song voice.

"Well, I'm assuming the stuff I sent here with you guys earlier, like some of my toiletries, my old clothes, and my... ballet stuff." She had added the last phrase with a catch in her throat and a saddened look. Immediately, however, her face took on a new excitement when Doris threw open the door, and her beautiful new clothes and accessories were revealed.

Fingering through the hanging clothes, she kept looking back at Awsty and Doris in disbelief.

"These are new, aren't they?"

"Yeah. Do you like them?" asked Awsty. Since she had made the selections without Giselle's input, she had a moment of great doubt. She just kept her questioning eyes on Giselle, while she waited for a response.

"You're kidding, right?! They're perfect! They're better than perfect!" Each item she singled out and lifted off the clothing bar. When she'd circled it in her hands, she would squeal. Each and every outfit got rave reviews and appreciative comments.

"And, your folded clothes are in the dresser over there," Doris said, pointing to the chest of drawers.

However, before Giselle obediently headed off toward the chest of drawers, she looked back at the closet. She noticed what appeared to be several pairs of shoes on the floor of the closet.

"Oh, you even got me a few pairs of shoes to go with the outfits." She swiped away a couple of tears. Awsty and Doris smiled at each other. They assumed the tears were for all the beautiful clothing. In reality, Giselle was reacting to the beat-up bag also there on the floor of the closet, which Giselle knew held her ballet accoutrements. She hadn't been able to look at any of it since her accident.

"Oh! Turn around and look what I've done as part of the decorations." Giselle followed Doris' and Awsty's glances.

There, hung from a decorative bronzed hook were strung her pointe ballet slippers. When Doris had hung them, her hope was that it would help Giselle feel more at home, having some of her personal things around. Awsty had been so supportive of the slipper-hanging, and even brought two frames, inserting pictures of Giselle, obviously taken right after dance recital performances when she had been just a little girl. Those two pictures hung directly over the ballet slippers.

Giselle walked almost trancelike to the ballet wall accessories. She slowly perused both pictures, then removed the ballet slippers from the wall. Clutching them to her chest, she sunk to the floor, where she began weaving back and forth, crying long, deep sobs.

Awsty and Doris both ran to join her on the floor. But, once there, they had no idea what to say to her. So, instead, they wrapped their arms around her and began crying with her. The trio of mournful young women said nothing to each other for more than ten minutes. There was nothing that could be spoken that would have changed circumstances. Giselle would never be able to professionally dance again. Twice the crying died to just a moan, but each time Giselle looked at the ballet slippers residing in her lap, a new wave of woeful mourning began again.

Once the tears had stopped on all their parts, Giselle simply bowed herself even lower on the floor, to where her head actually touched the floor. The residual gasps of air and hiccups from all the crying finally halted and she simply sat there bowed in silence.

Doris realized Giselle was simply worn out by her grief, and needed time alone to rest. Sleeping was probably the best gift the two women could give her now.

Once Awsty pulled the linens back on the bed, they helped Giselle to her feet, and walked her to the bed. Giselle laid down on her side with her back to Awsty and Doris, closed her eyes, and immediately fell asleep. While Doris walked to the window and pulled down the shade she'd hung just before Giselle's arrival, Awsty leaned down and placed a kiss on Giselle's cheek. Once Doris had followed suit, the two of them walked quietly out of the bedroom, reaching around the door frame to switch off the light, and ever-so quietly closed the door. In the bed, Giselle, even in sleep, still clutched her pointe ballet slippers.

# Chapter 16

Her new car having been delivered to her on her second day in residence at Doris' apartment, her belongings unpacked and put away, and laundry caught up, Giselle knew she could put off job-hunting no longer. This was going to be no easy task, she reasoned. Her knee nagged at her most of the time, and after therapy twice weekly, her knee hurt so badly that she had to take a couple acetaminophen, and lie down on her bed for hours afterward, with the heating pad applied to the area.

When Giselle even thought about working, being up on her feet all day, and trying to figure out how she was going to go to therapy twice weekly during workday hours, the task of finding suitable employment seemed overwhelming. _How was she ever going to make this work?! Well, first off, she was going to have to find some employment that allowed her to be seated._ Although, in truth, sitting for long periods of time weren't all that successful, either. Either way, she was in pain a good portion of the time.

Giselle was in a dilemma with regard to work... and in a spiritual slump, as well. But, at times it manifested itself to her more pronouncedly than others.

When she slid into the driver's seat of her car that morning, having no earthly idea where to begin her search for work, she yet again, for the thousandth time, breathed in the new car smell. She just loved that smell. She wondered how long it would take before either she didn't notice it any longer, or it actually went away.

She loved that car, no doubt about it. And it was always, always at that moment Giselle thought of Conyer. The image of his face would appear in her mind. But, usually she'd diffuse it by remembering that this car was no _gift_ from him to her. He owed it to her (and more) for what he'd done. Granted though, and she'd be the first to admit it, he was most appealing. Not tall, but tall enough. She'd have to look up to him if they were standing and talking. Not that she had any intention of that happening. He didn't have the black hair she liked on men, but certainly dark brown, and definitely appealing, all wavy. He had this way of turning his head slightly to the left, tipping his chin down, and looking at her with those eyes of his.

Conyer's eyes were just... Just what? Gorgeous? No. Sexy? No, that wasn't it either. His eyes... "spoke." _Spoke_. Was _spoke_ the word? Yeah, she thought it probably was. They _spoke_! And what they said actually perturbed her, even in her thoughts of him.

It would have been a lot easier to maintain her anger toward him if she couldn't see his eyes. Oh, she was still angry, but it seemed to be waning. Even though no charges were brought against him, she somehow still saw him as guilty. Of what? Well, she wasn't sure, but maybe something like... _vehicular negligence_. Especially since she now knew that someone else had died in his car. And yet... His eyes spoke. Even in her most horrendous moments of hatred for what he'd done to her, his eyes spoke to her.

At first when she realized their message, it provoked her into even greater anger than she originally had. But recently, she was realizing that she couldn't seem to maintain the level of disgust she'd harbored previously. Because his eyes _spoke_. And, their message was pure and unadulterated... _kindness_.

At least Giselle could dismiss Conyer's image quickly from her brain, because of Connie. _His_ beautiful greeting cards continued to arrive on a regular basis. They so encouraged her. At least he cared about her, and continued to pray for her. He told her so, right in the cards. But, she had to admit, she was more than a little confused by his _behavior_. While his beautiful cards of encouragement continued to arrive, now _always_ signed _Connie W_ , he had never made any attempt to contact her once she left the hospital. First, the magnificent ballet slippers sculpture, then all those cards, now nothing but the cards. And, the last card was unbelievable, mainly because in addition to its sweet message of encouragement and hope, it contained a gift.

When Giselle had opened Connie's card yesterday, there was something she never expected. In fact, it stumped her! A set of nail wraps. Without a doubt, the most adorable set of nail wraps she'd ever seen.

The background was a soft pink, almost the same color as Giselle's skin. And, right there in the middle was the most adorable caricature of a ballerina. She had brown hair pulled back into a tight bun. It stuck up slightly askew, with one lone rogue curl straggling down one cheek. The little ballerina was cartoonish-ly thin, almost no body shape at all to her torso, which was adorned in a pink leotard, a pink tutu, and soft pink pointe slippers. From the grin on her big circle-shaped face, a grin that extended from almost ear-to-ear, she was in ecstasy as she posed in fourth position. If Giselle oooed and aaaahed once, she did it ten times in the next minute.

It must have been five or more minutes later, as she continued to look lovingly at her gift, that Giselle was unsettled by a question that came unbidden to her. _How did Connie know about her affinity for nail wraps, and more specifically, how did he even guess that there were wraps that featured her beloved ballet?!_ She tried to remember if she'd ever worn those original ones in front of him. _No! She was sure she hadn't!_ The only person other than Doris and Awsty who even knew she had worn them, was Conyer. With a grimace of regret, she remembered how on the day he dropped by her room right after Awsty had put them on her, he admired them, and she immediately had torn them off, dropping them on her hospital bed, all the while glaring at him. She flinched with the remembrance. _No matter what he'd done to her, she had no business acting like that._

Confusion was settling more deeply on her with each moment. This gift from Connie, and yet she couldn't figure out why he hadn't come to see her now that she was living at Doris' apartment. Not once. She was trying hard to understand, but even though she kept telling herself that having his own sculpture business must be time-consuming, whether designing or pouring over his business account spread sheets, she was still baffled. She thought for sure when she left the hospital, he'd seek her out and continue a friendship, or even more. She would even just respond to his cards if that's all he wanted, but he never put a return address on them. _Why didn't he put a return address on them?! Did he not want her to write him back? Or, was he afraid she'd just show up at his doorstep?! Why, she didn't even know where he lived!_ Obviously he didn't know her well at all. Her mother had always taught her that she should never, under any circumstances pursue a boy. He should always pursue _her_. Her mom always drummed into her what a treasure she was, and the right man would one day realize that and respond with a deep love for her.

As she drove off to town that morning, Giselle was a mixture of emotions: frustration, hope, and even despair, all jumbled together. She knew that if she could talk to her mom, her mother would encourage her and ease her mind, but it had only been recently that she'd told them of her accident and her change of a life plan, although she wasn't really sure what that plan was. Her mother kept emailing her that she should perhaps come back to town and help Giselle get adjusted to her new life, but Giselle kept telling her that she was established at Doris' place, attending Open Door, and had even made some friends already, who were helping her along. She bragged up the new car she'd been awarded from the accident, and told her mom about her adorably decorated bedroom.

She was trying very hard to make sure her parents did not come. So that they would think everything with her was going quite well, the accident not withstanding, she emailed them pictures of herself, her apartment bedroom, and Doris, Awsty and herself. The only thing she requested was that they pray for her to find work. Something satisfying, and something that would bring her adequate funds for a livelihood.

Even after she made this prayer request of them, Giselle held little hope of God's Help. After all, look at how He'd given her a gift of all the dance training, then snatched it away before it barely began. Truth be told, she mainly made this prayer request of them, because she knew they'd expect her to be looking for God's Guidance for her life.

The one assist from her folks that Giselle could truly have used were financial, but as missionaries they lived mainly "hand to mouth." And, since her own funds were pretty scanty now, she needed to find work, and find it fast. She couldn't depend on her folks for sustenance. She was an adult and needed to do that herself. And so it was, with this burden squarely on her own shoulders, Giselle drove into town, seeking _something_ , _anything_ that would provide her the much needed monies required for living.

*****

Connor was tired, really tired. He'd stayed at the shop packing until after midnight that night, as well as the two nights prior. By the time he knew he should be heading home for a little something to eat and some sleep, he reminded himself that he couldn't go back to the apartment. He had relinquished his keys to the landlord that morning, after loading his skimpy belongings into his car. Giving up the apartment had been hard. But, Connor's business had not prospered like he thought it would. Fortunately, his folks had told him he could come home for a while until he "got back on his feet." Heaven only knew when that would be. His business had failed and frankly, his degree in history, even with a cum laude attainment, was useless. He should have listened to his parents and pursued a major in something that he could actually use in real life. The only people he'd ever known that somehow used their history degrees was as a pre-cursor to going to seminary. _Seminary?! Wasn't a prayer of that happening!_ He had always loved anything to do with math, and for a while had considered pursuing accounting, but at that last moment during his sophomore year, he'd decided that history sounded more interesting, so that's what he'd declared as his major.

As he continued packing the shop's contents that belonged to him, which were mainly sculpting tools, rags, cleaning solutions, and a vast quantity of sculptures which had not sold, he found himself thinking about his time here in this town.

Connor had really liked Doris, from the church he'd attended. He actually had thought at one time that he had found his life mate. But, after that night he'd blown up in the yogurt shop parking lot, when they had been on a date, he'd been too embarrassed to ever contact her again. He still couldn't believe that he'd sworn so pointedly at the guy who opened his car door into Connor's passenger side door, and then shoved Doris when she was only trying to help diffuse the whole situation. _Well, it was that guy's fault! If it hadn't been for his careless and haughty attitude, he wouldn't have had to yell at him or Doris like that._

He'd never forget the look on Doris' face when he'd pushed her. It was a look that just screamed at him, "Who in the world are you, and what have you done with my sweet, godly Connor Whittier?!" And that, as they say, "was all she wrote." He hadn't seen her since that night. He'd even stopped going to Open Door of Faith. After not attending church services at all for weeks, he drug himself up out of bed one Sunday morning and started attending a tiny little church, where he could hide from Doris, and anyone else who had heard about that night. But, he still thought it was that guy's fault. He just couldn't figure out why he felt so guilty all the time since that night.

Connor had to admit that the pretty ballerina girl, Giselle, seemed promising for a short time. But, since they didn't really have time to develop any kind of relationship... Oh, well. _I wonder if she still thinks I'm the one that not only carved, but gave her that ballerina sculpture?_ No, surely by now that guy, Conyer, had told her it was from him.

Well, as much as he hated it, he made the decision that it was probably time for him to leave that town, and see if he could fare better elsewhere. As for his sculptures, Connor began wondering if he could post them on eBay and make some money on them even yet. And, it was on this thought that Connor Whittier took the last of his packages out to the storage rental trailer attached to his car, hung the "Out of Business" sign in the store window, turned out the lights, locked the door of the shop, and began the four hour drive to his family home.

# Chapter 17

"Have you ever done any restaurant hosting before, or waitressing?"

"Well... no I haven't. But I'm a quick learner. I've been at school until just recently."

"I'm sure you are a quick learner. But, what about your leg. I've noticed you've been rubbing it almost ever since we sat down. And, frankly, Gazelle..."

"Giselle," she corrected him.

"I'm sorry... yes, Giselle. Um... I noticed you have difficulty walking. I'm wondering how you would be able to stand on your feet all day, walking back to the dining rooms to seat our patrons. Eight hours on your feet can seem like twice that, I expect, if you're in pain."

Giselle didn't know it, but the manager had already decided not to hire her. He was not only looking for someone physically appealing as the first face when customers came in the restaurant. She was a beauty, no doubt about it. But, he was also looking for someone with stamina, and a work background. Since she'd never worked, he had no one to call as a reference. And, the bottom line was she probably couldn't handle the long hours on her feet.

Preparing to respond, as evidenced by her intake of breath and lips that were parting, she didn't have time to say anything further, because the owner of arguably one of the finest Italian restaurant's in the state broached the question.

"How'd you hurt your leg, Giselle? May I ask that?"

He noticed her face became resigned as she answered slowly.

"I had just completed my dance training. My dance company was preparing to leave for Europe on tour..."

"What kind of dance?"

"Ballet."

"You're a ballerina? A classically trained ballerina?"

"Yes... I had just returned to town to close out some details before leaving to join the dance troupe. We're... _they're_ already on their way to Paris, where the tour begins.

"To make a long story short... another car hit mine in an intersection here in town. My leg was the worst of my injuries. I can walk, of course, but I won't be dancing again." The owner could see the sadness that now permeated her face, as well as the slump that began to bow her shoulders.

"Mr. Martino," Giselle began, "I really need this position. I'm on my own and I'm anxious to make my own way. I have no one else to depend on. My parents are missionaries. They don't live around here. I am in need of a living."

Mr. Martino looked as if he was preparing to jump in with a comment or two, no doubt negative ones, but Giselle jumped back in first.

"Sir, if you hire me, you won't be sorry. You have my promise. My leg injury has not affected my ability to smile warmly, and welcome people to Giordino's. I may limp, but I can walk, and do it with dignity. I will be an asset to your restaurant, I know it!"

There was a long pause. Giselle could see by looking at Mr. Martino that he was considering something. She waited patiently, never allowing her gaze to leave his face.

Almost as if thinking aloud, the owner said, "Maria, my wife, and I went to Paris two years ago. We went to Palais Garnier to a ballet performance of 'Swan Lake.' I can't say I fully grasp ballet as entertainment, it was mainly for my wife. But, I admit that at one point in the performance, I swiped a tear or two."

For the first time since his thoughts were spoken, he looked back at Giselle.

"Giselle... if you're a ballerina who doesn't get to dance, you're no doubt already in some major emotional turmoil. I'm not going to add to that.

"Can you start Saturday? Your hours would be Tuesday through Saturday. You'll have the lunch and early dinner shift."

Almost as an afterthought he said, "Oh, you are welcome to one meal each workday." He almost added, "We need to put some meat on those bones of yours," but realized that was inappropriate, and simply stated, "Ok then. I guess we're done here. We'll see you Saturday at eleven a.m."

Giselle almost jumped up from her seat, leaning over the owner's desk, took his hand in both of hers, pumped it, and promised, "You'll be glad you made this decision. You'll see."

As she walked out through the office door, she turned back, and softly said to her new boss, "You'll be glad you hired me. You will! Thank you so much!"

*****

As Giselle sat in her car in the parking lot of Giordino's, she was so wired emotionally that she didn't realize she was rubbing in a circular motion her afflicted knee. She would be aware soon that her leg did hurt, but at this particular moment, her emotional high on securing a job surpassed the level of pain she was experiencing.

She had to tell someone! Who?! Doris was at work at Open Door of Faith, but said she would not be in her office most of the day. She couldn't remember why. Awsty? No. She was at the hospital all day. She must be close to the end of her internship... However, today she was still there. Who then?!

Looking at the passenger side seat where Connie's latest and open greeting card reclined, the nail wraps he'd included gave her all the inspiration she needed. She'd go to Connie's business and kill two birds with one stone. Thank him for the adorable ballerina nail wraps _and_ tell him about her new job. If anyone would understand her buoyancy over her having been hired today, he would. At least she thought he would... even though he hadn't personally contacted her in some time. Even so, with purpose of mind, Giselle drove toward the downtown area.

Within two city blocks of the same intersection in which Conyer Whitefield had taken her dancing career from her, she realized she couldn't find it within herself to drive through it. As she continued toward it, she found her heart starting to palpitate, her tongue going dry, and her hands beginning to sweat, which made her unable to securely hold the steering wheel. Definitely more than a casual concern.

Swinging a swift and too-quickly-executed right turn, Giselle approached Connie's shop from behind, turning into the establishment from the rear. After parking was the first time that she noticed the parking area behind his shop was barren. Not a single car. _He must have parked on the side road, or in front. How strange. Didn't the shop owners always leave the parking spaces closest to the entry empty for the customers' convenience and ease of access?_

Turning off the motor, Giselle didn't immediately jump out of her car. Because... her mother's voice invaded her head, telling her yet again that she should _never_ pursue a man. She should always insist that _he_ pursue _her_.

_She wasn't "pursuing" Connie... was she? She just wanted to come thank him for the nail wraps gift and his continuing beautiful greeting cards that so encouraged her! It wasn't like she was throwing herself at him. Sure, she wished he'd ask her out on a date. Speaking of which... why hadn't he asked her out?_ She couldn't seem to reason it out.

First, Connie sculpts and gives her the ballerina sculpture that she had so long admired in his window. Then he sends to her hospital room all those gorgeous greeting cards that spoke to her of God's Love and His Healing.

_Granted the first few were kind of non-committal, quickly typed on white computer paper, with a simple nod to thinking about her and hoping she was ok. But, then he began purchasing the decorative ones._ _Whoa! Those are masterpieces! If the beauty of the cards weren't enough, there were the biblical references and his written prayers for her healing, both physically and emotionally._

Connie was a giant of a man in her eyes, both physically and spiritually. _How did one man possess such good-looks and spiritual insight as well? Because he is a giant of a man, that's why! She could see that he was first, spiritually pursuing her, then he'd make his move to ask her out. She could wait for that. It was the type of man she wanted anyway... a spiritual man, one who loved God first, then her second..._ Even thinking this last thought made her cringe. She felt conviction over her response to Conyer Whitefield. No matter how he'd wrecked her life through his carelessness, she needed to forgive him.

Forgive Conyer? She sure didn't have that within her. Although the intense anger was gone, it had been replaced by... what? Resignation? Indifference?

She knew she no longer bristled inside at the thought of him, but neither did Giselle feel any "warm fuzzies" at his image in her mind. The most she had been able to muster was the appreciation for his outward appeal. He was definitely appealing. He had a quiet confidence about his person. Definitely not hard to look at.

_Why was she even thinking about him? She wouldn't be having any dealings with him, anyway._ She returned her thoughts to Connie as she finally opened the car door, stepped out, then proceeded around the building to the front door of Connor's shop.

*****

Next door to Connie's shop was _Black and Strong_ , a unique and fun coffee house that specialized in imported coffees and designer desserts. If Giselle hadn't been so distressed already over the current concern on her part, she would have widely grinned at seeing that the baker of the desserts was a string bean of a woman with what was obviously a wig with locks in blond that hung almost to her waist. Obviously, her husband, Derek, was the "quality control" for the desserts, because he was just as heavy set as his wife was thin.

Because Giselle had never seen nor been inside this shop, she had grinned at the double entendre of the coffee shop's name when she entered. She couldn't help herself. The shop's name reflected both the coffee, as well as the ethnicity of the couple that owned it. The thing that made it all funny wasn't completely the clever use of its name. It was because at the exact moment Giselle had walked in the shop, the woman was picking up a box of what was, no doubt, coffee beans to take to one of the brewing machines, as her husband thanked her, saying, "My back is killin' me today. Thanks for helpin', Babe." _Black and strong... yes, she was. Him? Not so much!_

Because Giselle was the only customer present, she felt uncomfortable not ordering. Considering she planned to attempt prying information from them, she asked for a cup of what was a new flavor of coffee. Or, at least new to her. Opting to sit at the counter bar, she discoursed with its owners as she sipped from what turned out to be the most wonderful cup of coffee she remembered ever tasting.

"When did he close his shop?" Giselle asked the wife.

"A couple of days ago, I think. I wasn't paying that close of attention."

"Did he leave his forwarding address?"

"Derek..." the woman said, turning to her husband, "did Connie give you the address where he was moving? Or, his business card?"

Disappearing into the storeroom in back, Derek threw over his shoulder, "Naw. I didn't know him enough to even ask. I just wished him luck."

"I don't understand," Giselle whispered to herself.

"Were you two close?"

"Obviously not very. I would have thought he'd let me know, though. He still sends me cards through the mail, but they never have a return address."

"Humph!"

"Yeah, exactly."

"Well, why don't you leave us your number. If we hear from him, we'll give him your phone number, or call you and give you his number."

After scratching her name and relatively new cell phone number on a napkin with a pencil she picked up from the counter, Giselle thanked them, and promptly walked out of the shop, carrying what remained of her coffee. To her delight, the wife re-filled her disposable cup with more of the scrumptious brew before walking her to the front door of the establishment.

Sitting in her car in the very empty parking lot, Giselle kept saying over and over, "I don't get it! This doesn't make any sense!" If she said it once, she said it five or six times before finally starting up the engine and driving out of the parking lot. And, still shaking her head with lack of comprehension about the whole situation.

What was going on? How could he have just disappeared like this?! Where had he gone?! Why did he close down his shop and not tell anyone why or where he was going?! And, even though he still mailed her those beautiful and encouraging cards, why did he never put a return address?!

These and similar thoughts never stopped bouncing around in her confused brain on her entire drive back to the apartment she and Doris continued to share. She found herself wishing she had a cell phone number for Connie, but she'd never gotten it. He'd never offered, she'd never asked.

# Chapter 18

Conyer sat yet again at Aunt Tierney's desk, paying bills. As was his habit weekly at the end of his paperwork, mainly bill payments, he opened the right top drawer and pulled out the greeting card he had most recently picked up to send to Giselle.

Lifting his head briefly to see the first evidence of autumn changing to winter, he sat mesmerized by the rain, watching it turn from rain, to sleet, then back again to rain. Something about the feel of the day made him think not only about Giselle, but wonder how she was doing. Maybe it was the darkness outside. Somehow it made him think how dark and desolate Giselle must have been feeling all this time since the accident. He hoped she was a Christian, as she had said, because her life would never be the same. She would need all the spiritual strength available.

How were her injuries healing? Was she adjusting to her new, and unexpected life? Had she found work? What kind of work would a professional ballerina do when she could no longer dance? Was she as beautiful as the last time he'd seen her? Wait... where had that last thought come from? True, she was beautiful, but what did that really have to do with anything? He was concerned about her only because of what had happened, over which she'd had no fault. Yeah, right! Who was he kidding? He often thought of her. She was beautiful! Really beautiful! Graceful, with those long legs...

Snapping himself back to reality, Conyer mentally chastised himself for thinking of her beyond what propriety dictated. She was, so she said, his sister in Christ, and he needed to think of her as that.

Noting the presence of his ever-present Bible, which set on the upper right corner of Aunt Tierney's desk, he grabbed it up and started randomly flipping through it. Every time he sent Giselle a card, he tried to encourage her by giving her a truth from God's Word. In this particular case, however, he had nothing in mind. So... he just flipped it open in the New Testament. The only thing that drew his eyes to the verse was that Aunt Tierney had highlighted it, not in yellow, but in green. He wondered why this one was marked in other than her usual yellow. Not that it mattered. He was just curious.

Reading the verse, he found himself re-reading it four or five times. "And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose." Romans 8:28. It was the sixth time reading it that a thought jumped into his head.

_Why'd that come to mind?!_ He'd seen that place a thousand times when he drove by, on the way to the little church he was still preaching at on Sundays, because of the minister's new health issues. It was odd how that one Sunday he was to step into the pulpit had now turned into so many Sundays. Looked like he might still be there for another week or two yet. And, he was just aching to get back to Open Door of Faith. He missed Pastor Johnston's Bible teaching, and his friends.

Each time he'd driven by the large structure, Conyer had wondered why this business apparently hadn't succeeded. _True, businesses closed down all the time, but why that one?! No one interested? No, he couldn't believe that!_ Especially with the recent reality show that heralded dance as the only important thing in life! _A dance studio? A dance studio!_

It was as though a thunderbolt had hit him. Three images assaulted his mind at the exact same moment: _A dance studio... disabled children... and, of course, Giselle._

What in the world did these images mean? And, what did they have to do with him anyway?

Conyer tried to dismiss the images during the afternoon, but try as he may, they came back... with no bidding, and repeatedly.

He wasn't sure why, but the next day he would drive to that dance studio. He remembered that he'd seen a contact number on the sign in the window. Maybe he needed to stop in and see what was going on there. He wasn't sure what "going on" meant. He knew it was a dance studio. Before they closed their doors, he assumed _dancing_ was what had been "going on."

# Chapter 19

She had been working at Giordino's for a while now. She actually enjoyed it a lot more than she ever thought she would. And, only occasionally while she was ushering customers to their tables did a melancholy pass over Giselle about her life lost. Mainly when her leg would give way a bit while walking and she'd stumble. Most customers never noticed. Then the customer would thank her for seating them, and it would snap her back into the present. Inevitably, would come the hounding, nagging pain in her knee that just refused to go completely away and quit bothering her.

One afternoon, while she stood at her "welcoming pulpit," pouring over the diagram of the dining rooms, scouting an appropriate table, trying to ascertain from it when and where the next table for seven would become available for the group that had just walked in and registered, she heard a familiar male voice say, "Whitefield, party of four, please." When her head popped up to look directly in the face of Conyer Whitefield, for the most miniscule fraction of a second she wasn't sure how to react. But, no less was Conyer. Her head had been bowed and he'd been in earnest conversation with the other men he was with, so he only made his request to the top of a full head of shiny brown hair.

It was Giselle that regained her composure first. Her job was to welcome guests, no matter who they were, and make them feel like she personally was thrilled they had come to dine at the restaurant.

"Hello, Conyer. Welcome to Giordino's. Four, you say?" And, miraculously she had said it with a pleasant smile and sincere-sounding voice.

"Hey, you know this pretty lady?" The question came from one of the men in Conyer's group.

Conyer had no idea how to respond. So, he answered the question with a resounding, "Uh... well... that is... uh..."

For probably the first time in Giselle's life, she was the one to recover and defuse a situation of this level of discomfort.

"Yes, Conyer and I just keep bumping into each other, don't we?" There was a definite emphasis to the word _bumping_. Although the comment hadn't answered the question, it was enough to get the other men in Conyer's band to back off and turn to resume talking to each other.

Before either of them could say another word to each other, Giselle picked up four menus and asked the men to follow her. Once they were seated at a table that looked to be in the prime position to view the fish pond out the window in Giordino's garden, Giselle handed each of them a menu, following it with a thought.

"Just in case any of you are undecided on what you'd like today, try the Pasta Arabiatta. You'll need to quarantine yourselves in your offices for the rest of the day, because of the almost lethal amount of garlic in it, but it is really, _really_ good!" She punctuated the end of the suggestion with a huge grin.

"I'll take that!" came from the mouths of every man, except Conyer, who reminded his buddies that Giselle wasn't their server.

"No, I'm not, but I don't mind giving the order to your server on my way out of the dining room." Taking the menus from each man, she spoke again only to Conyer.

"Looks like we have matching limps, huh? But, you're looking well."

Conyer couldn't help but smile. She was right. His leg kicked in now and then since their hospital stays. But the cool weather seemed to aggravate his leg, and today was beyond being cool. It was downright cold.

"Thanks. Yes, I'm doing fine. You?" Giselle searched his face to see if his inquiry was sincere. She saw that his face was truly guileless, so she answered.

"Doing better each day. Thank you for asking."

Conyer wished he could think of something else to say to delay her departure, but everything about this encounter felt awkward, so nothing more was spoken between them. So, with a smile very pointedly at Conyer, Giselle walked off.

As she escaped the dining room that housed the man who had irreparably changed her life for what seemed the worse, she realized that she really was ok with Conyer. She didn't have the strength to fight against him anymore. Nor, she also realized, did she want to. It was too exhausting, and it didn't change anything.

More importantly, Giselle had been reading the Bible Conyer had given her at the hospital. For the last few days, the Lord was patiently teaching her that unless she forgave others, He couldn't forgive her. And heaven knew, there was so much for which she had to be forgiven. All the pent up anger, the ill will she bore toward Conyer for his part is injuring her and destroying her dance career dream, her mean spirit against Connie for leaving without telling her where he was going, but still trying to hold on to her through his greeting cards. It was just all too much. She couldn't do it any longer.

And so it was, that on that very day, right there in the foyer of Giordino's, Giselle silently asked the Lord to forgive her for all her recent rejection of His Mercy and Grace. No one could tell by looking at her that afternoon, but Giselle was changed. She had decided to enter into fellowship again with her Lord.

*****

As Conyer and his entourage left the dining room of Giordino's, having thoroughly enjoyed the Pasta Arabiatta that Giselle had suggested, he told the men he would meet them at the property, where they'd walk through and he'd advise them of his vision for the business and get their input on how to proceed. He had told them sketchily what he was thinking, but until they walked through the structure together, they wouldn't be able to advise him properly.

So it was that the property developer, city business manager, and a fellow entrepreneur left before Conyer. He wanted to thank Giselle for the menu suggestion and see if maybe he could begin to forge a friendship with the lovely young woman.

Unfortunately, that was not going to happen today.

Rather than Giselle, there was another young woman welcoming customers. When Conyer approached her to ask if Giselle was still there, the girl told him that while she was indeed still there, it would be a while before she'd be returning to her post after that kind of an accident.

When Conyer's face registered a semi-panic, the young girl reassured him that Giselle was ok. The semi-panic was replaced by a what-then? look.

"Giselle was here in the foyer, when a woman came this way from that dining room," the girl explained, while pointing to the dining room at the opposite side of the foyer. "Giselle said the woman was bent over and looked either sick or hurt. When Giselle walked up to her to see if she could help her, the woman deposited her entire meal right down the front of Giselle's clothes. They both rushed to the restrooms. They're still in there. When I just went in to see how things were going, the girl was still sick, and Giselle had just changed into a chef's coat. She's going to go home to change her clothes, then she'll come back."

When Conyer made no comment, but just stood there looking at her, the girl continued.

"It was just kind of a good news - back news thing."

Conyer still stood silent and transfixed, but now confused, as well.

When he didn't ask what the good or the bad news was, she decided to just get on with it.

"The good news is that the woman just found out she and her husband are expecting their first child. They were here celebrating. The bad news is what Giselle is wearing all over her clothes right now."

Conyer said nothing, but at least the semi-panicked and the what-then? looks were gone.

"Would you like me to give her a message?" the girl asked Conyer.

"Um... no. I guess not. Well... just tell her Conyer said thanks for the menu recommendation."

The girl nodded her head, but immediately was looking behind and beyond Conyer to welcome a party of four to Giordino's.

As Conyer left the restaurant, his thoughts were aimed directly at God.

You're not giving me any break at all right now, are You? Ok, Lord, we'll do it Your way.

# Chapter 20

It had been two weeks since Giselle had seen and spoken to Conyer Whitefield in Giordino's. She was still happy about her decision to return to fellowship with Jesus, but, if she had to admit it, there were moments when she still felt a little perturbed with Conyer. She knew she'd forgiven him, it was the "forgetting" part that was difficult. Every time her knee ached, or simply gave out on her while she was walking, or she drove by that new dance studio being finished on Main Street, she thought of him, and his part in having caused the sudden and irreversible demise of her dancing career. She longed for a return to that life. She loved to dance, and it would be a long time before she could completely resolve not having that dimension to her world ever again.

It wasn't that Giselle wanted to keep alive Conyer's part in her end to dancing, so much as she still wished he would have taken responsibility for it and asked her forgiveness. If only he was the kind of man Connie Whittier was. She knew she could talk to _him_ about what was going on in her life. There was no doubt he would listen, pray, and encourage her. That's the kind of man he was. _Thoughtful, giving, and unique. He was a special man, wasn't he? But, then again... he was nowhere to be found._

The only things that she possessed that reminded her that Connie was a real living, breathing person, and hadn't just been a figment of her imagination were his gifts. In her evenings, she would pull out his ever-so-thoughtful and sacrificial remembrances of her from her closet. Cards in abundance, the store-bought ones complete with thoughtful sentiments and words of truth from God's Word. Every time she looked at one of those, she'd run her finger lovingly over the "Connie W" scribbled at the bottom. _Why was it that he signed everything with "Connie W" except the quickly typed messages on white computer paper?"_ The ballerina caricature nail wraps placed in one of his cards... and the most gorgeous ballerina slipper sculpture she'd ever seen in her whole life.

At times Giselle wondered if she should share everything with Doris, or Awsty. Or both. But, they already looked at her most of the time with pity in their eyes, or maybe it was sympathy. Either way, she just couldn't do it. She didn't have the emotional stability enough to keep from endlessly crying again until she collapsed on the floor, never to rise again. So, usually, after looking over her "Connie-treasures," she would put them back in the backpack in her closet, and close the door, already looking forward to the next time she could sit there on the floor and pour through them again. Always, after closing the closet door to hide her treasures, a long, slow sigh would escape her.

Connie W, I guess you and I were never meant to be. I wish you'd given me a chance. I think I could have really loved you! And, I feel certain you could have loved me!

After closing her closet door to lie down on her bed, Giselle reached for her knee. It was aching, probably because of the cold weather. Now that autumn was finishing up and winter was approaching, Giselle found that her knee was swelling up more often, leaving a constant reminder of her life _then_ , and her life _now_.

*****

"Giselle, come on! The popcorn's ready, and I made some taco appetizer bites. And, Awsty brought her famous Mocha Fudge Brownie Torte! What do you want to drink with this stuff?"

Jumping up from her bed, Giselle was reminded that this was Girls' Night, and they were supposed to watch a pay-per-view performance of her ballet troupe in Paris. Giselle had promised that she'd give them insights to the various dance feats that would be performed by the young woman who had taken her place in the dance company.

When Doris and Awsty had first asked Giselle if she'd like to see the performance, or if it would be too painful, she had assured them that ballet would forever be her first love, and that she couldn't think of anything she would rather do.

"I'll take a cup of hot cocoa if we have any of those packets left. I can't get warm this evening. Oh, I'm bringing my blanket and pillow in too. You guys can share the blanket, if we can all pile up on the sofa." Apparently Awsty had missed part of her message, yelled from the closed-door bedroom, because of her response.

"I think the cocoa will warm you up without the jacket. Especially if you're bringing a blanket," Awsty yelled back to Giselle.

"What?!" responded Giselle, with no small amount of confusion.

"I said," began Awsty, speaking loud enough that Giselle could hear from her bedroom, "the cocoa should warm you up enough, without the jacket, especially if you're bringing a blanket."

"Jacket? What about a jacket?" asked Giselle, laughingly.

"Didn't you say that you wanted cocoa and a jacket?"

"No," answered Giselle, now laughing hardily. "I said I'd take cocoa if there are any _packets_ left. _Packets_ , not _jackets_."

"Oh," said Awsty, now joining in Giselle's laughter. "I thought that you were really cold, and you thought it would take cocoa, a blanket, _and_ a coat to ever get warm enough."

"Well, if this cocoa doesn't warm us all up some, I think I'll be wearing _my_ jacket, whether Giselle does or not!" said Doris, from the kitchen, as she placed all the food on trays and placed them on the pass-through counter.

"Hey, guys, could you help with these trays? Just put them on the coffee table.

"I'll bring some plates and napkins," said Doris, as she did just that.

Two and a half hours later, all three of the girls were both emotionally fulfilled and emotionally depleted. Giselle had narrated almost the entire performance, gave specific information on certain dance moves, spoke of the strengths and weaknesses of each performer's techniques, and cried through almost the whole thing. At some moments they were ooooing and aaaahing over aspects of the ballet's story, and other times crying over the catch they could hear in various parts of Giselle's narration.

When the performance was over, all three girls said they weren't ready to end their evening together. Girls' Nights were few and far between, so they opted for just chatting with each other.

It was after all innocuous subjects had been exhausted that Awsty opened a new topic.

"Giselle, tonight seemed both a thrill and extremely difficult for you. How are you doing since your..." she began, as she pointed to the knee at which even now Giselle rubbed.

Looking down at her hand as it circulated the knee joint area, she answered.

"I think I'm doing a lot better than I was. It looks like time is bringing me..." Her face showed that she was trying to find the right word.

"... resignation and a growing amount of peace."

Awsty assured Giselle that she and Doris continued to faithfully pray for her.

"I know you do. And, I'm so thankful for both of you. You have been two of the greatest gifts to come from this awful mess. If the accident hadn't happened, who knows if I'd ever have met you guys."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," responded Awsty. "I would hate to think we three wouldn't have gotten together at some point.

"In another vein... when I was driving here tonight, I drove past a huge dance studio that's being re-done. The one on Main Street. Have you seen it?"

"Yeah," answered both Doris and Giselle in unison.

"Giselle, have you thought about maybe teaching ballet? I saw in the window..."

"Actually, I have," interrupted Giselle. "I went into the dance studio over on Grant. I did that at the same time... actually _before_ starting my search elsewhere. I talked with the owner. She was really nice, but said although she was looking for an instructor, she needed one for the beginners. And, since I couldn't dance, there would be no one to demonstrate positions and combinations. She said if she'd needed a teacher for the advanced classes, she wouldn't hesitate, because I could use one of the students in the classes to demonstrate moves. She told me that what's in my head from all my training would help them, but it just wouldn't work with beginning ballet students."

Doris began an intake of breath indicating she was going to speak, and Giselle knew she was going to suggest she go check at the new dance studio.

"I've already been by the new one once. The doors were locked. I'll probably go back by at some point when they're further along. I plan to go back sometime. Just not sure when."

*****

It was about time to head to bed for the night. Conyer had a headache, no surprise to him, from the hours and hours of paperwork he'd been pouring over.

He'd already signed the contract, but unfortunately it didn't end there. He didn't know a thing about ballet, or dancing of any kind. He listened carefully to the counsel of his friends and business associates. He'd contacted an architect friend for assistance who had actually designed some dance studios. He knew he'd get wise counsel from him. Conyer had done everything in preparation that he could think of for this entrepreneurial pursuit.

But, most of all, he'd prayed until he had a complete peace on this venture. He didn't want to rely on his entrepreneurial enthusiasm alone. He wanted this to be the wisest business decision he'd ever made. And, he was grateful to his Aunt Tierney for placing him in a position where he could easily pull this off... financially speaking. He knew it would take time, and God would have to perform at least one major miracle for it to come to fruition.

Placing his head into his hands, which were joined, elbows resting on his desk surface, Conyer lifted up his voice to The Only One who could complete this work.

"Jesus, I'm so thankful that you let me come right into Your Throne Room, take all the time I need, and assure me that you will answer each and every petition I make.

"I can't truly see the extent of what must be done, who'll need to be involved, and how in the world You'll bring Giselle into this.

"I'm so grateful that You're allowing me the means to do this for this young woman, even though I have no intention of letting her know I'm behind it.

"I can't undo the day that took her beloved dancing from her, but somehow You keep laying on my heart that You have something else altogether in mind from anything I can imagine. And, I'm learning anew to trust You to do just that in every area of my life.

"I want to thank You for lunch at Giordino's. When I saw her there behind the registration stand, my heart almost stopped. But, I see even now that You planned it, and that You had already prepared her heart to talk to me.

"I wish I could do even more for her. Someday maybe You'll even allow us to be on the terms that will allow me to tell her what actually happened that day.

"But, right now I want to thank You again for allowing me this opportunity to minister to her. I can't figure out how You're going to do it, but I'll continue to trust You to do Your Miraculous Work in both our lives.

"In Your Name I pray. Amen."

As he lifted his head, Conyer saw, even in the darkness of the night, there was a blanket of huge, soft snowflakes floating to the ground, as though each one was glad to be a part of the "snowy performance."

# Chapter 21

As Giselle and Doris approached the front doors of Open Door of Faith that Sunday morning, they greeted friends in abundance. It struck Giselle yet again the vast quantity of friends she had either newly made or re-acquainted with from her childhood in this church. It was good to be there at the Lord's House.

"Were we supposed to wait for Awsty and Mason? I can't remember," asked Doris, slowing her stride toward the doors.

"No. Don't you remember?" asked Giselle. "She said they were going to flip services today, because Mason and she were going to be team teaching in one of the Sunday school classes."

"Oh, that's right. By the way, we need to save a seat for Jesse," said Doris, speaking of her new boyfriend of six weeks.

"Ok. I guess we better hurry up and get in there then. I've been so excited to see the worship team dance this morning. That one girl, Felicity, has the potential to become an amazing dancer. I love to watch her... But, frankly, I think their dancing prepares my heart for worship like almost nothing else can. I don't want to miss any of it!" All this from Giselle, who was brimming with enthusiasm for the upcoming service.

As Doris started in the door in front of Giselle, Giselle whispered, "I don't know if it's better to be in front where you can see every little detail of the dancing, or in the back, where you can see both the dancing and the reactions of praise in the congregation."

"The back, if that's ok."

"Yeah, that's great!"

They hurried in and claimed their places in the second to last row on the right side of the twenty-five hundred seat worship center. Almost immediately upon sitting down, Jesse rushed in and sat beside Doris. He reached over immediately and took possession of Doris' hand. She smiled at him, and they settled in for the worship service.

The room was packed, both downstairs and the balcony above.

As they sat, Giselle had the initial reaction of wishing she too had someone special in her life, but wouldn't allow herself the luxury of getting sucked into that mentality. Instead, she bowed her head to pray, as had become her regular practice since re-dedicating her life to Christ, for whichever pastor taught that morning, the dance team, and each of those present in the service, that their hearts would be open to whatever the Holy Spirit chose to offer them that morning.

*****

When the music started, and the dance team entered through the back of the church aisles, Giselle first caught what looked like another dancer who was still seated... one row up from her, in the last seat adjoining the aisle opposite her own location, on which a third of the worship dance team entered. Giselle's first thought was that this girl with her bright red hair, and possibly others sprinkled in the congregation, were going to arise and join the ones already dancing in the aisle toward the front of the auditorium. But, ten seconds or more after she had been passed by, the seated girl was still joining the troupes' movements, although about one count behind theirs, and using only her arms and hands. Giselle got so caught up in watching her, that she missed almost the entire performance as it unfolded up on the stage.

Graceful. She was the epitome of grace. No longer did the dancing on the stage hold any beckoning to Giselle. She was mesmerized, as were a small number of congregants sitting behind and beside her, by the young girl who continued upper body movements of ballet until the end of the music. What was almost as noticeable as the dancing itself, was the sheer ecstasy that the young "seated ballerina" wore on her face.

When the music had ended and the dance worship team had exited through the stage side doors, Giselle leaned over to Doris and quietly asked her if she'd seen the girl who had been dancing from her seat. When Doris said no, and asked Giselle where the girl was seated, Giselle turned back to the little girl, with the intention of pointing her out to Doris. And, it was at this moment that the child's face was turned almost full-on to Giselle.

A small gasp exited Giselle's mouth, as she realized that that adorable young girl was none other than Tawny Burnette, from the hospital. She pointed to the girl and whispered to Doris that she was the little girl that she had visited in her hospital room before leaving to go home to Doris' apartment.

Giselle found herself distracted during the Bible teaching. It was at Pastor Johnston's portion of the Bible lesson, where the lame-from-birth man had laid at the gates begging alms. He had been miraculously healed that day. It was no wonder that Giselle found herself staring down the row at Tawny, wishing that this little girl's legs would be made whole, as well.

The very second the service ended, Giselle exited her seat, and made her way to where Tawny was sitting. Fortunately, Tawny and her family had decided to stay seated until the crowds had emptied before exiting the worship center themselves.

"Tawny, hello!" Giselle spoke from behind the little girl. Apparently Tawny recognized Giselle's voice right away, and swung around, almost lunging at her to give her the biggest hug Giselle remembered ever receiving.

"Mom, Daddy, this is the girl I was telling you about! Her name is Giselle. She dances too. I mean... she really dances, like for people who pay to watch her."

As Tawny's parents warmly shook her hand, she clarified Tawny's comments.

"I'm Giselle Danvers. And, yes, I did dance professionally, but not any more. Apparently, the Lord has other plans for me, although I'm still trying to find out what they are."

The Burnettes smiled sympathetically. They obviously already knew of her accident and resultant and permanent injuries from Tawny's re-telling of Giselle's visit to her hospital room.

"Giselle," said Tawny, speaking quickly as though she thought Giselle might leave before she finished speaking, "did you just love the dancing this morning?! Wasn't it just beautiful?! I danced with them... Well, I tried to. I wish I could take ballet. I know I can't, but I sure wish I could. Mom took me to the dance studio over on... um... well, I can't remember the street. We talked with the lady who owns the studio. We asked her if they had classes for people like me... You know, who would need a whole lot more help. But, they said no, and they didn't know of any dance studios that did."

Mrs. Burnette, who was standing slightly behind Tawny, with the saddest face, mouthed to Giselle, _She cried all day afterward_.

*****

Five days later, as Giselle was preparing for bed that night, kneeling at her bedside, she found herself lifting up little Tawny yet _again_ in prayer.

"Lord, my heart about broke when Tawny said she'd actually gone to a dance studio and they had turned her down, and virtually told her she wasn't worthy of learning dance. I think I know how she felt. Probably about the same as I did when my dancing ended, and there was no place to turn for a different decision.

"I don't even know what I'm asking for. I just ask You to take care of her. Don't let her little heart stay broken. Please do something to give her joy.

"I know I've been talking to You this whole week about this same thing, but there's no where else to go. No one else who can help me and help her.

"Jesus, the only thing I know to do is to keep thanking You for Your Answer to this prayer request, even though logic tells me there isn't much to be done. Help me to trust, Jesus."

As Giselle raised herself up from her kneeling position on the floor, with no small amount of difficulty stemming from stiffness in her metal-plated knee, she was thinking outside of her prayer. She again realized that just as every single other time she prayed for Tawny, the mental image of Conyer Whitefield had encroached on her prayer. It didn't seem to happen during any other conversations with the Lord, just prayer that involved Tawny. Made absolutely no sense, or at least she didn't think it did.

Lying down quietly on her bed, Giselle gave over to those mental images of Conyer. _He was handsome, yes. She especially liked his eyes. There was something guileless about them. Almost as if sin really didn't touch him? No, not really. More like his life was selfless in practice, caring more for others than he did himself._

Giselle gave over to more than images of Conyer. She found, interestingly, that she didn't bear him any ill will. In fact, she wanted God to give Conyer peace, even after what he'd done. She wanted him to be able to release the guilt and move on successfully with his life.

As she was drifting off toward what would be for her a deep and restful sleep, Giselle was finding it harder and harder to stay focused. The last words from Giselle's lips reflected the godly woman that she was becoming, choice by choice.

"Jesus, please take care of Tawny and Conyer. And, give them both the desires of their..." Sleep interrupted and overtook her. But, the Lord knew her heart, and the desires of it.

# Chapter 22

Although work at Giordino's was ok, and Giselle was certainly thankful for that provided income, her heart still longed for the days at school, where she practically danced from sunup until sundown.

Driving both _to_ work and _from_ work each day, she calculated she passed the new dance studio ten times weekly, times four weeks in a month, times... The number just kept growing and growing. And, each time she passed, she longingly gazed at it, checking to see if it was any closer to opening. Twice in the same amount of weeks, as she was driving home after work to Doris' apartment, Giselle had almost rear-ended the vehicle in front of her not paying attention to the road, but rather analyzing the way in which the owner was stylizing the outside of the studio. Her almost-accidents had scared her terribly. And, each time it happened, she thought immediately of Conyer, who may have been distracted by any number of things himself, only in his case, he couldn't stop quickly enough to prevent causing great damage to three lives, his own included. She knew there was no excuse good enough for either Conyer's or her lack of attention to driving at their respective times, but it did serve, as soon as her panicked breathing returned to normal, to remind her that no one was exempt from human error. Even she recognized that her heart was becoming more forgiving toward Conyer. She also wondered, however, if the time would ever come when Conyer would actually approach her, apologizing for what he'd done to her that day, and further, asking her if she would forgive him. She _would_ forgive him... She already had. But, she also knew Conyer would never truly be free from the guilt that no doubt imprisoned him, until he'd approached her with his apology.

Analyzing the exterior of the studio in the bright evening starlight, the whole building had been painted deep midnight blue on the outside, around the entire building, which was a magnificent background for what was being designed and painted over it, obviously by an actual artist. Stark white ballerinas all around the structure, in varied poses. Some looked to be little girls with their straight and angular little bodies, as well as adult female ballerinas, with softer and more curved bodies, all enrapt by their dancing. The artist was not trying to capture the essence of movement, simply the beauty of the poses. Some of them were done, others still in various stages of completion. The one that really captured her imagination was the young woman ballerina on the front, who was posed cleverly in fourth position, her body interlaced with the wording.

_The wording! They'd given the dance studio a name! She hadn't noticed that before, or it hadn't been there before now!_ Grace Abounding Dance Studio _! She loved that name! She absolutely loved that name!_

Having read the name of the dance studio, she wanted to look again. And, that time with total concentration. She wanted to breathe in its essence, and twirl it around in her mind. Driving up to the corner, along with the stop light's guidance, Giselle made a U-turn and drove back to the studio. Hanging a left turn almost directly in front of it, she pulled into the parking lot across the street, drove her car into a parking slot facing the dance studio, and turned off her motor. And, there she sat for almost twenty minutes, just staring at what she thought was the most magnificent dance studio she'd ever seen.

It hit Giselle for the umpteenth time that while she very rarely thought of Connie Whittier anymore, which was good, since he was nowhere to be found these days, she thought often about Conyer. And, each time it seemed to be with a more benevolent spirit, and with the hope that his life would be fulfilling. She wished she could share her impressions of the studio with him. She wasn't sure why. She found she wished he was seated in the passenger seat, just absorbing the sight along with her. Again, she wasn't sure why. This would probably be the last thing he'd want to do. She tried to substitute Awsty or Doris in her thinking, but they always got "booted out", as her mind kept replacing them with Conyer seated next to her.

Giselle allowed her mind to roam, as she stared across the street. She wondered herself why she would keep dragging him into her thoughts, when he would no doubt rather be anywhere in the world rather than in her company. She knew he was a Christian. That was good. Or, at least he said he was. That made it baffling that he didn't seek her out to ask her forgiveness for what he'd done.

But, she did know that she was enjoying using his Bible. _Wonder if he expected her to return it at some time? Since she never saw him, that might be difficult. She guessed she'd just continue to use it until he got in touch with her and asked for it back._ But even knowing that Conyer presented more problems to her desired peace of mind than resolution, she wished he were the one here with her... this moment, this place, taking in the same sight that she was transfixed by!

Completely unsettled by her thoughts of Conyer, a lone tear made its path down one cheek, followed by its twin down the opposite cheek. _Good grief! Why was she crying?! This was ridiculous! How could one man cause this kind of emotional upheaval in her?!_

Although the tears stopped as Giselle left the parking lot and concentrated on driving home to Doris' and her shared apartment, she was at an emotional low, one that lasted the entire evening, even chasing her to bed, where she rolled into bed, turned over and dreamed not of her lost days of dancing, but the little girl, Tawny, who so wanted to dance, but couldn't because of her physical challenges.

# Chapter 23

She was so excited several days later when she discovered in that early evening from her car that there were lights in the ballet studio across the street. There were sheets of brown paper that covered the windows, but there was definitely light behind them.

Wondering who was there, and if it was just some construction workers still inside, Giselle sat in her car in the studio parking lot, trying to decide if she should knock on the door. It was, after all, dark outside, and no one knew she was here. But, she just couldn't help herself... or didn't want to. She briefly thought of calling Doris and telling her that she was on her way home, but was stopping at the dance studio first, but as quickly discarded the idea, as she thought Doris might wonder why, since she'd never notified her of stops after work before.

Disembarking from the warmth of her car into the chill of the evening, Giselle rapped on the double front doors. She wasn't, quite honestly, sure what she was going to say to the person who answered... _if_ they answered.

"Hello, may I help you?" asked a middle-aged woman, thick-waisted, short-legged, and somewhat overweight. Giselle was quite certain she wasn't speaking to a person who would be teaching in this studio when it opened.

"Yes, please. I was wondering..." She wasn't sure how to continue. It would be obvious to the woman, if she asked her to come in and saw her limping gait, that she was neither a ballet- teacher nor a dance student.

"Come in. It's getting cold outside these last few nights."

Giselle took her up on the offer of warmth inside, and timidly entered.

"You're lucky. I brought in a second folding chair from home this morning, so that two people could actually sit at this card table." She lightly giggled.

"Thank you."

Once they were both seated, the woman said, "My name is Annette Barrister. I'm the temporary acting manager of the dance studio. And, just in case you're wondering, I don't know the first thing about dancing. I'm here representing the company that owns this studio.

"Who _does_ own it?" asked Giselle. It was a reasonable question.

"It's owned by..." responded Annette, whose response was interrupted by a ringing iPhone. "Oh, excuse me," she said, as she clicked and began a conversation with someone on the other end.

Standing up and walking ten or so feet away, Annette turned her back to Giselle, but didn't quiet down her speaking voice. Giselle could hear everything the woman was saying, and from her responses, she pretty much knew what the person on the other end was saying, as well.

"Yes, there is... Yes, right now. She just came in. Give me a chance to help her, then I'll close up. I'll give you a call just as soon as I get home."

A few further comments between them, and the call was disconnected. Annette returned to the table.

"Were you interested in having a sister or daughter start ballet classes, or were you just wanting some general information?"

"Actually, I'm a dancer..." She wasn't sure if she should continue this strain of thought, but what would it lose her if she told her.

"I'm a dancer. I just completed my training and was preparing to leave on tour of Europe with my troupe, when I was in a car accident. Because of the injuries, I'm unable to continue dancing. But, I thought... that is... I was hoping... there might be a teaching position available. I'm willing to take beginners, intermediate, advanced. I can give you multiple references from my school, and any other verification you would like..."

Giselle knew that she was talking way too fast, but she was terrified the woman would cut her off before she told her how badly she wanted to teach.

"Well..." Annette answered. "Tell you what. I'm not in the position of hiring right now. And, I have no idea what positions will even be open. So, why don't I give you this application," she continued, "and you can bring it back tomorrow.

"Does that sound ok?"

"Yes, thank you. I work at Giordino's right now, but I can drop it by either before work or after, if that's ok."

"Whichever you prefer. I'll be here at seven-thirty tomorrow morning. Although I won't be at this location the entire day, I'll be returning about four p.m., and staying until about seven-thirty p.m."

Giselle was almost giddy. The woman had actually given her an application. She knew that didn't really mean anything, other than she could fill it out and bring it back, but it was further than she'd gotten at the other dance studio.

"Thank you so much!" Giselle spoke with an overly effusive amount of energy. But, she couldn't help it. She was so excited.

Leaving the studio, Giselle almost bounced to her car. Maybe a little too much bouncing. She came down on her metal-plated knee a bit too hard on one leap and wrench it a bit. Trying not to let the woman at the door see the pain she was now in, she allowed herself to literally drop to her car seat. Waving goodbye to Annette Barrister, she waited with gritted teeth until the woman had closed the door, before groaning, "Owww..."

# Chapter 24

Lying on top of her bed that night, Giselle found herself stalled on what appeared to be an essay question. _What work application had she ever heard of that had essay questions?!_ There might be questions asking what one's strengths are, or what would be one's ideal work situation. But, this was different.

She read it again.

Using this page as well as the back (if needed), describe what your vision of dance would be for your own dance studio. Include all information that you deem important. This is your opportunity to create your own dance environment and teaching curriculum. Dream big!

She'd never seen anything like this on a work application _anywhere_ , but somehow it sparked her imagination, and before she knew what was happening, Giselle was writing almost as fast as a keyboard can produce words.

Two hours, three additional sheets of paper, two cups of hot cocoa, and a "terminal case of writer's cramp" later, Giselle laid down her pen on her bedside table, folded her application and extra pages in half, and shoved them under the pen.

After having worked so hard writing out her application, Giselle noticed that at the bottom of the last page of the application could be found the information of a work application form which could be completed and filed directly online through the website graceaboundingdancestudio.com. She couldn't believe they _already_ had a website.

Pulling her afghan up over her, she laid on top of the bed covers. But, after only ten minutes, Giselle got up and went into the living room, where Doris' laptop was. Doris was already in bed for the night, so Giselle was careful to keep noise to a minimum. There she went to the website, and along with the now unfolded hand-written application as her guide, she filled in the entire online application, complete with her essay expanding even further what she'd hand-written.

Once Giselle was satisfied with her online application and essay, she took a few seconds to look over her work and decide if she'd gone overboard on her essay. _After all, was her dream even possible? Would the owner, or whoever read her application, think that her essay was the ramblings of a terribly immature girl?! Would they think she was too daft to be a dance student there, much less a teacher?!_

With her breath held, Giselle closed her eyes, asking the Lord to intervene. She wasn't sure what to expect in response, but she decided she would have been less than honest with the dance studio owner and herself, if she didn't say exactly what she was thinking.

Click! And, off it flew into cyberspace, landing right into the Incoming Mail of Conyer Whitefield's computer.

Giselle, knowing that she would also drop off the handwritten application in the morning on her way to work, traipsed back to her bedroom with that knowledge, not knowing if she should feel panic or peace over what she'd just emailed. After a whispered prayer asking the Lord for whoever read her application to truly see what was in her heart as she wrote, she decided on peace.

Leaving the light on all night in her room, after lying down on top of the covers, Giselle fell into an emotionally exhausted sleep. The next time Giselle was aware of her surroundings, it was six-seventeen in the morning. She awoke with a start. She'd never set her alarm, and for the first few seconds, her heart raced at the thought that she might have overslept.

# Chapter 25

Eleven-forty-two p.m., and Conyer was exhausted. His mind was almost numb from all the paperwork he'd been drowning in since six-twenty-three p.m., right after he'd eaten a hearty dinner of two slices of toast with peanut butter and the dregs of a refrigerated bottle of orange-papaya juice. The juice tasted a little weird, only he couldn't identify why. And, the only reason he hadn't also added jelly to his open-faced sandwiches, was because there wasn't any.

There was nothing else to even round out the meal, like chips or cookies. His "cupboard was bare." Immediately after eating, he closeted himself into Aunt Tierney's office and began the paperwork that threatened to squeeze the very life out of him. He hated paperwork, balance sheets, spread sheets, and bank deposit slips. And, the outrageously abundant funds that became his livelihood, as a result of all the family enterprises that he now owned, were enough to sustain ten to fifteen families, from his perspective. He was blessed and he knew it. But, he was now almost too tired at any given moment to enjoy them. He had little to no strength left at the end of each day to enjoy the fruits of his (and his aunt's and uncle's) labors.

As Conyer stood from his desk chair and stretched, his intention was to power down his laptop. But, even as his hand was reaching down to do so, he heard the chirping sound that indicated an email was coming in. His first thought was to wait until tomorrow. It was probably some business from one of his many holdings, or even worse, some young mother who had just filled out the application papers for their probable no-talent little daughter to join the dance classes, so that she, the mother, could join the ranks of the infamous "dance moms."

_No... wait! That couldn't be it! They weren't even taking those yet. He wasn't even sure when that would be. It would depend on when, or perhaps he should say_ if _Giselle found the place, entered the dancing domain, and made application to teach there._

As curiosity grabbed him, Conyer plopped himself back down on Aunt Tierney's desk chair, and his tired, but soulful voice softly spoke.

"Lord, I know You're in control of this entire project. I just can't see how this will all come together, but Who can I lean on and trust in, if not You. You're orchestrating this, so I'm in!"

Clicking the email icon, Conyer was stunned to see before him the work application of one... Giselle Danvers!

"Lord..." Conyer voiced out into the almost dark room. The moment he finished his thanks to The One Who is Sovereign and Omnipotent, he began voraciously reading her application.

Knowing already of Giselle's background in dance, he mainly just skimmed the first part of it. But, when he came to the essay, he got a lump in his throat so large that he found it difficult to swallow.

Once, twice, three times, Conyer Whitefield read Giselle's essay. Each time he finished it, he would stare off into space for a couple of minutes, then begin reading it over again.

*****

I've never filled out a work application before, and I have never even heard of there being a "dream big" essay. I guess I've been sheltered my whole life from these things, so please forgive me if I'm doing this wrong, or expressing ideas that have no place in this. But, you've asked about my dreams, and I'm going to try to share them with you the best way I know how.

I was raised in a Christian home. My parents wanted input in what I was taught, and how. My mother was my teacher for a number of my first academic years. She not only taught me the basics of reading, writing, arithmetic, history, and geography, but she taught me lessons about a person's character that have stuck with me to this very day. I will always be thankful for her input into the person I am today. And, it is vitally important to share with you that I am a born-again Christian. There are times in my past that I would never have given a prospective employer that information. Too fearful that it might be held against me. But, it is important that I share this with you, so that you know who I am and what I am all about.

When my regular schooling was completed, I left for a formal education in the performing arts. Specifically, ballet. My missionary parents lived very austerely, and certainly scholarships kicked in, so that I could have this specialized education. By the time I finished there, my parents had long since been out of the country, sharing the Gospel with whoever would listen. I'm very proud of the people they are!

Once my performance arts education was completed, I came back here to gather what few belongings I have in storage and head out with my troupe for a European dance tour.

While heading toward my storage facility, my car was hit and I sustained some serious injuries. I was in the hospital for weeks and weeks, and am still going twice weekly for physical therapy.

The truth is, I will never dance again. At first, my heart and my life seemed very broken. I was on a professional performance track, and was looking forward to leaving on tour. My heart, however, has changed.

While I still grieve the loss of my dancing career, I believe there is something bigger out there for me that I have still to discover. And, I am inclined to believe it still includes my beloved ballet.

I would love to be considered for a position of teaching by your studio. You would be gaining an "almost professional" dancer, with all the head- and heart-knowledge of a ballerina.

Now... for my dream!

While I was in the hospital after my accident, I met a young girl who was handicapped from birth. Her two legs were only partial. She was having major surgery done to see if what was left of her legs could be altered in such a way so as to prepare them for prosthetics. Knowing how dearly I love dancing, I felt such sadness to see that this little girl could never dance, even if she wanted to.

Then, just recently I saw her again. At my church. It was on a Sunday when our worship dance team was assisting in the service. I watched this same little girl, sitting with her parents, dance from her seat. Obviously she couldn't dance down the aisles with the team members, but from her waist up, she couldn't be contained. And, it was magical! The tears came rolling down my cheeks as I continued to watch her, as she mimicked the dancers up on the stage. And, I wasn't the only one watching her. None of us in her vicinity could keep our eyes off of her. The dancing she did from the waist up held more impact emotionally and spiritually than that being done from up on the stage.

And, this brings me to my dream...

I would like to teach physically handicapped girls to dance ballet. I would like these precious little ones to travel from as far away as their parents are willing to drive them, perhaps even to the point of relocating their families for their daughters' love and commitment to dance.

I think we would have a heart-connection that wouldn't be in any other circumstances. I would want them to see me as someone who was not only a role model, but could relate to them, and could prove to them that they are capable of appreciating the music and dance that only ballet can give.

And, now that I've come this far, I might as well tell you that my dream goes much further than what I've shared.

I would love to see my students commit themselves to this art to the point that they could be performing worldwide, in anyplace that would welcome a professional dance troupe. I would love them to know the appreciation and applause of audiences who are truly moved by their dancing.

The fulfillment of this dream is not impossible, but certainly is a challenge. But, then again, I'm not sure it couldn't be a reality. Whether I teach at your studio, or not, I will be dreaming big, and trusting God to bring it about!

At the bottom of her essay, Giselle added:

I would truly appreciate the opportunity to sit down face-to-face and share further. I am excitedly awaiting your response.

# Chapter 26

As Giselle drove to Giordino's the next morning, to begin yet another day of welcoming the hordes of hungry humanity, her gaze left the road just long enough to notice something interesting going on at Grace Abounding Dance Studio. Actually, _destructive_ was a better word than _interesting_.

On ladders of varying heights, and a couple scaffolds, there were four or five painters who were painting over the bottom halves of all the ballerina silhouettes with the dark midnight blue background paint. They were leaving the upper bodies alone, except for one. On that silhouette, they had only painted out one of the arms. From having looked so beautiful and inviting just the day before, it now looked raw and unfinished. She almost had the emotional impression that she was viewing a "crime scene."

What was going on?! What were they doing to all those beautiful ballerinas?! Why would they be chopping them up like that?!

With too little time to stop and find out what was going on, Giselle found herself mourning the ballet dance studio façade for the entire rest of the day. Sometimes during the day, she would catch herself _creating_ a smile when looking at the incoming customers. She'd even been asked by several of the other employees if she was ok.

A couple of hours after the lunch crowd had dispersed, she looked up from her seating log, to see Conyer standing before her.

"Oh, hi, Conyer. How are you?" A natural question. She smiled, but even she knew it wasn't reaching her eyes.

"Fine, thank you, Giselle. Um... are you ok? You look like you're not feeling well."

"Yeah, I'm fine, thank you. Are you eating alone today, or are you waiting for others to join you?"

"It's just me today. In fact, if it's ok. I think I'll just sit at the lunch bar there," he said, pointing to the bar just five feet behind Giselle.

"Sure. That'll be fine. 'Course," she said, smiling reservedly, "if you sit there, you'll be stuck with me being your server. I work that area for one hour each day to help out some of the servers who've been slammed during the lunch crowd."

"Well, I don't know if I want to trust my dining experience in the hands of someone who is just a 'pinch hitter.'" His grin reached almost from ear-to-ear.

"Hey, watch it! Remember, I'll be the one who has access to your food before you do." She smiled back. This time, she knew her smile included her eyes. A little banter never hurt anyone.

Conyer responded with open hands, palms facing her in surrender. "Yes, m'am!"

*****

"When you asked if I'm ok today," Giselle said, as she placed Conyer's lunch on the bar counter, "I didn't have time to really answer you."

Looking up to see that there was no one in the foyer of the restaurant, she stood still at Conyer's eating station. Assuming he'd want them, she reached for the salt and pepper at the same time Conyer did. Their hands touched a second or two longer than was necessary. Conyer was the first to pull away. Not because he wanted to, but he didn't want to scare Giselle. Their friendliness was new, and he couldn't take the risk of making any unsolicited shows of affection or friendship. It might scare her off. The one thing he knew, however, was that from what he was feeling inside, he wanted another taste of that, just as soon as possible. His heart beat was accelerated. He could feel it. And, he was quite sure he was blushing. _Good grief! What was he... like ten years old?! No, he was a man in his thirties... well, exactly thirty_. _Geez!_

Giselle, on the other hand, didn't really seem to notice it at all. She was already thinking about something, and it appeared that she was going to talk about it.

"You know that new dance studio that's being built on Main? Well, maybe you don't. There's no reason why you should. I mean, you don't dance. There's really no reason...

"I'm rambling, huh?"

"Maybe, but I'm in no hurry. Ok if I eat while we talk?"

"Yeah," she responded, then continued.

"Anyway... I've been watching it go up. The biggest thrill was when they started the exterior design. The name of it is _Grace Abounding Dance Studio_. I think that's the most wonderful name I've ever heard of for a studio."

Conyer, for some unknown reason to Giselle, smiled more than just an acknowledging smile. It confused her. She thought maybe he was making fun of her.

"Why are you smiling?" she asked, with a slightly less friendly look on her face.

"Uh..., Oh... no. Um... actually I thought the same thing when I saw it go up." And, he had!

"Oh, you've noticed it?" Giselle asked, the warmth returning to her face.

"Yeah. I like it a lot."

"Me too. Anyway... I was watching them draw the ballerina silhouettes all over the building. And, each one was more beautiful than the next.

"But, when I was coming to work this morning, they were actually removing them. They were painting out parts of the ballerinas. I don't know... maybe they were in process of taking them off altogether. And, I even applied for a teaching position there day before yesterday. I was waiting to hear from them. Now I'm wondering if they've maybe decided not to move ahead with it at all."

At this point, Giselle felt a tear developing, preparing to spill from one of her eyes. It was true, she felt emotional, but this wasn't the time nor the place to break down in a sniveling heap of tears. She swiped it away quickly.

Conyer wanted to jump over that counter, throw his arms around her, and cradle her, as he assured her everything was going to be all right. Instead, knowing full well what was happening at the dance studio, he reassured her as best as could someone who supposedly didn't know himself what was going on.

"Maybe they've just had a request from the owner to change them. You said, they were mainly only changing the lower halves of them. Wouldn't you think that if they were removing them, they would have totally wiped out each one, rather than removing part, then going to the next and removing only part. If you ask me, and I know you didn't, but I think they just plan to maybe change them some." He really would have told Giselle right then what was going on, but he knew that this was not the time. There was too much riding on this entrepreneurial pursuit. He couldn't afford to waste money, even if it was for the beautiful young dancer that stood before him. He would tell her when the time was right, and he thought he'd know when that was when it presented itself.

"Well, yeah. That's true. It would have made more sense to take each one off completely while they were already working on it, if they planned to remove them.

"Thank you, Conyer. I think I needed a little bit of encouragement." She patted one of his hands that was resting on the counter, then rested her hand on his for several seconds. Conyer didn't move one iota. He would have kept his hand in that position for the next hour, if she would have left her hand on his. He did find, however, that the longer she touched his hand, the more his heart raced. He felt like it was thudding so hard that it would be visible through his shirt. He found himself actually expelling a small breath through pursed lips when Giselle finally lifted her hand. Lifting his right index finger, he wiped away a small amount of perspiration that had accumulated on his upper lip.

Fortunately for Giselle, she was able to remove her hand from his and immediately bury it below the counter, where she retrieved the sweet tea pitcher to refill Conyer's glass. But, not before repeatedly flexing the hidden digits and balling up her fist below the counter, still feeling the warmth of his skin in her palm. _Wow! That was unexpected! And nice! No... she couldn't think like that. She and Conyer could never be!_

# Chapter 27

As she pulled into the same parking lot across the street from the dance studio, and into the same parking slot, she realized she was almost afraid to look up at it. What if everything was gone, leaving a big dark midnight blue edifice, and nothing else.

Bowing her head just for a moment, Giselle asked the Lord to help her for whatever it was that was coming next. Then, she did something she was learning to do as a result of watching Doris' and Awsty's prayer lives. She thanked the Lord in advance for whatever she would see, knowing that He would work all things for good for her, because she loved Him and knew she could trust Him. Only then did she open and lift her eyes to the building across the street, illuminated in the darkened evening sky by lights that spotlighted each ballerina painted on the building.

What?! Wait a minute...! What?! No!... What?!

For almost one full minute, Giselle couldn't register what her eyes were seeing. It couldn't be. She blinked, then looked again. It still looked as it had a moment ago. And, yet again, she couldn't register the miracle that was right there before her very eyes.

The Grace Abounding Dance Studio still had it's title on the building, but each and every one of the ballerina silhouettes was now radically altered.

The one that interlaced with the name of the studio now had a prosthetic leg in its fourth position pose. One side of the building had two ballerinas who were also physically challenged. One had her arms in third position, while her body was seated in a wheelchair. The other was in second position, but was minus an arm from almost up to her shoulder. Giselle forgot all about the other long exterior wall, which was fine, since she'd need to cross the street and walk around the side of the building.

Jumping out of her car, she began bouncing up and down next to her car. She was becoming almost delirious with joy. Laughing out loud and dancing, limp and all, around in circles. When she heard Conyer's voice call her name from two cars to her right, she actually ran to him and threw her arms around him, and clung to him.

"Conyer, look... look!" as she pointed to the dance studio. He never took his eyes off her. Again, she insisted, "Conyer, look!" as she removed one arm from around him and using her hand under his chin, turned his face to see the same thing she was looking at.

Apparently Giselle had no intention of loosening her grip around him, so he joyously closed his arms around her and grabbed hold of both her and the moment.

"All the ballerinas, Conyer, they're physically challenged. Look at them. _All_ of them!"

"They are! Every last one of them!" he joined in the rejoicing.

Still clinging to each other, they remained in a transfixed gaze at the building that now had captured such delight in Giselle.

Lord! This is so good... You're so good! Thank you!

Neither one knew it, but the same joyous thanks was coming from each of them to the Lord they loved. Giselle's thankfulness was that the dance studio was obviously going to cater to physically challenged ballet students. Conyer's thankfulness reflected his joy that Giselle was so thrilled with the building. It was, after all, for her!

In the closeness of the moment, Conyer rested his cheek on Giselle's head, and kissed her hair. It was light enough that Giselle never knew it.

As quickly as it had come, the moment was over, but not awkwardly so. They simply broke away from each other as though the hug itself had been a natural, normal happening.

Giselle stepped forward alone a number of steps to continue taking in the sight of the dance studio, now so radically changed, and obviously for the better, according to her own thinking.

More than five minutes passed, when suddenly Giselle turned around and looked questioningly at Conyer.

"Conyer, what are you doing here?!"

"Well, when I saw you today at lunch, you were talking about the changes on this building façade, and I got curious myself, wondering what it looked like now." He could have told her now that it was _he_ who had orchestrated the changes, because _he_ owned the building and it was _his_ business. But, he didn't. He still didn't think it was time. He wanted to make sure that for the time being, any decisions Giselle made with regard to the dance studio and its proffered employment for her would be totally non-related to him... at all.

That explanation seemed to satisfy Giselle's curiosity, because she began speaking on a new topic, about which she had no idea Conyer already was well-versed.

Her eyes focused solely on the building, Conyer took steps forward to stand by her side, as she shared from her heart. He wished he had the freedom to take hold of her hand as she spoke, but knew that any intimacy of that nature would have to be initiated by Giselle.

"There's this little girl that I met at the hospital the day I was released. Beautiful little girl. She had these bouncy red curls all over her head, and a smile that would melt the coldest heart.

"I was walking by her room, when she called me in to help her. She needed help and had dropped her nurse pager on the floor. I wondered why she didn't just get up and grab it from the floor, until I saw her legs. Partials legs, I should say.

"She told me she was having some kind of surgery to make her legs ready for prosthetics.

"I never saw her after that day, until last Sunday at my church. We have a worship dance team and they were dancing that day. I had chosen a seat in the back of the sanctuary, one row behind her and at the other end of the row.

"When the dance team entered from the back, she began dancing with them, seated, of course. It was the most beautiful sight I've ever seen!

"I want to be a part of a dance studio that caters to young girls like _her_ , Conyer!" This statement was spoken directly to him, as she looked up to his face.

Conyer saw two beautiful and glassy, teary eyes looking up at him as she spoke.

Without thinking it through, Conyer reached down for her hand. She didn't resist.

"I have a feeling that the Lord has some amazing things ahead for your life, Giselle Danvers."

As he began to release her hand, she resisted _that_ movement on his part, and grasped his hand tighter.

"Let's pray, Conyer. I know you're a Christian. You told me at the hospital..." she began, then smiled at the next part, "so that makes us brother and sister in Christ. Let's pray about this, ok?"

Perfectly content to continue holding her hand, Conyer asked if he could pray. When she said yes, he did just that.

When his thanksgiving and petitions were completed, Giselle began praying.

"Lord, thank you that You brought my brother, Conyer, here at the right time. You knew I needed someone to celebrate with, and he was the perfect choice." She squeezed his hand. He responded in kind. "I haven't heard back from the dance studio, Lord, but I ask that You would let them see the value I would have as an instructor.

_Oh, you're going to be much more than a dance teacher, Giselle!_ Conyer was almost bursting inside. He could hardly wait until she had accepted the position proposal, so that he could tell her what his part was in this. It was so hard for him to practice patience.

"Lord, thank you for Your Answer. We both praise You, Jesus. Amen."

After their prayer and Giselle was on her way home to the apartment, she made a decision. She knew she had forgiven Conyer for what he'd done to her that day in his car. But, she had been hanging on to some ridiculous notion that until he asked her forgiveness, that they could never be friends. She thought back on the heartfelt prayer they'd just shared, and realized that she had no business making demands of any kind on this brother in Christ. She chose to drop it from that moment on. Instead, as she drove, she thanked the Lord for both the dance studio changes, and discovering that she had both a new friend and spiritual brother in Conyer.

As Giselle pulled into her apartment parking slot, she barely cut the engine before she literally jumped from the car. _Ouch!_ That leg of hers could be such a bother sometimes. But, she refused to let it slow her down as she ran upstairs to the apartment door. She had been waiting all day to finally get home, open her email and find out if Grace Abounding Dance Studio had responded to her application, complete with her long-winded essay.

# Chapter 28

Sunday morning! How Giselle loved Sunday mornings since re-committing her life to Christ. She could hardly wait to enter the Lord's House, joining all His _other_ flawed kids in praising Him, and learning what He had to offer them for the day.

Unfortunately, trying to get ready to leave for church that Sunday wasn't as smooth as Giselle and Doris thought it'd be.

Doris and she had decided to drive together for a change. That was fine. Trying to get themselves out the door... _not so fine!_

It started with the box of cereal. Doris had poured herself a bowl, drown it in milk, then promptly dropped it on the kitchen floor. Giselle, of course, helped her clean it up. Once that mess was gone, Giselle decided not to take the time to sit and eat a bowl of cereal. She opted, instead, for just a glass of orange juice, which... she dropped almost in the same location as the cereal had plummeted. Only in the case of Doris' cereal, she had used a plastic bowl, so it required only the cleanup of the contents. In Giselle's case, she had a glass that _was_ glass, so when it hit the floor, the glass shattered, the orange went flying, and then they had to make sure they didn't cut themselves while mopping up.

Deciding that breakfast was not in the cards for them, they both raced for the shared bathroom. They had actually learned how to stay out of each other's way while completing their own morning regimen, well... until this morning. During their shared stay in this single small room, in the next twenty minutes, between the two of them, they managed to drop Doris' mascara tube in the toilet, lose Giselle's lipstick altogether, accidentally turn off Doris' curling iron, when Giselle thought she was unplugging the hair dryer, and before Doris was through curling her hair, and spilling Doris' liquid foundation on the floor, but not before it bounced off both their outfits, spotting them irreparably, requiring them both to go change into something else.

At first they were each perturbed, but when disasters continued, at some point, it became hilarious. Especially after Doris made the comment that all she needed to happen now was for a heel to break off her new shoes, which it did, when she accidentally stepped in an unbalanced fashion onto the floor heater vent going out the front door.

By the time everything was resolved, and they actually closed the front door behind them, they were running a good twenty minutes late.

*****

Sneaking in the doors at the rear of the worship center, Doris and Giselle took a quick visual scan around the auditorium. They were limited where they could sit, without having to exit that section of seating and come back in through a different set of doors. It wasn't worth the hassle, so they opted to sit separately. Doris ended up almost half way to the front of the worship center in an end seat, while Giselle had to stay in the back row, crawling over seven people before finally settling in a seat behind a man who was so tall, that Giselle's sight-line to the stage was totally impaired. Her view landed directly between his shoulder blades. The only way she could see what was totally going on up on the stage, was by leaning severely to either the right or left. But, even that caused a problem. If she leaned to the left, she was within inches of a teenage guy who had a severe and almost lethal case of body odor. And, leaning right, she was almost suffocated by the perfume the woman was wearing. Perfume! Loose definition, considering the woman wreaked of a combination of Patchouli and corn chips. _Didn't people believe in bathing and brushing their teeth?!_

She'd missed the songs of praise. She'd missed the dedication of those sweet babies that always seemed to choose that time to either cry or spit up on Senior Pastor Johnston. And, if she didn't get herself situated someplace where she could see and hear things without gagging at her surroundings, she was going to miss something that Associate Pastor Greg was announcing that was coming up in the next few minutes.

Giselle stood up, moved past those same seven people she crawled over coming in, and walked to the rear wall, where she leaned back.

Ok, she might not be in the most comfortable place in the worship center, but at least she'd made it here, and she was looking forward to whatever it was that Pastor Greg had promised them was to come.

# Chapter 29

"I know you've all been wondering where Connie Dub has been for the last couple of months." At this moment, Conyer Whitefield came striding up the six steps onto the stage to join Pastor Greg. Giselle was looking down at the moment, reading in her worship service program about the new Bible study series on biblical dating that was starting in a couple of weeks. _Oh, she believed she'd go to that! Not that she was dating. She didn't even have a boyfriend._ Interestingly, the mental image of Conyer Whitefield came to mind. She almost dismissed the image, but was reminded of the sweet time they'd shared in the parking lot, talking about- and viewing the exterior changes to Grace Abounding Dance Studio. She could hardly wait to talk with him again. Maybe he'd come to Giordino's and she could tell him how she'd been hired at the studio, even though it had not been spelled out exactly what she would be doing. She thought it would probably be as a teacher. Consciously, she shook her head slightly and cleared it to return to what was happening up front.

Connadub! What an odd name. Must be a foreign national who was going to share about his conversion experience and ask for prayer and financial aid for the small home church and ministry he had back home.

Giselle's eyes opened exaggeratedly wide, and she leaned forward several inches, as though both gestures would clarify or nullify what she thought she was seeing... or hallucinating. She wasn't sure.

There standing on the front stage with Pastor Greg, was Conyer Whitefield. And, they looked kind of chummy, like they'd known each other for some time.

What was going on?! What was Conyer doing up there? And, where was Connadub?!

In the midst of her mental turmoil, Pastor Greg continued.

"Well, he's been away for that time, in a neighborhood church, whose pastor took ill one evening with food poisoning. While they were treating him, they ran some other tests that revealed some troubling physical problems, so Connie Dub here has been filling in as their substitute pastor."

Pastor got only this far, when Conyer took hold of Pastor Greg's mic and pulled it toward himself.

"Hi, I have a feeling I'd better do this myself. Thanks, Greg, but I think maybe they'd rather hear about it from the 'good-looking' one."

"Yeah, that's what I thought, but you go ahead anyway." When Conyer punched him lightly in the arm, the whole congregation reacted in laughter. Senior Pastor Johnston stood only long enough to come between them, take the mic, and make one comment.

"Just give them a minute to get this out of their systems. They've been doing this stuff since they were both in college."

Wait! They've known each other since college?! Did Conyer go to this church and she'd just kept missing him somehow these last months?!

Senior Pastor Johnston took hold of Greg's shoulder and led him back to their two upholstered seats where the pastors sat during services, minus whichever one of them was teaching that service.

Conyer looked back at Greg, put one arm up and flexed his muscle and fist, obviously making the point that he was the more powerful of the two. The congregation laughed again.

Now, with a serious demeanor, Conyer took a breath and began.

"Yes, my family and friends call me Connie Dub. It actually stands for Connie W.

"In high school, I had a class with another Connie. Her last name was Stimple. So, we became, in that class, Connie S and Connie W. It helped us know who the teacher was calling on.

Connie W? Did he just say his name is Connie W? Connie W?! Her Connie W?!

"I started coming here years ago when my parents died, and my Aunt Tierney became my caregiver and started 'making' me come." He used air quotes around the word _making_.

"Funny thing is, though, when I got here, I started hanging out with a different crowd. Among them, Greg here, who I didn't actually meet until I started college and went into the college department Sunday school class.

Looking back at Greg, he said, "This man was my mentor, of sorts. It was through his help that I came to know the Lord. And, it's been a friendly battle ever since. Usually either with sports or girls. But, now that he has his Marnee, there's nothing to compete over anymore, other than this mic, which you just saw me masterfully take possession of from him."

After a number of giggles in the congregation, he continued.

"Those of you who have gone here to Open Door for very long knew my Aunt Tierney. And, you also know that she died a few months ago.

"We were having a great time out one day in town. She was driving, while telling one of the long tall tales from her life. We were both laughing so hard, and I noticed she was swerving. I was reaching over to grab the wheel, and tell her to stop laughing and pay attention, when I noticed she was grabbing her chest. Long story short, she went to be with Jesus right there in the middle of telling me the funniest story, that if I didn't know her better, I would have thought she was making up."

Conyer paused for a moment, took a long breath, then continued.

"As she was clutching her chest, she rammed her foot down and plowed into another car. The driver was hurt so badly, and has just recently gotten out of the hospital, and resumed her life.

He was talking about her!

"The young woman and I were in the hospital for weeks on end. And while I was there, seeing all the hurting people, and several deaths, and feeling quite aware of my own mortality, it was renewed within me that I needed to be sharing Christ with those so longing to know Him, and not even knowing it.

"And, that brings us to why I'm up here this morning.

"I'll be leading up a short term missions group going to South America to help build a combination church and school, as well as a hospital in a small village. We'll be gone the next three weeks. Well... the others will be there three weeks. I'll be staying longer. There's much work to be done, and the Lord has put me in a position to be able to stay as long as needed.

"I really solicit your prayers. I've never led a missions project like this before, and I feel somewhat lost, and we haven't even left yet.

"We'll be leaving between this morning's services. Our international flight leaves at twelve-fifteen p.m."

Connie W? Connie W?! As in the greeting cards and the beautiful ballerina sculpture?! Aunt Tierney driving that day of the accident?! Not Conyer?! And, possibly all the special meals at the hospital?! Connie Whittier had nothing to do with any of the really special attention she'd gotten back when she was in the hospital?!

Giselle knew her thoughts were coming in spurts. Random in nature, with no logical order. They simply entered her mind at various times without any real bidding.

But, Conyer was still talking and she didn't want to miss it.

"My hope this morning is that the team," Conyer continued, and motioned perhaps ten or twelve people to join him on the stage, "will join me on the stage, and Pastors Johnston and Greg will pray over us.

"This is an awesome privilege and responsibility. And, we, as a group, believe in the power of prayer. God has promised that His Word would not come back to Him void, so we're stocked with head- and heart-knowledge of Jesus Christ, and we'll be totin' our Bibles into the unknown."

By this time, both pastors had come to join Conyer and his team of believers who had a heart for international ministry. In addition, all the elders and deacons in the service had gathered around the group, who were then kneeling.

Giselle's heart was being wrenched as she finally saw this precious man, Conyer, for the first time as the godly man that he was. When she saw him on his knees before the Almighty, she vocally choked a sob back.

By the time the prayers were ended, and the team was again standing, Giselle was quietly sobbing so hard that she had to leave the worship center auditorium. She needed to wipe away tears, blow her nose, and get a hold of herself.

Ducking into the side hallway and heading toward the restroom designated for females, she saw Conyer and his team exiting the side doors of the auditorium, directly into her path, as they headed for the two buses just outside, under the portico.

Their eyes locked onto each other at the exact same moment. Each of them stopped abruptly in their paths to different destinations. Conyer was surrounded by several people, each with questions they needed answering by Conyer. But, his eyes and attention, at least for the next few minutes, were for Giselle only. He asked everyone to head out to the buses. He'd join them and give instruction at that time.

When there were only Conyer and Giselle left in the hallway, Conyer took several steps toward Giselle, and she responded in kind.

By the time they actually stood directly before each other, Giselle was crying again.

"Conyer, I thought it was you..."

"I know," he answered softly.

"But, it wasn't."

"No."

"It was your Aunt Tier..."

Conyer confirmed with a small shake of his head.

"Oh, Conyer, I'm so sorry..." Can you forgive me for..."

"Already done," he interrupted.

"Conyer, it was you... the cards, the ballerina statue, and I suspect, all the special food in the hospital." It wasn't a question.

When he just looked at her and smiled, she took a couple remaining steps toward him. His arms went around her.

"Don't cry, Giselle. We're friends now, right?!" He wanted so much more than a casual friendship, but he knew it had to start with just a friendship. _Oh, how he hoped they could build on it!_

Giselle looked up at Conyer.

"Conyer, you're leaving. You're going to be gone a long time, maybe."

Smiling down at this sweet young woman, he said to her,

"We've got all the time I'm gone to build our friendship. You saw the email address I'll be answering to while we're gone? It was up on the screen?"

Giselle nodded. Then, she smiled, and shaking her head, she said, "ConnieW@whitefield.com."

"Email me with what's going on while I'm away. I'm not sure how often I'll be able to answer. I don't think I'll have access to a computer real often. But, I'll email back as much as I can. Ok?"

"I have so much to tell you!" Giselle answered. "You may get sick of hearing from me. But, you have to promise you'll let me know if my emails are getting too long or I'm sending them too often."

From the double doors, a voice called to him, "Hey, Connie, the bus drivers are getting restless! Gotta go!"

"Ok, I'm comin'!"

Returning his attention to Giselle, he said, "Bye for now, Little Sis."

Conyer smiled one last time at Giselle, turned, and took no more than three steps toward the doors, when Giselle called him.

"Conyer, I have a going away gift for you." As soon as she said it, she began a deep blush, knowing what she was about to do.

Walking up to him, Giselle took his chin in her hand, and turned his face away from her own, then softly, sweetly kissed him on the cheek.

As Conyer walked again toward the doors, he turned just long enough to say with a lascivious grin, "Wow! Nice down payment, Little Sis."

"Down payment?" Giselle asked, slightly confused.

Conyer simply smiled again at her, and just before walking out through the doors, he yelled back over his shoulder, "Lord willing, I'll see you in a couple of months."

Giselle stood exactly where they'd parted until both buses pulled out of the church parking lot. She had no idea what the future held for her and Conyer, but she was excited to find out.

# A Word About Fixing His Broken Ballerina Volume 2

Giselle has just said goodbye to Conyer, within minutes of learning that he had not been the one who had destroyed her ballet career, and that he had been the one true encourager during her healing process after the accident. She watched his back as he walked out of the church through the doors, headed on a missions trip to South America.

In those moments, there was so much to be said, but no time to say it.

As she stood inside the church hallway, Giselle remembered that she didn't tell Conyer she'd gotten a position at Grace Abounding Dance Studio. She wanted so badly for him to know. Ever since the evening they'd stood before the studio and saw all the physically challenged ballerinas painted all over the exterior of the studio.

She needed to tell him also, how grateful she was for his ballerina sculpture, his greeting cards, and probably other things he'd done that she didn't know about. And, all he'd done without asking for thanks.

Now that Conyer had left, Giselle missed him already. It had only been minutes, and she craved his company. She was learning so much about this man.

But, some things she didn't know at all. For one, what he had to do with her position at Grace Abounding, and two, that he was the owner.

As they begin sharing emails back and forth, Giselle finds that she's falling hard for this amazing and godly man.

When Conyer does return, after more time than he'd ever suspected when he'd left the church and Giselle that Sunday, his welcome home greeting from Giselle isn't the wonderful fantasy they'd imagined. But then, why would it be when Giselle has seen the rather passionate hug and kiss between Conyer and some girl Giselle couldn't identify.

No! Oh, please no, Jesus! This just couldn't be happening!

# About the Author

Sheila and her husband Daniel have lived the last thirty-plus years in their dream home, the one they built together in two acres of woods in North Carolina. Tall, tall trees that stretch up five or more stories to the sky surround their home. Wildlife is all around them, and they revel in it.

Their daughter, DanniLaii, and her husband, Carl, live only five miles away, so they get to have wonderful times together, and on a pretty regular basis. Sheila and her daughter are practically joined at the hip, and spend inordinate amounts of time lunching, shopping, and laughing together.

Originally a public high school teacher, Sheila gave herself an "early retirement" and now is engaged with writing contemporary Christian fiction and creating Christmas romance plans for husbands and wives, in addition to designing marriage certificates and marriage vow renewal certificates.

Trying to expand her culinary skills, Sheila weekly pulls one or two recipes from online and is surprising herself, her husband, and her family with countless new and exciting dishes. She has chosen to obliterate from her mind altogether those dishes that bombed. Rather like a coping mechanism.

Sheila always has two or three books in progress at any given time, so her hope is that her readers will enjoy her "long, tall tales" so much that they'll return over and over to keep grabbing another one.

To read more about this author and her writings, and participate in any of the upcoming offers, visit her at www.sheilaholmes.com.

