The Education of Giacomo Jones Ch. 07

"I learned never to miss the opportunity to help someone — whether it's a friend, family, someone you never met — because the only antidote to all the evil out there, some of which I have seen firsthand, is love," she said.

Her lip noticeably quivered as she paused briefly.

"I learned that when love finds you, you grab it and hold on for dear life and you live every single minute of every day like there's no tomorrow," she said as her words poured forth and tears spilled from her eyes, "... because there just might not be."

The camera lingered for a beat on the image of Gia's face before the image of the ticking stopwatch again filled the screen, denoting the end of the segment.

Gia abandoned all restraint and cried openly. She stood and leaned over Rance, pressing her chest into his as she sobbed. Over the soft tones of the EKG monitoring Rance's slowly increasing heartbeat, she heard sniffles and hands clapping from the nurses and doctors who had gathered around a laptop to watch the livestreamed segment just outside.

It was several minutes before Gia's weeping abated enough for her to softly mutter into Rance's ear, "I hope I did OK, baby. I hope I didn't embarrass you."

That was the moment she heard a rattling sound from Rance's chest and throat. His EKG was accelerating. She stiffened momentarily in panic. What had she done? A nurse scurried from the central control pod to the door of Rance's room.

She felt a slight sensation to her left. She gasped and looked down. Rance's right arm was reaching toward her, slowly, haltingly. It continued until his hand found her long, silky black hair and let it thread through his massive fingers.

"Rance! Rance!" she shouted. "Baby, what's wrong?"

Another gurgling sound, then a cough. Then he swallowed and inhaled.

"Gia ... I love you ...," he said as his eyelids fluttered and then slowly opened. "Whe ... where are we?"

She shrieked for joy before realizing where she was and that critically ill people were just a few feet away in rooms on either side of this one. Now doctors and nurses were streaming purposefully toward the room and the commotion therein.

"Rance, baby, you're back — oh, thank you God," Gia said, tears streaming from her face and spilling tonto Rance's cotton hospital gown.

"You're in the Tulane University Medical Center Hospital ICU in New Orleans. You've been here for going on eight days," Gia said. "Your mom and dad are right outside in the waiting room. 'Sixty Minutes' just aired a segment on what has happened."

"I know. I could hear, and I kept ... fighting toward it, through the dark. I could hear your voice and make out what you were saying and then I felt you on my chest and ... that helped me ... break through," he said in a voice barely above a whisper.

"Ma'am, we're going to need to do some checks on Mr. Martin right now and we'll need you to wait outside while we do," a nurse practitioner told Gia.

"No, he just came back to me," Gia said, clinging to Rance's hand as he clung to hers.

"Can you let her stay?" he rasped.

The nurse practitioner cut his eyes toward the other two white-coated professionals in the room. One nodded. The other shrugged.

"OK, it's against policy but this is ... we've never had anything this unusual, so if you can stand over in the corner out of the way because we'll need to access and move a lot of tubes and wires."

Just then, "60 Minutes" returned to the screen high on the wall of Rance's ICU room and everything came to a momentary standstill. Scott Pelley noted letters the show had received in response to segments aired on previous Sundays. Then, he closed with this.

"And finally, meet our newest '60 Minutes' correspondent. Caroline Agostinelli is a veteran producer and the genius behind writing and editing many of our award-winning segments. Tonight, on a very tight deadline, Caroline reported and produced the segment you just saw. You will see her on-camera reporting many more."

The camera pulled back to show Caroline sitting alongside Pelley. Her words were the last before the show signed off: "Join us again next week for another edition of '60 Minutes.'"

In the waiting room outside the ICU, a crowd had gathered. The hospital's executive director, the president of Tulane University and an assortment of white-coated medical professionals and relatives of other ICU patients congratulated Ed and Lorrie Martin as the program went off the air. Moments later, a courier entered the room with a large floral bouquet. It was addressed to Gia Jones. Then, as if choreographed, a nurse practitioner burst through the double doors leading to the ICU, found Mr. and Mrs. Martin and led them back through the double doors. Expecting the worst, the color drained from their faces momentarily, before the practitioner smiled and delivered the good news that their son had just emerged from his coma.

"I wanted to tell you privately because we don't want this gathering outside to turn into a pep rally and startle the other patients. Miss Jones was with him when he came to. We're doing a few tests right now and we will bring you back to see him shortly," he said.

Ed and Lorrie Martin embraced each other as tightly as they could. Together, they shed tears of relief and thanksgiving.

When Lorrie and Ed were allowed briefly to walk into Rance's room — another small breach of ICU protocol — to see him there with Gia's hand in his and a weak smile on his pallid face, composure eluded them again. Gia stood to the right of Rance's bed, his parents to his right.

"I like to think the Bible verses and prayers worked because for a while, that's all we had," his mother said.

"I've never been happier to see those eyes of yours, son," Ed Martin said.

Now they stood largely wordless for an awkward minute, just gazing at Rance.

"OK this is getting a little creepy," Rance said in a scratchy, weak voice. "Maybe somebody could find me some Gatorade? I am parched."

Ed Martin bolted from the room, passing the request along to nurses, attendants, anyone he could find.

"Oh, Gia, this enormous arrangement of flowers arrived for you out in the waiting room right after the show. They won't allow it in here because it's too big, but this card on it is for you," Lorrie said, handing the palm-sized card to Gia.

She opened it and pulled out the cream-colored folded card with "Thank You" engraved on the front. She read the message inside, printed in a plain font..

"Guess you saw by now I made it! I am a correspondent! I will always be grateful to you and Rance and will hold you in my heart forever. Love, Caroline."

Gia smiled and nodded. She gently slid the card into her purse, pulled her iPhone from it and opened a text window to Caroline.

Congratulations! I watched the segment in the room with Rance. It was beautiful, At the end of it, he regained consciousness!!! He had heard the segment as he was fighting his way back.

Three minutes later, the phone rang. It was Caroline, but Gia could barely hear her over the commotion.

"We're at a bar in Manhattan around the corner from CBS headquarters." Caroline said, shouting into the phone to make herself heard above the din. "They took me out to congratulate me, but when I got your text just now I read it out loud, it became a celebration about Rance. You can hear it still going on around me."

"Like Susan's song said about you, 'the heart of a hero.' That's you, my friend."

●●●

A white Lear jet with green and yellow piping down its sides and a green tail with yellow numbers had reached cruising altitude of 28,000 feet somewhere over southern Alabama streaking northeast toward the airport just outside Fallstrom, South Carolina.

Two seats along the right side of the fuselage had been removed to accommodate Rance Martin's gurney and several portable machines that monitored his vitals and an intravenous drip that kept his fluids and the proper amount of antibiotics flowing into his bloodstream.

Rance had made steady progress in the three days since he regained consciousness. He had been moved to a regular room at the Tulane Medical Center Hospital the day after emerging from his coma. Now, he would continue the next phase of his convalescence at Fulbright University's hospital. At his rate of recovery, doctors projected that he could be released in as soon as a week. A nurse and an internist were on the flight with Rance. Gia, Lorrie and Ed had departed earlier on a commercial flight to Charlotte where a Fulbright van would meet them and return them to Fallstrom in time to meet Rance at the hospital.

Rance never could sleep during air travel and this was no exception, even though he was flat of his back for the whole trip of nearly two hours.

"Doc, can I see my travel bag over there," Rance asked the physician. He handed it over to Rance, who unzipped it, felt around inside it and grasped the velvety, blue pouch his father had handed him just before he left his hospital room in New Orleans to catch his flight to Charlotte. Rance zipped his travel bag and asked the physician to again stow it away for the remainder of the flight.

His father's words seemed to ricochet off every corner of his mind. It was sober advice, dispassionately given, neither affirming nor dissuading his son in the decision now before him. He spoke slowly, thoughtfully, honestly.

"Again, Rance, that's not something I can answer for you," Ed Martin said several times.

He could feel the plane lose air speed and the descent begin. Lying prone, the sensation that one's stomach is taking flight was even more pronounced as the aircraft dipped 10 or so feet per second. When the plane's nose tilted slightly upward and the rear landing gear tires screeched on the concrete of the runway, everything in the cabin seemed to rattle. The jet taxied swiftly to a waiting ambulance into which four strong men hoisted Rance and his gurney. Fifteen minutes later, the ambulance arrived at the emergency room receiving bay of the Fulbright University Medical Center, the rear doors opened and Rance was wheeled to a patient access elevator and into a luxurious room on the fourth floor. It was already filled with flowers.

In the hallway just outside the doorway to the room was a "welcoming committee" consisting of his parents, Perry Hemphill, Stark Middleton and Art Overshaw. They applauded softly as the attendant guided his gurney toward them. Rance asked if the head of the gurney could be raised so he could interact with them.

"Rance, you are a sight for sore eyes, young man. I've never been so happy to see a player come home late from a bowl game," Hemphill said.

"Feels good to be home. Getting better every day, but it may be a stretch to be ready for spring practice," he said. "Where's Gia."

"She wanted to stop by her new apartment and freshen up a little, change clothes. She's been living out of a suitcase for nearly two weeks," Lorrie Martin said. "She'll be here in a bit." Rance nodded.

"Son, you just focus on getting better. Anything you need, you let us know. The hospital here has been told to do everything it can to make you comfortable, to expedite your recovery and to take care of Gia and your parents," President Overshaw said.

The orderly asked the dignitaries to excuse him as several aides and nurses gathered to help move Rance from the gurney into his bed. He had recovered enough that he could move his legs and arms as needed to assist the medical professionals straining under his weight. As they prepared to leave, he asked if his catheter would be reconnected, a prospect he despised.

"Naw, hoss," the orderly — a large, sandy-haired country boy — drawled back over his shoulder. "You on your own now. Either you use that beaker there," he said pointing to a cylindrical plastic bottle with a narrowed neck just large enough for a penis, "... you get up and go to the bathroom over there," he said, pointing to a closed door, "or you piss the bed." He departed the room chuckling.

After the medical staff had departed the room, Perry Hemphill and Ed Martin stepped inside the room.

"Well, I think President Overshaw pretty much spoke for all of us, Rance. We just wanted to see you, see you smile. And it's beautiful. We'll be checking in on you and ... well, you got my number if I can do anything for you," Hemphill said. He shook Ed Martin's hand and excused himself.

Ed approached the bed, his face serious yet benevolent. He put his hand gently on his son's shoulder.

"Son, you sure this is what you want to do? If you're comfortable with the decision, your mom and I will be there with you," he said.

"Yeah, dad. Thank you. I've come to the conclusion it's the right and necessary thing I have to do," Rance said. "Thanks for understanding."

"OK. Your mom and I will be in the hotel just across the street for the next couple of days if you need us," he said. He hugged his son, turned and left. He opened the door and stopped momentarily. He looked back at his son.

"She's coming down the hall. Want me to send her on in?" Ed said.

"She by herself?"

"Looks that way."

"OK," Rance said. "Send her in."

Gia entered the room wearing jeans and Rance's oversized white No. 74 jersey, the one with green numerals that he wore in the victory over Georgia. She was smiling, but the creases on her forehead and bags under her eyes betrayed two weeks of unrelenting fatigue.

"Hi baby. Seeing you here makes me so happy," Gia said as she bent over his bedside and kissed him, not even minding the heavy stubble, now approaching beard length.

Rance sat silent for a moment, just gazing at Gia, before he spoke.

"Baby, I don't know how to do this. And, considering the circumstances, I ... well, I haven't really had much time to ask friends for advice on something this ... important," Rance said.

"I called Crews, and I you know I trust him. He told me to think long and hard about it and that he wouldn't recommend it. Then I called Gerow, and he didn't really have much advice one way or another," Rance said.

"So I asked dad and he was, well ... concerned. He told me that ordinarily he would advise against it. He warned me not to do anything that could possibly ... hurt you," he continued.

By now, Gia's smile had curdled. In its place was a look of concern bordering on fear.

"What, Rance? What are you talking about? Your dad would normally advise against .. what?"

"Yeah, I've probably said too much already and not gotten anywhere close to my point, so ... just let me do it," Rance said.

She saw his left hand fumbling beneath the bedsheet and brought forth an empty blue velvet pouch with a drawstring that he laid to one side. Now, both of his hands were beneath the sheet again, manipulating some object only by sense of feel.

"There ... finally," he said. "Give me your hand, please."

She cocked her head to one side, eyeing him suspiciously, but she complied, placing her right hand in his.

"Sorry, your other hand," he said.

She blinked in confusion, but again complied.

"I know we're not in our twenties yet, Gia, but will you marry me?"

Her jaw dropped. Her eyes widened. His left hand emerged from beneath the white hospital sheet. In it was a gray box opened to reveal a gold band with five small diamonds.

Gia gasped, waiting for several long seconds to exhale.

"We don't have to do it, like, immediately. I know we have a lot we have to do and we probably need a few more years under us before making it official," he said.

"It's just that ... what you told Caroline in that interview ... that when love finds you, you better hold onto it with all you've got and live like there's no tomorrow because there just might not be," he said, "... that's when I knew I had to fight like hell to get back to you and when I did, not ever let you go because I was close to having no tomorrow."

Gia was still speechless.

"Baby, it's a little early. Maybe a lot early by some folks' timelines, but ... I don't ever want to be without you. So will you? ... Marry me, that is?"

She took the ring and slid it onto the third finger of her left hand, a look of wonderment on her face. It had been part of Rance's grandmother's set. Ed Martin had held onto it since his mother had passed away four years earlier. Now it fit, albeit a bit loosely, on Gia's lean, long finger. She stared at it for a moment longer, awestruck, before she found her voice, bent forward and kissed him. In a clear voice, she said, "Rance Martin, you are mine and I will marry you anytime, anywhere."

She climbed onto the bed alongside him, careful not to displace or crimp any of the wiring or tubing still connected to him. She put her arm across his chest and stroked his hair and his right temple as she pressed light kisses onto the other side of his face.

It had been a demanding day that had begun before sunrise almost 650 miles away in New Orleans, and the weight of it had taken the steam out of Rance. He allowed her gentle kisses and caresses to carry him gently into a peaceful slumber. And now, with the wear of the past two weeks' tumult now finally lifting, Gia fell asleep a few seconds later, her cheek on his mighty right shoulder.

A nurse who entered the room to administer Rance a mild painkiller and sedative saw them in peaceful sleep and, for once, tossed the rule book aside and let them sleep. He, too, had watched the "60 Minutes" segment and knew the depth of their relationship, their unique situation. There are some things, the nurse reasoned to himself, that love can do far better than pharmaceuticals.

●●●

Epilogue

By April, Rance Martin had slowly regained full use of his frame. He had to fight off the damage lapsed blood supply and low blood pressure had done to his organs and muscles in the hours after his near-fatal stabbing. He had walked with the assistance of a walker until the middle of February. He had begun physical rehabilitation in March, realizing the long and difficult road he faced if he were to ever regain the power and speed he had as an All-Southeastern Conference football player.

Cognitive tests showed that he had suffered no brain damage, at least not to the higher-functioning areas of the brain that controlled memory, reason and learning. Whether the neural pathways that control movement, balance and coordination would fully return would not be known for months.

Rance had moved into the apartment with Gia. They were engaged and very much in love, but there was a more practical reason for the living arrangement. Gia knew his body better than anyone alive and could recognize when he needed help with things as simple as changing socks or as complicated as pairing his Bluetooth keyboard and mouse to his new Apple iBook and the large screen they had purchased to help him do class assignments at home. But his progress continued at a quickened pace to the point that, by May, they were ready to travel together to the Martins' Tennessee lakehouse for a long, relaxing Memorial Day weekend.

Rance's right side featured a small area of jagged scars set at right angles, only one of which was the initial wound caused by Duarte Mélancon's butterfly knife. Rance lay shirtless on an outdoor recliner beside the Watts Bar Lake shoreline, allowing the sun to restore some of the color lost to a lengthy hospital convalescence and months indoors. There, by themselves, one of Rance's most profound worries disappeared when Gia also chose to go shirtless in the late May Tennessee sun. She could see Rance stiffen beneath the loose gym shorts at the sight of her. When Rance's hand tweaked her already-turgid cocoa-colored nipple, a shiver raced down her spine directly to her crotch.

She stood, wriggled out of her bikini bottoms and then tugged Rance's shorts off before climbing atop him and kissing him deeply. The feel of his full hardness pressing against her navel completed the checklist for them both. He was as erect as he had ever been, and the satiny, black hair framing her cleft and her mons pubis were already slick with her arousal. She slid his shaft against her labia to wet it and then sank fully, satisfyingly downward on his entire length. If anyone was on the lake fishing or boating within eyesight, neither of them cared. Within minutes, they were climaxing together on the chaise lounge in broad daylight.