A Harmony for Steve

Harmony Harper stopped inside the doorway of Sheri Mercer’s hospital room and held her hand under the automatic sanitizer dispenser. Her palm filled with the foamy alcohol-based sterilizer, and she rubbed her hands together, making sure she didn’t miss a spot on her hands and wrists. She wore purple scrubs with a “volunteer” badge pinned to the shirt pocket. A large window overlooked the courtyard of the hospital complex, filling the room with natural light. A wallpaper border covered in childlike drawings of grassy hills dotted with flowers ran along the top of the wall. The bright green floor and walls painted the color of apricot jam gave the sterile room a cheerful feeling. Wood paneling over the cupboards and cabinets matched the trim on the blue vinyl couch and chair. Sheri lay still in the bed, a nasal cannula strapped to her nose, wearing a fuchsia colored knitted cap on her little bald head. A hand-crocheted blanket in green, gold, and white covered the hospital linens, adding warmth and a feeling of home. “Harmony,” Sheri greeted in a weak and wheezy voice, “you made it.” Setting her bag on the floor by the rocking chair, Harmony walked over to the bed and took Sheri’s frail hand in hers. Black circles rimmed the child’s pale face, and her bones stood out on her sallow cheeks. The decline in her appearance from just a week ago shocked Harmony, though she tried not to show it. “I promised I would,” she quietly replied. In the terminally ill children ward of the hospital, even the nurses spoke in hushed, reverent tones. “I’m so sorry to have missed your birthday yesterday.” “Mom was happy it was just family. She wanted the memory of the birthday to be just for them for when I’m gone.” Sheri had always spoken very matter of factually when it came to her mortality. Harmony admired that about her. She, herself, joined the throng of adults unwilling to accept that this beautiful and talented child would likely not live another week. She looked at the brightly colored Happy Birthday balloon that danced at the foot of the bed. Stuffed animals perched like sentries next to vases of silk flowers on a narrow table by the window. A Mercer family photo sat in the center of the display. A laughing and healthy Sheri stood next to her two sisters and parents as she grinned (or parents, grinning) for the camera. Her cancer diagnosis came six months after the picture was taken. Harmony knew that Sheri had beaten all odds to make it to eleven years old. “I’m glad that I had a conflict then,” Harmony said. “Your mom never said anything about it.” “She loves you too much.” The simple statement gave Harmony’s heart a painful squeeze. She knew volunteering at a children’s hospital allowed her to give as much support to the parents as she did to the children. God had directed her to the terminal ward. The parents to whom she ministered walked down a long and painful path of mourning that no mother nor father should ever have to walk. Harmony prayed with them, sang to them, spent time with them, and ministered to them as much as she did their children. “I got you a present,” Harmony whispered. Sheri’s eyes widened. “You didn’t have to get me anything!” “I think you’ll like this. But I’m going to open it for you and then let the nurses put it in the dishwasher, okay?” This was their little joke. Anything Sheri touched had to be sterilized because her treatments had so fully compromised her immune system. Harmony retrieved a gaily wrapped square package from her bag and opened it as if presenting the grand prize on some game show. “Do you like it?” She held Melody Mason Montgomery’s latest album on CD-ROM in her hand. The case had been autographed by the famous singer. Sheri’s smile lit up the room. “Harmony, I love it! Thank you so much!” “Well, good. I already talked to the nurses. They’ll get it loaded onto your MP3 player quick as you like.” “I can hardly wait.” Sheri began to look tired. She had started to sleep much more than she could remain awake recently. Harmony put the CD away and fished around in her bag until she found her dog-eared copy of Wilder’s These Happy Golden Years. “We’re nearly done. Let’s see if we can finish this today,” she said with a smile, pulling the rocking chair closer to the bed. “I think we left off right before they get married.” As she settled into the chair and found the spot in the book, Sheri, speaking so quietly Harmony nearly didn’t hear her, said, “I wish I could find my Almanzo and get married one day.” Sheri did not like it when adults treated her like a dying child. Instead of crying about how unfair it was that Sheri would never even go on a date, Harmony marked her place in the book with her index finger and said, “So do I. I wonder what mine looks like.” Sheri took a deep wheezing breath. “Mine wouldn’t be tall. I’m too little.” She pursed her lips and nodded. “But I like tall. How about six feet?” “Dark?” “Hmm,” Harmony said, thinking of what she found attractive. “I’ve always been a fan of men with light hair. Red or blond or straw colored.” Sheri touched her cap with a mischievous grin. “I’d go for just hair.” “Oh, honey, you had beautiful hair. I think a dark-haired man would go perfectly with your auburn color.” “He would have to be smart. No dummies.” “Absolutely. Smart is important.” “And handsome,” she whispered, her eyes drooping. “Handsome is definitely on my list.” She reached between the bed rails and took her hand. “But, I want a man with a beautiful heart more than a beautiful face. I want him to love God as much as I do. I want him to serve God right along with me.” Sheri leaned toward her and her eyes bored into Harmony’s. “You need that. Don’t settle for just a pretty face.” For a moment, she stared at the wise little eleven-year-old, then laughed. “I promise. No pretty faces for me.” “And no tattoos. Tattoos are gross.” Harmony nearly chuckled, thinking of a secret she knew about someone very close to her. “If you insist.” Sheri appeared to accept that answer and lay back against the pillows again. “I’m ready to r******w. I’d like to hear the end.” She flipped the book back open and gently cleared her throat. “Haste to the Wedding,” Harmony said, reading the chapter title. Harmony had met the Mercers through a charitable wish-granting organization for terminal children. As a popular Christian music artist, Harmony helped fulfill Sheri’s wish and allowed her to sing at one of her concerts. The talent she’d heard in the little body amazed her. She prayed daily that God would heal Sheri so that her voice could be a gift to the world. As she got sicker, she lost her stamina and the ability to sing for very long, so Harmony sang for her. Once or twice a week, depending on her own schedule, she came to the hospital and softly sang or read to Sheri. At four in the afternoon, this floor of hospital produced little noise. It was that peaceful time between meals and shift changes at nurses’ stations, with most children taking an afternoon nap. Occasionally, Harmony would hear the wheels of a cart or a hospital bed go past the open door of the room as meals were served or patients were relocated for tests and the like, but for the most part, nothing invaded the quiet except the wheezing panting sounds as Sheri battled for her next breath. As Harmony finished the chapter, she looked up and saw that Sheri had fallen into a deep sleep. Wondering how much of the chapter she’d heard before she gave in to the demands of the disease ravaging her body, Harmony slipped the book back into her bag. “I’ll be back Monday to finish the book,” she promised, standing and leaning over the bed to press a kiss to the child’s forehead. “Try to hang on until then,” she whispered. She straightened already perfectly straight covers and made sure Sheri could reach her water cup when she woke up. Sadness tried to break through the wall of self-control she had carefully constructed. She mustn’t let it out. Volunteering with terminally ill children in one of Nashville’s largest hospitals did not allow for emotional breakdowns on the ward. She reserved breakdowns for long showers when she could cry and wail and let it all out, and no one would ever witness it except God. She walked out of the room and the tile floor changed from bright green to bright blue. She passed a painting of a giant whale swimming along the wall then a school of fish. Eventually, the tile and walls changed from blue to a light tan. Now crabs and seagulls watched her make her way to the nurses’ station. The nurses treated her cordially, used to seeing her by now and no longer overly starstruck. She signed out on the visitor’s log, left her badge in the plastic basket next to the clipboard, and waved goodbye to two nurses coming out of one of the rooms. She didn’t have time to stay and chat, so she walked to the bathrooms in the corridor by the elevator. Inside, she quickly stripped out of her purple scrubs and pulled on a long white, sleeveless dress that fell to mid-calf. After wrapping a silk scarf embroidered with lavender flowers around her small waist, she slipped on purple bracelets and purple hoop earrings. Purple heels helped elevate her height three whole inches, helping her barely scrape the five-hour mark. Finally, she pulled the clip out of her hair and let the long blonde curls fall well past her shoulders and down her back. Doing a partial spin, she checked to make sure all clothing looked in order before pushing the scrubs and tennis shoes into her bag and rushing from the bathroom. On the ground floor, she walked along the corridors, smiling and nodding at people who knew her or recognized her, but she did not stop to speak. Once she entered the parking garage, the oppressive heat of the Nashville July day wrapped around her, pushing back the chill of the artificially cool environment of the hospital. In no time, she drove out of the garage and into the Nashville traffic, trying not to look at the clock on the dashboard. Her family would understand her late arrival, of course, but she hated arriving late for anything. Thankfully, the upcoming Independence Day weekend must have lightened the downtown Nashville traffic load because she pulled into her spot in the parking garage of her family’s building in record time. Harmony began singing professionally as a young teenager, and her older brother Franklin managed not only her career but the career of many other family members. Harper Enterprises was a long-standing name in Christian entertainment. Her father and grandfather cohosted an internationally syndicated daily radio program together and had written dozens of books on marriage and family. In her own right, her mother, a well sought-after songwriter, had authored several books on parenting and marriage, and her aunt had written several screenplays and currently managed a Christian film production company. Today would begin the Harper Enterprises Board of Trustees meeting, which they euphemistically called the Harper Family Meeting. Held on the first Friday of every new quarter, it would probably last until Saturday night, filling the hours with meals, fellowship, prayer, discussions, and business. Harmony hoped they concluded their business by then because she had to fly to San Francisco on Saturday night for her Sunday, July Fourth concert. The heat of the day immediately enveloped Harmony as she got out of her car, and she wished she’d kept her hair up. She couldn’t believe the high temperature so early in July and had a feeling that the summer would be a hard one this year. She popped her trunk and grabbed her suitcase. In the elevator, she punched a special code that granted her access to the top floor of the building where her brother Franklin, who usually hosted the meeting, lived.