Will Rise from Ashes

by Jean M. Grant

  He stopped talking, swallowed, and turned his gaze to his sister. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  I didn’t know who it was for, me or Lily.

  My heart raced as all the puzzle pieces found their connections, as his story came together. I now saw why he had been riled when that awful guy Dennis assaulted me and Will. It had been like something had snapped in him, and I’d attributed it to protective testosterone or PTSD.

  “I refused to let her drive. I drove her home. It was my job, as her brother. To protect her, you know? I was an ass.” He stared at me, a twisted sad smile emerging as he shook his head. “She yelled at me while I was driving, wanted me to let her drive. She grabbed the wheel. I was snaking all over the place. God, I don’t remember much. I was toasted.”

  He swallowed a heavy sigh. “I do remember her scream when I drove off the road and hit a tree.”

  Remorse teared in the corners of his usually comforting, but now sorrowful, eyes.

  I swallowed the truth, my mouth drier than ever. Even though it was beside me, I didn’t touch the coffee. I had enough bitterness swirling in my stomach. “You could’ve told me,” I mustered from the depths of compassion.

  He drew his face away and looked at his sister. “No, I couldn’t. A pissed-off drunk as your companion across the country? Around your kid?” he said, raising his voice. Then, in one whoosh of a breath, he added ever quietly, “A stupid drunk who…who…”

  A flash of remembrance entered my mind…the alcohol I’d smelled on him in the hotel in Missouri. He had said it wasn’t him who had been drinking. Had he lied then, too? That seemed like ages ago, yet the rawness returned in a torrent. Had he relapsed?

  “Your husband,” he said in an aching whisper, refusing to look at me. Instead his stance was directed toward his sister’s frame.

  “The hotel. The booze…I-I can’t,” I said, spinning to leave. I couldn’t think straight. He lied. He lied. He was a damn drunk. Or a has-been drunk. I didn’t care. His sister. Dear God, his sister. He had done this to her. And I…and we…

  All the pain flooded back to me.

  I gasped and hurried through the door into the corridor, my only instinct being to flee, at least while I got my head wrapped around it.

  “Wait, AJ. Wait! Please! They’re moving the refugees from Schriever. I was coming to tell you.”

  I froze and turned around so quickly that my right foot caught on a cart of machinery. A grisly series of cracks sounded in my troublesome ankle, sending a shooting pain up my shin. I tripped into Reid’s arms with a curse. Reflex pulled me upright, away from him, as I kept my right foot hovering while hopping on the good foot. I whimpered. “What?”

  “Here, come, sit.”

  “Not in there,” I said with a look to his sister’s room. I reluctantly leaned on him as he led me to a nearby empty wheelchair. Once sitting, I put my foot down to test it, foolishly, like a child told not to touch the hot plate, but who touches it anyway. Pain seared through my foot like a scorching iron.

  My mind shifted gears. “What did you say?”

  “Let me get a nurse for you. You might need an x-ray.”

  “Reid, please.”

  A five o’clock shadow had reappeared on his face. He drew his eyebrows together and cleared his throat. “When I checked downstairs with the officer on duty, he mentioned that they’re moving the refugees from Schriever Air Force Base south to various hospitals in New Mexico or west to Nevada. They can’t send them here. No more room. Mobile hospitals are also overrun. Anyone in moving shape is going south or west.”

  “Do they know if Finn or my brother are there?”

  He shook his head. “The man I spoke to didn’t have names, but he did mention the earthquake in Denver; some of the injured may have gone to the base.”

  “Will they go through Lamar? Can I head them off there?”

  He shook his head. “No. Everyone’s being routed south to several hospitals and mobile units.”

  “When?” I swallowed as tingles in my hands joined the awful sensation radiating from my injured foot. Dammit, my ankle. Why now?

  “Tomorrow.”

  I yelped.

  “Let’s get your foot checked, okay? Then we can go.”

  “But Will!” I couldn’t leave him alone. He was safe here, but…what if he had another seizure? Or what if the power went out? On cue, the lights flickered yet again. They stayed out for over a minute this time before coming back on.

  The minute crept by as pain vibrated in my foot, heart, and soul. I knew what Reid and I had shared was some transient connection during a time of need. That’s all. So why did I feel brokenhearted?

  Suddenly, a flurry of orderlies, nurses, doctors, and soldiers shuffled in the hallway toward the main desk. Voices hollered.

  Reid cut off a scrambling orderly. “What happened?”

  “Another earthquake in Denver. Large aftershock.” The man dashed down the hallway.

  “Maybe somebody can give me a ride to the base?” I said, sickened, my voice a pathetic whisper. The pain welling in my ankle didn’t help.

  Who would watch Will if I left?

  “Your foot first, AJ.”

  “Okay, quickly.” I cooperated marginally. “My Finn, Reid. I must get to him! I must find him. What if he’s d-dead? I just can’t—” I broke into racking sobs.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Facing the Past

  July, Last Year

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Sinclair. There was nothing we could do,” the weary police officer said. He removed his hat and placed it across his chest, large distressed eyes staring at me. “I’m sorry.”

  I fell to the floor in my front foyer, a weeping mess. Will hurried to my side.

  “Mom! Mom! I’m here. Don’t cry!”

  Then he was crying in my arms. Finn came. He wailed and screamed and hit me. We lay in a heap on the floor.

  The pine-scented cleaner stung my nose—I had washed those floors that morning.

  My children’s tears soaked my blouse.

  The officer continued with his apologies, his voice muffled by Finn’s howls. When my baby lowered his wails to sobs, his face still red and blotchy, the other officer crouched beside us. “Mrs. Sinclair, we have grief counseling. I can get you information from the station. We have a counselor there we can connect you with,” she offered.

  I nodded, her words falling on deaf ears. I inhaled, then exhaled. I chewed on my lip to stop the trembling. “Do I need to come and…” I couldn’t finish it.

  “Yes, ma’am. A visual ID helps us confirm. When you’re ready. We can send a car for you or you can come with us.”

  I nodded. “I need to get a sitter. M-Make calls.”

  Patsy and George. Oh, my God. I had to call people. I had to tell them that Harrison was dead.

  “Come on, honey, stand up, okay?” I said to Finn. Will had already risen. Finn got to his feet, but then he pounded his hands into my chest.

  “Noooooo!” he howled, crying harder. “I want Daddy!”

  I turned to Will. His face was also splotchy and tear-stained. “Come, Finn. Let’s go upstairs,” he said.

  Finn resisted and spat at Will. He then ran upstairs, growling.

  My heart could not break any more than it did in that moment.

  “I’ll watch him, Mom, while you call Grandma.” Will took each step painfully slow as he went upstairs, sniffling. He paused. “He’s really dead? Gone? Not coming back?”

  I gulped. “Yes, honey, he’s not coming back.”

  “Your mom will take care of him in heaven, right?”

  I was wrong. My heart broke more.

  After an excruciating call with Patsy, the stringently clean morgue identification room awaited me. Nobody tells you about this part of death. I remembered my mother’s death as well, but I didn’t have to take the lead on all the calls or arrangements. My father had shouldered that burden. Now I was the adult. It was my job to break the awful news. It was my job to identify
my husband and arrange a funeral.

  It was my job to raise the kids alone.

  Before me on a metal slab, lay my husband, mangled and bruised, but recognizable and cleaned. Forever closed were his baby blues. His dirty blond hair was swept away from his forehead. I memorized his face…the curve of his chin, the long slender nose. He didn’t have his glasses on, which now he wore for more than reading. His long, wispy eyelashes…the speckled freckles that dotted his arms and across the bridge of his nose…the simple, gold wedding ring that was no longer on his left ring finger, and instead in a plastic bag along with his wallet and cell phone, now tucked in my handbag.

  My children would never see their daddy again.

  Part of my soul left me that day at the hands of a drunk driver.

  I cried for the life I would never have again. Just like that, fate steered me on an alternate path.

  I still heard Will and Finn’s cries of “Mom” deep within my bones.

  Chapter Twenty

  Found

  Present Day

  Will’s hospital room came into focus. A few red and amber machine lights blinked in the darkness.

  “Mom!”

  I bolted upright. “What is it, Will?” Disoriented, my scrutiny fell upon each corner of the room. The hospital room. Dammit, I was still here.

  “Look at your foot! What did you do?”

  He sat up in his bed and began coughing. Instinctively, I reached for the water jug on the wheeled table. He took the cup I offered him and sipped.

  Oh, there it was, my wrapped foot. The blanket had fallen off my lap. Well, wrapped was an understatement. It was in a boot. Ah yes, the injury and x-ray. I remembered now. It was a slight hairline fracture. My tricky ankle had done me in again. The doctor had told me to keep it elevated (and it was, resting on another chair in front of me). I shifted in the uncomfortable chair and stretched my neck, an awful kink pinching the base of my skull. God, how long had I slept? I had a heavy pain-reliever hangover.

  Light from the hallway filtered into the room. I squinted at the clock on the wall and let out an expletive when I saw the time—2:13 a.m.

  Will fumbled around in his bed. “Where’s the TV remote?” He found it and pushed a few buttons to find a channel he liked.

  I decided against arguing with him that it was the middle of the night and that he should be sleeping. He had slept half the day yesterday, after all, and his body was probably as out of whack as mine.

  Yesterday. It was tomorrow already.

  Urgency pulled me to standing, and I awkwardly hobbled to the nursing station.

  A different team of staff was posted there now. A lanky, young male nurse greeted me. “Ah, Mrs. Sinclair. Too soon to be up. You need to rest with your son. I’m sorry we don’t have another bed for you. We need to keep space for others who may be arriving.”

  Others. My stomach hardened.

  Groggy determination brought me to his desk, and I curled a fist, the feel of my wedding band heavy, smooth. “The aftershock? What happened?”

  The skin on his forehead wrinkled, and his sandy eyebrows turned up. “News says it was a 6.2. Epicenter was north of Denver. Nobody is going in or out of the city. It’s still a wreck from the quake last week.”

  I swallowed a cry. I had to get a ride north to the base now more than ever. “My friend. Reid. The army corporal I came in with. Corporal Gregory. Please tell me you know where he went?”

  “Yeah, he left you a note here. He left when I came on my shift.” He handed me a folded candy bar wrapper. It still smelled like nuts and chocolate. The man snorted. “I told him we have paper, but he insisted on the wrapper. Said you’d understand.”

  I opened it with shaking fingers. God, Reid, don’t you ghost me again. My heart knew otherwise and was rewarded for its loyalty when I read his words.

  It read, in neat print:

  I’ll get Finn. Stay with Will. I promise I will take care of this.

  I took a walkie-talkie. Turn it on when you can, on the top of each hour. I’ll try to contact you when I get closer.

  P.S. I found a mechanic that can help you with your car. His info is at the nurse’s station.

  ****

  I turned on the walkie-talkie for ten minutes, listened, waited. Turned it off to save the battery as I had for the past few hours, on the hour. These walkie-talkies had a twenty-mile range. All I’d heard were jumbled messages between military personnel.

  “Don’t worry, Mom. He’s got my compass,” Will said, spooning another mouthful of applesauce into his mouth.

  “Huh?” I pulled my gaze from the window and my view of the hectic morning street below. In such a daze the evening before, I hadn’t taken the time to really absorb it all. The hospital seemed orderly enough, albeit overrun. But outside. Lord. With sunlight came illumination. Ash, blaring horns, people running to and fro, a few scuffles, military patrols…

  Ambulances unloaded the injured, those covered in gray debris from collapsed buildings, or wrapped in bandages. It had been over ten days since the initial eruption, but the country was still in recovery mode…and with continued tremors to boot.

  “Jesus Christ,” I mumbled.

  It was exactly like what we had seen on TV. Except, now we were here. Order hinged on disorder. However, there were military personnel everywhere. They would maintain command. The country—the world—would not crumble under this. It couldn’t.

  I drew my attention to Will. “The compass?”

  “While you were sleeping, Reid and I tinkered with it. We fixed it. He then took it with him when he left. Now he can find Finn. Don’t worry, he promised he’d bring it back.”

  “He fixed it?” I scratched my head and yawned. A night on that uncomfortable chair was like camping on the hard ground. Pain slithered up my backside.

  “Yeah, he came in to check on you before he left. The noise of the nurses at that desk woke me up. He offered to help me fix the compass. And he did! It wasn’t that hard. I asked him to take it to help find Finn and so Uncle Brandon would know he was with us. Like a secret code. Colorado Springs is directly north. He could follow north on the compass!” Will looked pleased with himself. He coughed lightly.

  “Ah,” I said, jittery from the woozy aftereffects of whatever pain medicine I had been prescribed. Dark spots swam before me.

  I stole a look at Will’s chart in the plastic holder by the door. He was holding strong, seizure-free, and they had scheduled him to have his IV removed soon.

  There wasn’t much I could do. I had tried in the early hours, twice, to reason with the Guard soldier at the front desk in the lobby to let me call the base. Reception was sketchy, and he couldn’t make an exception for me. He assured me that everyone there was safe. They were doing all they could. They were relocating, especially considering the recent aftershock.

  I kept calling Brandon on the hour, too, but that was also futile.

  All I could do now was look out the window and squint at any military vehicle that arrived, and there were many. My pulse raced.

  The hospital clock ticked, its sound deafening. Will turned on the TV, but the channels were hit and miss as well. He slurped the last bit of applesauce and then opted for drawing. “I miss Snow, Mom,” he said, as he drew our cat’s long black tail.

  “Let’s put a smile on him,” I offered. “We’ll see him soon. Marcy’s taking care of him. Lots of snuggles and kisses.” I silently prayed that our neighbor was sticking to her promise to watch our cat. A cat-lover herself, she wouldn’t let any harm befall him, even if she had to leave for some reason.

  “Okay.”

  Will stuck out his tongue in that concentrating way as he shaded in Snow’s black and gray marbled fur.

  “How do you spell seizure?” he asked a few minutes later.

  I grimaced but spelled it for him.

  Clarification lit his round face. “It’s spelled like seismograph!”

  I couldn’t help but smile. “Yup. Your brain sort of made i
ts own seismic waves.”

  “Cool.”

  I allowed my mind to drift.

  When the clock struck the hour, I turned on the walkie-talkie and sat, hopeful for news. I gambled a try. “Hello, Reid?”

  Click. Garble. Click.

  “Reid?”

  Click. More garble. Click.

  After the week with Reid, I missed his voice. Drunken stupid mistake aside. Horrific mistake. Gosh, I missed talking with him. Of course, I anxiously awaited word that my son was alive, but I also found myself longing to speak with the man who had become my travel mate and friend—and more—over the past week.

  Another hour passed. I clicked the walkie-talkie on to immediately be greeted with Reid’s voice. “…close. With the Guard…I have…”

  Garbled words.

  “Oh my gosh, Reid! Do you have Finn? Repeat!” My hands shook, and I dropped the walkie-talkie. I swiped it and hobbled to the window, my gaze rapt on the vehicles below. An ambulance arrived. The paramedics pushed a child, a girl, on a gurney into the emergency entrance. No other arrivals.

  Static and crackles. Muffled words.

  I tapped my uninjured foot on the floor.

  “Reid?” I said into it.

  Nothing.

  “Reid?”

  I gave up, the crackles and slurs turning into silence. I fell into the seat at the window.

  Ten minutes later, I heard the familiar squeaking sound of a young boy in the hallway. I shot to my feet, and just as quickly my blood pressure plummeted. Yellow-black spots danced in my vision. I blinked, took a breath. A soul-deep inhalation, a steadying arm on the chair, and I cleared it.

  “Finn!” Will and I said in unison.

  “Be right back, honey,” I said to Will, who was still hooked to an IV and monitor.

  The sounds of the room faded, and I heard only my pounding heart. Tingles raced through all my fingertips, but not in innate warning. Nervous anticipation shook me to my core. My Finn. My Finn! It had to be him. I had become attuned to all the sounds and voices in this wing during the past twenty-four hours. That voice was a new sound to the choir of the pediatric wing.