The door beside her opened abruptly. A white-gloved hand reached in.
“Pamela Wright? Hello, I’m Lieutenant Camille Chavez.”
The gloved hand shook Pam’s, guided her out of the limo.
“I’m so sorry, Pamela. I know the words aren’t nearly enough, but I want you to know how very deeply saddened I am about Laura. What she meant to me, to all of her colleagues and the people she served with. Her friendship was an incredible honor, one I’ll never forget. I miss her so much already.”
Camille Chavez’s face spoke of her grief. There were dark circles beneath her eyes, exhaustion in her movements the well-trained military bearing failed to conceal.
“Thank you,” Pam said shakily. “She mentioned you a few times in her emails. I understand you were good friends.”
The lieutenant nodded gravely. “We met at Fort Benning two years ago when I was beginning my nursing career. We both deployed to Afghanistan at the same time last fall.”
“You’re the one who brought her home, aren’t you?” It hurt to say home, because Laura was never truly coming home again. One thing was for sure. Laura was never leaving American soil again.
“Yes. I haven’t left her side for the last twenty-four hours.”
Pam was glad Laura wasn’t alone and that the army cared enough to make sure she wasn’t. Camille must have cared a great deal for Laura, and Pam wondered fleetingly if they’d been lovers at some point. Since joining the army, Laura had quietly made her way through quite a long line of women. All those years, she’d not been one to be tied down by a lover. Or by anything, for that matter. It was the main reason, Pam supposed, that army life seemed to suit her so perfectly. Except…what the army giveth, it taketh away. Pam felt the threat of tears.
Camille squeezed her hand. “Come with me. We’ll do this together, okay?”
Pam nodded as the tears began to fall. They moved to the foot of the conveyer belt that had been shoved up against the cargo bay. It began to whir mechanically as the large door retracted. Pam gasped as the flag-draped coffin came into view.
“I know,” Camille whispered.
It was a shocking sight. The flag was crisp and stark against the sunshine, wound snugly around the coffin like a tight blanket. The red in the flag made Pam think of blood. Laura had been killed when the helicopter she was a passenger in crashed in a dust storm while trying to land at a forward operating base. The others had been badly injured but survived; Laura was the only fatality. Pam hadn’t yet asked for more details about Laura’s death. In time she would, but she wasn’t ready for that yet.
The soldiers, lined like perfectly straight fence posts along the conveyer belt, saluted as the coffin whirred its way down. Camille’s chin quivered, but she held her own salute and stood as rigidly as the others. Pam’s shoulders slumped as the soldiers hoisted the coffin up and slowly but perfectly in step carried it to the hearse. The slamming of the hearse’s rear door caused Pam to jump, the finality of it jarring. And just like that, Laura was gone again.
Camille touched her elbow. “Okay if I ride in the limo with you to the funeral home?”
“Of course, but if you want to ride with Lau–”
“No. I’d prefer that you weren’t alone right now. And we’ll be right behind her.”
Wordlessly they climbed into the back of the limo for the twenty-minute drive along I-94 to Ann Arbor, to the same funeral home where Pam and Laura’s mother had rested six years ago. So much death in Pam’s life. Too much. Could she possibly bear this one? Or was this the one that would break her, she wondered numbly.
The hearse was ahead of them, and through the tinted glass, Pam could see Laura’s coffin and the flag shrouding it. It was almost beautiful, except that it signified the ugliest thing imaginable—death.
Pam stared numbly straight ahead. “I can’t believe Laura’s in there.”
“The army’s recommending a closed casket. Her injuries…”
Pam shook her head firmly. “I don’t want to know.”
“Do you want to view her privately?”
“Do you?” Pam snapped, not meaning to.
“No,” Camille said. “I want to remember her the way she was the last time I saw her.” Her smile was faint, private. “It was over a month ago. She was envious that I was being sent to Takhar for a while to work at a clinic there. She didn’t like being stuck at the Bagram base for a long period of time. She liked getting out to clinics in the villages, the forward operating bases. She got her fair share of getting off base, but she’d never been to Takhar. She was putting on this huge pout, cussing out the army, cussing out the colonel who was in charge of the base hospital. She even threatened to go over his head. Of course, she’d never risk that kind of insubordination. She was just venting.”
“She was a good soldier, wasn’t she?”
“The best, Pamela. Absolutely the best.”
It’d been six months since she’d last seen her sister. It was last October. Laura had had a week off—her last leave before November’s deployment to Afghanistan. She’d visited Pam in Chicago for a couple of days, then drove to Ann Arbor in a rental car to tour around. She later emailed Pam that she’d stopped at their old family home, which was up for sale for the second or third time since their mother’s death, and visited old friends. A little trip down memory lane, and Pam was glad Laura had done it. Laura had wanted her to come too, but Pam couldn’t get the time off work. She wished now that she’d done it anyway, even if it’d meant calling in sick. The Wright sisters were far too rule-oriented, far too worried about fulfilling their obligations to do something like call in sick when they were perfectly healthy.
Oh, Laura, why hadn’t you quit that damned army by now? You more than paid them back for putting you through medical school—you gave them thirteen years, served tours in war zones. Wasn’t that more than enough?
Who was she kidding? Laura hadn’t been anywhere close to leaving the army. She had loved the army. Loved the camaraderie, the sense of purpose and duty, the risks, the honor. And she looked damned spectacular in that uniform of hers, all proud and a little bit cocky, had the swagger of authority down to a tee.
Pamela cleared her throat to pry her thoughts loose. “What happens next?”
“We’ll get everything ready for the viewing tomorrow. Four soldiers will guard her every minute. Day after tomorrow, we’ll fly her to Arlington National Cemetery for a full honors burial, as per her wishes.”
The army required its soldiers to set out their final wishes ahead of time. They were nothing if not prepared for the worst.
“There’s a letter,” Camille said gently. “Before every deployment, soldiers write a final letter to next of kin and it’s kept on file. I have it with me. You can…”
“I can’t. Not right now.” Pam refused to handle more than one thing at a time. Later, she would read the letter, would go through Laura’s things. It would be so much easier—though easier wasn’t the right word—if she had someone to help her through this. She tried to think of the appropriate word instead of easier: Manageable? Tolerable? Smoother? Less damn frightening, for sure, but no one on this earth could help make Laura’s death easier. She had friends, but none of them had known Laura. There were no other family members of much consequence, no lovers of much consequence for either one of them. Pam’s last serious girlfriend had been a fellow med school student. They’d lasted eight months, their relationship more of a competition than a partnership. As for Laura, she hadn’t brought anyone home in years, hadn’t mentioned anyone of significance in some time. She seemed to either play the field or go for long bouts of celibacy. Their inconsistent love lives caused them to joke about living together after Laura retired from the army. How they’d be two elderly sisters sharing a rambling old house with their yellowed medical diplomas hanging crooked on the wall, their three dogs and two cats curled at their feet, a recycling bin full of wine bottles at the curb each week.
Wanting to smile at the vision
but yielding to her anger instead, Pam said, “I thought she would be safe there. She was supposed to be safer than the others because she was a doctor.”
“It’s true, medical staff aren’t on the front lines the same, but there’s always danger. Even if she’d never left the base, it’s still dangerous. The base is attacked occasionally. And we’re expected to go outside the wire sometimes—giving clinics in the community, treating soldiers at forward operating bases, even escorting helicopter medevacs sometimes.”
In their emails, phone calls and discussions, Laura had always downplayed the danger. Even during her two tours in Iraq, when things were still hotter than hell there, she never said much about the risks. Still, her death didn’t make a lot of sense. The odds were so slim and yet…it had happened.
She couldn’t think of that now, couldn’t play the game of what-ifs. Pamela turned her face to the window. They were in Ann Arbor now, the city she and Laura had spent most of their lives in. The familiar University of Michigan flags and signs were everywhere, giving Pam a soft pang of nostalgia. Students strolled the streets, many of them wearing the customary navy blue and gold school colors, most of them looking carefree and unburdened. It was good to be in familiar territory, the reminders of her and Laura’s alma mater wrapping her in a blanket of consolation.
As the procession neared downtown, Pam noticed people clustered on the sidewalk in small groups, some holding small American flags, some with their hands over their hearts. With each block, more people stood on the curb, silently facing them. “Is this what I think it is?” she whispered in awe.
Camille nodded, looking awed herself. “I’ve heard of this happening in communities. People spontaneously paying their respects.” Her voice began to break. “It makes me feel so proud, you know?”
No, Pam didn’t know, but she was beginning to understand. People did care, especially about one of their own, and it brought fresh tears to the surface again. Maybe she wasn’t so alone after all. She scanned the passing faces. One of them stood out, and Pam pressed her face to the glass. It was Trish Tomlinson, standing on the sidewalk, staring at the hearse, looking stricken.
Pam put her hand against the glass to wave before realizing the tinting was too dark for Trish to see her. Trish. Thank God. If anyone would understand, would be able to grieve with her, it would be Trish. She hoped, though she had no right, that Trish would come to the funeral home later and seek her out. Please, Trish.
Chapter Three
As the hearse and its flag-draped contents passed slowly by, Trish felt the finality of Laura’s death like a steel door slamming shut on her heart. She didn’t know what she’d expected, joining strangers on the street to watch the grim procession. Maybe she’d expected someone to say it was just a prank, and Laura would pop out of a sunroof from one of the passing cars, grinning and looking magnificent with her sun-streaked blond hair and gray-green eyes that twinkled with delightful mischief and the joie de vivre possessed only by someone who regularly faced danger. Or perhaps someone would announce it had all been a case of mistaken identity and Laura was still in Afghanistan. But neither scenario played out, and it was all Trish could do to keep from sobbing in public.
“What an awful shame,” an elderly woman beside her muttered into the air. “How many more will it take?”
Trish didn’t care, because it had taken the life of the only soldier who’d ever mattered to her. Intellectually, she’d always understood the risks. They’d talked about them at length when Laura stopped by the school during a brief visit to town last fall, right before her deployment. They chatted on the school lawn for a few moments, moved on to dinner and a couple of glasses of wine. Like a salesclerk giving her best pitch, Laura explained the benefits of what she would be doing over there, how those benefits outweighed the risks, that her work there was far more important than fear—hers or anyone else’s. They’d had the identical conversation seventeen years ago, when Laura joined the army as a way of defraying the costs of medical school. Even then, before she’d experienced the harsh reality of war, Laura had downplayed the danger. But it wasn’t enough to convince Trish to stick it out. Neither of them could give what the other needed, and to Trish, the unforgivable bottom line was that Laura had chosen the army over her. She’d chosen a way of life that simply could not include a partner back home.
Trish’s fear that Laura would be killed was the biggest reason she’d bailed on the relationship all those years ago. She had not wanted to end up a young widow. Except she wouldn’t have been a widow in any official sense, not in Michigan and not with Don’t Ask Don’t Tell in effect for most of Laura’s career. Now, Trish was simply an old friend. A long departed lover. Okay, more than just a lover. Her first love. And first loves you only have once, Trish knew. She and Laura had been forever bound in that heady alliance of unrestrained discovery, of innocent hope, of a magical future they had yet to map out. And while that special union was a long time ago, it had left a permanent imprint on Trish’s soul. She’d never been able to wipe the slate clean of Laura.
What now? Trish wondered, her heart heavy as a boulder. She lingered on the sidewalk as the people around her resumed their missions and moved on, their daily lives taking shape again. Should she go home? Finally get on with her life now that the torch she’d been carrying for so many years had been so cruelly and permanently snuffed out? If she went home, she’d only wallow in her misery and stare—again—at the framed 5x7 photo from Laura’s medical school graduation thirteen years ago. It was the last time they’d been happy together, right before everything changed. Right before Laura gave herself to the army.
What she’d really like to do is to get good and drunk, but the idea of drinking alone held no appeal.
She stumbled forward, in the direction of the funeral home. She’d read in the paper that the visitation would happen tomorrow, and after that, Laura’s body would be taken to the national cemetery in Arlington, Virginia, for a ceremonial burial. But she didn’t want to wait for tomorrow’s visitation, and it occurred to her that she was acting like the loyal old dog who continued to sit at its master’s doorstep even after the master was long gone. Pathetic, but her broken heart would allow no alternative.
A few soldiers milled around outside, talking quietly among themselves, barely glancing her way as the smoke from a couple of cigarettes momentarily assailed her. The front doors were unlocked and Trish marched through them with the air of purpose.
“Can I help you?” A funeral director, far too young to look so dour and serious, asked her with officious politeness.
“I, ah, am a friend of Major Laura Wright.”
“I’m sorry but visitation for Major Wright is tomorrow afternoon. Perhaps…”
“Trish! Oh, I’m so glad you came.”
Pamela Wright rushed past the young funeral director and into Trish’s arms. She was tall, a bit taller than Laura, and built just like her—all wiry strength. She clung tightly to Trish, as though Trish were a lifeline.
“I wanted to be here, but I wasn’t sure…” Trish felt awkward, out of place.
When Pam finally broke away, Trish quietly gasped. Pam looked so much like Laura—the short blond hair that mussed easily, the perfectly straight nose, the killer dimples. And those eyes—gray-green and identical to Laura’s. How come she hadn’t really noticed the uncanny resemblance before? Pam was a younger carbon copy of Laura, seven years younger to be exact, and instantly Trish was transported back to another time, to a time when Pam was a sun-kissed, gangly girl on the cusp of adolescence.
“Of course you should be here,” Pam said softly. “I was hoping you would. There’s no one else…”
“I know,” Trish choked out. She needed to pull herself together, for Pam’s sake if nothing else. With effort she cleared her throat. “Whatever you need.”
“Will you come in the viewing room with me?”
Trish hesitated. She didn’t know if she could handle seeing Laura in a casket.
“It’s closed,” Pam said, as if reading her mind.
“Okay.” Trish followed her through the large double doors of the inner sanctum. The flag-draped casket stood on a dais, a soldier standing perfectly erect at each of the four corners. The room was eerily silent, not even a cough or the clearing of a throat. The flag was brightly illuminated by ceiling lights, the casket clearly the star of this macabre show. Adrenaline and emotion sent Trish’s heart galloping. Beside her, Pamela clutched her hand, squeezed it, and it occurred to Trish that she should be the one doing the comforting.
“Oh, Pam.” Her voice was sandpaper. Unidentifiable emotions tumbled through her, crashing into one another. She was drowning in them.
A large photo of Laura in her dress uniform, poster sized, rested on an easel beside the casket. It was all so unreal, so unfathomable. Is this really happening? It could be a movie set, Trish thought.
“I hate that that’s the only picture of Laura,” Pam ground out, and Trish knew exactly what she meant—that it was an army picture of Laura, as if that’s all Laura was, all she had ever been. “I forgot to bring pictures from home. Damn, I…”
“It’s okay. I have some.”
Pam’s shoulders relaxed, but her face remained a mask of anguish. “Trish, I don’t think I can do this alone.”
“You don’t have to. Have you eaten yet?”
It was dinner hour, and although food was about the last thing on Trish’s mind, she didn’t want Pam to collapse out of hunger and exhaustion.
Pam glanced at her watch, shook her head.
“Come home with me.”
Pam looked at her questioningly.
“Unless you want to stay here all evening,” she quickly amended. “I can do that too.”
“No. I don’t think I can stay here any longer.”
Then let me take care of you, Trish wanted to say. I can’t take care of Laura, but I can take care of you. “I’ll fix us something to eat. We can choose the photos.” You won’t have to be alone and neither will I.
Last Salute Page 2
