Line of Duty

by Terri Blackstock

  Jill sighed. “Aunt Aggie, I can handle this.” She got up and faced her mother-in-law. “Mrs. Nichols, Dan probably couldn’t be moved now if we wanted him to be.”

  “So will you at least explain to me what his condition is?”

  Jill cleared her throat, swallowed hard, and began to explain what she knew.

  “Does he have brain damage?” Clara demanded.

  “We don’t think so,” Jill said. “The scans of his head looked normal, and there’s plenty of blood flow to the brain.”

  “Then why is he on the brink of death?”

  “He is not on the brink of death!” The words came out too loudly, and she brought her hand to her forehead and told herself to calm down.

  Susan seemed to have regathered her strength, and she got up and touched the woman’s arm. “Darlin’, Jill’s been under an awful lot of stress lately. You know she was in the building when it exploded. It was a real traumatic event. And now to have Dan in the hospital like this, it’s not easy for her.”

  “Do you think it’s easy for me to get back here from Paris in record time, to be beside the bed of my son in his last days?”

  Jill gritted her teeth. “Mrs. Nichols, I told you—”

  “Clara!” the woman snapped. “You’re in my family, for heaven’s sake. You can at least call me by my first name.”

  Jill cleared her throat and wished she could step outside for air again. It was suffocating in here. “Clara, my husband is going to live.”

  “But in what condition?” Clara snapped. “Will he be able to walk? Will he be able to think?”

  She wanted to scream out, What do you care? You’ve never been interested in his thoughts before! She thought of running out and finding a place to scream.

  How dare this woman do this?

  Before she could formulate a reply, a man stepped into the waiting room and called out, “Mrs. Nichols?”

  Jill turned around, but Dan’s mother lunged forward as if he addressed her. The man headed for the elder Mrs. Nichols.

  “I’m Ray Adams, the hospital administrator. I understand you were having some problems about visiting your son.”

  Jill slowly sank back down to her seat. She looked over at Ashley, who seemed captivated at the turn of events. “You okay?”

  Ashley smiled. It was the first time she’d done it since Jill met her. “Is she for real?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Somehow Clara was able to convince them to let her go in to see Dan, and Jill realized there was no time to lick her wounds. She had to go with her and protect him.

  “I’m coming with you,” she told her, brooking no debate.

  Clara clicked out as if she hadn’t heard. Jill caught up to her in the hallway. “This way,” she said and led her into the ICU and around to the cubicle where Dan lay, unchanged.

  Clara’s anger melted at the sight of him, and in its place came a tragic humility.

  Clara hung back, staring at him with a stricken face. Jill went to his side and kissed his cheek. “Hey, sweetheart. It’s me.”

  He still breathed through that respirator, and he slept soundly. She had been told that he had awakened several times and responded to the medical staff, but not yet when she had been present. As much as she wanted to look into his eyes and talk to him, she would prefer that it not be now, with Clara present.

  “Oh, my word,” Clara whispered. Jill looked up at her and saw real pain on her face. “What have they done to him? He looks like a corpse.”

  Jill had thought the same thing, but Clara’s utterance of that thought revived her anger.

  Clara moved closer to the bed and studied her son. Jill saw the struggle on her face and, for the first time, realized that the woman really did care for him in her strange, detached way.

  “I had forgotten he was so big,” she said in a quivering voice. “How tall is he now?”

  The question seemed almost amusing to Jill, as if he’d grown in the last ten years.

  “He’s six foot four inches,” she said. “He’s in very good shape. He’s kind of a health nut, and he runs and lifts weights. That’s playing in his favor now.”

  There was silence for a moment, and Jill watched her as tears came to her eyes. She hoped Clara’s façade would crumble now, and that she would see the mother in her, the woman who had given birth to him. She hoped she would say something—anything—to redeem her for her behavior.

  “I told him not to be a fireman,” Clara said finally. “Of all the ridiculous careers he could have chosen, to deliberately walk into a building in flames.”

  That fragile hope died. “He was rescuing people,” Jill said. “People are alive today because Dan and the other firefighters went in.”

  “That sounds very heroic, but look where it got him.”

  Jill wished his mother would go back to the waiting room and leave her alone here with him. If he could hear, she wanted him to hear accolades about his heroics, not recriminations about his choices. But Clara wasn’t leaving.

  Against Dan’s ear, Jill whispered, “Dan, your mother’s here. She came all the way from Paris because she’s worried about you.”

  He moved his hand, and Jill caught her breath. “Dan? Dan, can you open your eyes, honey?”

  He didn’t move again. Her eyes filled with tears, and she looked up at her mother-in-law. “He’s going to be all right. I can just feel it. As soon as they take him off this respirator . . .”

  Clara looked so awkward, standing there as coldly as a stranger. Jill suddenly felt pity for the woman. It must be terrible to be a mother without normal maternal instincts. She wondered if Clara suffered regret over the opportunities she’d missed. Jill’s heart softened.

  “I’m really glad you came, Clara,” she said. “It’ll mean a lot to him.”

  The light caught a tear in the woman’s eyes. “If he’s ever able to realize it.”

  “We’ll just have to pray,” Jill said. “It’s all we can do. Everything is out of our control.”

  Clara dug through her bag and found a handkerchief. “It’s not out of mine. What we need is better doctors. I have the means to get them here.”

  Jill almost told her not to bother, but she knew it wouldn’t matter. She just hoped she didn’t offend the ones who were already working on his behalf.

  “I’ll go make that call now,” she said.

  She realized his mother was uncomfortable here. Clara hadn’t touched him or even come close to the bed. After stirring up such trouble with the nursing staff, after causing such commotion, after flexing her muscles and wielding her power, she didn’t know what to do with her victory.

  Jill thought of pointing it out to her, but what good would it do?

  Jill kissed Dan’s cheek. “I’ll be back in a little while, sweetheart,” she whispered.

  Then she led Clara back out to the waiting room.

  Although Celia and Allie had taken Aunt Aggie home, Susan stayed with her. Clara was fidgety and clearly uncomfortable for the next hour, and Jill realized it was going to be a long day.

  “You must be exhausted, Clara,” she said. “Wouldn’t you like to go to my house and rest for a while?”

  “Actually, I was considering staying in a hotel.”

  A surge of hope shot through Jill, but she tried to hide it. “Wherever you think you’d be most comfortable.”

  “I hate to bear bad news,” Susan ventured, “but I heard on the news that the hotels had been closed for several miles around the Icon site. There’s still a lot of smoke in the area, so those hotels have had to evacuate. The other hotels in town had to take up the slack. And there’s a flood of media and family members who’ve come to town to see about the victims . . . and all the funerals . . .”

  Clara looked insulted. “I might have known. Well, I suppose I’ll have to stay in Newpointe then. Since that house was once my home, I guess it might be all right.”

  Jill’s stomach sank. Did the woman expect it to be just as she’d
left it? They’d made quite a few changes since she’d married Dan. She hoped Clara would not be disturbed by that.

  “That’s fine. We’d love to have you.” She hoped she sounded sincere. “Ashley’s staying there, too.” She gestured toward the young girl, who sat slumped in the seat, the back of her neck propped against the back of the chair.

  Ashley slowly sat up at the woman’s critical scrutiny. “Hey,” she said.

  Clara Nichols gave the girl a disgusted once-over, but didn’t return the greeting.

  As if it had made her self-conscious, Ashley got up and raked her hands through her hair, leaving it further tousled. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

  Jill knew that she was giving them the chance to discuss her behind her back. She watched as she left the room.

  Clara snapped around. “I will not stay in the house with that girl. Who is she, anyway?”

  Jill sighed. “She was in the explosion with me. I met her on the stairwell, and we helped each other down. Her mother was killed in the blast. She’s only sixteen. Her father died when she was little, so she’s orphaned now. She needed a friend.”

  “That still doesn’t answer why she’s staying in your home.”

  “She showed up on my doorstep last night,” Jill said. “She’s got the weight of the world on her shoulders. I told her she could stay with me as long as she needed to.”

  Clara grunted. “She could be a thief or a killer, for all you know. She looks like a drug addict. Do you want a drug addict living in your home? She could murder us in our sleep.”

  “She’s not going to murder you in your sleep, Clara. She’s a sweet girl. Under those piercings and tattoos is a very broken heart.”

  “You’re being conned,” Clara declared. “She’s going to take you to the cleaners.”

  Anger flashed through Jill, and she realized she didn’t have the energy to deal with this now. “You don’t know me very well, Clara. I’m not stupid. I’m an attorney, and I’ve done pretty well for myself all these years. I’m not easily pushed around, and I’m rarely conned. I made a judgment call about helping that girl, and I intend to do it. You’re very welcome to stay in our home, but as you know, there’s plenty of room there for you and Ashley, too.”

  Ashley came back in and plopped back down in her chair. She slid back down to the edge of her seat and threw one leg over the other. Jill knew she was putting on her tough, defiant façade. She resented Clara for putting her on the defensive.

  Then suddenly, Ashley switched to offense. “I think I’ll head on back to Newpointe.” She looked at Clara. “I could give you a ride if you want.”

  Jill gaped at her, wondering what she was thinking. Was it a dare? Was she only offering because she knew Clara would refuse?

  “I was going to rent a car,” Clara said. “I planned to have it delivered here.”

  “You could have it delivered to Jill’s house.”

  Jill looked up at her and suddenly realized that Ashley was trying to help her. It was an act of compassion, to get Clara out of her hair.

  She thought of hugging Ashley, offering her a trophy, throwing her a party.

  Instead, she accepted the gift. “She’s right, Clara. It would be much easier for you to order the car in Newpointe and have them deliver it there.”

  The woman touched her forehead as if she was getting a headache. Finally, she looked at Ashley. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. All right, I’ll go with you.”

  Ashley got up. “Ready?”

  Clara Nichols grabbed her suitcase, which she had rolled against the wall. Looking back at Jill over her shoulder, she said, “As soon as I’ve settled in and gotten the rental car, I’ll be back, hopefully before the next visiting time.”

  Jill said a silent prayer that the woman would not make it back in time.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Ashley knocked aside a Burger King bag and some candy bar wrappers to make room for Clara. She was glad she’d swept the broken glass out that morning. As Her Majesty got into the car, looking as though she might gag, Ashley dug through her bag for a piece of bubble gum and shoved it into her mouth.

  “Want some?” she asked, offering Clara the pack of Double Bubble.

  Clara gaped at her. “Hardly.”

  Ashley shrugged and turned the key. The Subaru sputtered and choked, then hummed to life.

  As she pulled out of the parking lot, she started to cough.

  Clara gave her a disgusted look. “You should be in the hospital yourself,” she said. “For heaven’s sake, you shouldn’t be spreading those germs in public.”

  “Don’t worry, I don’t have a disease.” Ashley blew a bubble, bit down on it. “You can’t catch it. You had to be there.”

  The woman adjusted her seat and kept her hands in her lap as if she was afraid to touch anything. Ashley wondered if she’d ever been in a car like hers, rusted out and torn up, with her friends’ cigarette butts overflowing the ashtrays.

  “Are you sure this rattrap will get us to Newpointe?”

  Ashley blew a bubble. “Pretty sure,” she said, “but if it doesn’t, we can hitchhike.”

  Clara grunted.

  Ashley glanced at her. Clara was a pretty woman for someone her age. Sixty, maybe? Ashley hoped she looked that good when she got that age, but she figured it took a lot of caviar and plastic surgery to keep someone in that condition.

  Ashley drove for a while, the silence broken only by her coughing spurts.

  “What happened to your radio, for heaven’s sake?”

  Ashley stopped chewing. “Long story,” she said quietly.

  “Well, at least you’re not blaring that rap garbage you people listen to.”

  Ashley assumed “you people” included anyone under twenty. “It’s not garbage,” she said, “it’s poetry.”

  “Poetry? You wouldn’t know Coleridge from Dr. Seuss. That’s not poetry. If you want to know poetry, I’ll show you some poetry when we get to the house. That is, if my son kept my library.”

  Ashley couldn’t wait. “So how long since you’ve seen your son?”

  Clara looked out the window for a moment. “It’s been awhile,” she said.

  “Like a year, two years?”

  Clara shook her head. “A little longer.”

  “So is this the first time you’ve met Jill?”

  The woman lifted her chin higher. “Yes, it is. I was out of the country when they got married.”

  Ashley blew a bubble, popped it with her teeth. “You didn’t even come to your own son’s wedding?”

  “I told you, I was out of the country.”

  “And it’s, like, a big deal to come back for a wedding?”

  “Dan understood.”

  Ashley breathed a laugh. “Yeah, right.”

  Clara seemed to stiffen. “You’re driving too fast, you know. The police are going to pull us over.”

  “The police have better things to do.” Silence settled for a moment. “They’re looking for terrorists. I hope they find them. I hope they string them up by their necks and parade them around the streets.”

  That silenced her for a while. Finally, Clara said, “I’m very sorry about your mother. I know that must be quite a blow.”

  Ashley stopped chewing again, but she didn’t answer.

  “When’s the last time you spoke to your mother?”

  Ashley really didn’t want to talk about this, especially to Clara. She couldn’t think of anything worse than being that vulnerable to a woman so cold. “I went up to Icon to talk to her that morning,” she said. “That’s why I was there. My mom’s the one who found the bomb.”

  She felt Clara’s cool eyes on her as she changed lanes and passed a slow-moving Cadillac.

  “I was a brat that day. But you probably know how that is.”

  Clara looked puzzled. “What do you mean, I know?”

  Ashley shrugged. “You and me, we have a lot in common. I mean, I’m not too happy with the way I treated my mom. And you may ne
ver get a chance to make things right with your son.”

  That chill returned. “I prefer not to discuss my son with you.”

  “Fine,” Ashley said. “Then don’t ask me about my mother.”

  Clara stewed for a moment as Ashley came off the highway and headed up to Newpointe. “I don’t know why you think I have anything to make up to my son. We had a perfectly fine relationship.”

  “So how often did you talk?”

  “We spoke as often as we needed to, thank you very much. And I’m here, aren’t I? When my son is in need, I’m here.”

  “But you weren’t even here for his wedding, and he was your only child. You would think—”

  “I don’t want to discuss it, I told you.”

  Ashley rolled her eyes. “Whatever. I’m just saying that even when I was at my worst, acting like a brat, my mom was there for me. But, hey, if being off in Europe or somewhere is more important than coming to your son’s wedding—”

  “I don’t want to discuss my son’s wedding again. Do you hear me?”

  Ashley started to cough. She didn’t have the energy to fight with this woman. But it griped her that the woman claimed to care about him enough to throw her weight around in the hospital when the truth was that she didn’t care at all.

  Ashley didn’t understand why her mother had been the one taken. Why hadn’t God chosen the mothers that didn’t do a good job, the ones who neglected their sons and daughters, the ones who caused trouble wherever they went? Weren’t there people who made life better and others who only caused trouble and heartache?

  Suddenly she wished she could get rid of her gum, so she rolled her window down and spat it out.

  “Young lady,” Clara bit out. “I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t go spitting out of windows with me in your car.”

  She rolled the window back up. “Sorry, but you didn’t seem maternal enough for me to spit it in your hand.”

  The woman looked horrified, as if she didn’t know what she was talking about.

  Ashley grinned. “I used to spit my gum in my mom’s hand,” she said. “She’d drag me into church, and I’d be chomping on bubble gum, blowing bubbles, and she’d get angry and hold her hand out in front of my face. I knew I had to spit it. And then she’d sit there with it, holding it in her hand and trying to be all proper, and I’d start to giggle, knowing that it was melting and sticking to her hand and that it would take her awhile to get it off. I’d watch her try to wipe it onto the bulletin and fold it up in little pieces so it wouldn’t stick to anything else.”