Lost Distinction

by Rachel Sharpe

  “Oh, no, not at all. Rick’s really fond of you. I’ve been hoping to meet you.” He winced as he tried to readjust his leg so that he could face me. “I wish we had met under better circumstances.”

  “They’re awake.”

  I turned my head. I saw Jon and Rick walk into the room, each carrying a cup of coffee. Jon grabbed a chair and sat down beside me while Rick walked up and kissed me.

  After staring at me for a few moments, he walked over and found another chair and sat between our beds. “How are you guys doing?”

  “Right now? Great.” Arthur tapped on the IV and added, “Ask me again when I’m not doped up.”

  Rick laughed before looking at me. Turning the paper cup around in his hands, he asked tentatively, “How are you doing?”

  I looked at my bandaged arm and shrugged. “I’m okay, I guess. Stiff and sore, but it’s not that bad. What happened?”

  Rick glanced at Jon before responding. “You don’t remember?”

  “It’s all kind of a blur. I know I fought Devin. I mean Oliver. I remember him threatening to kill you guys, but after that,” I trailed off, shaking my head again. “I don’t remember.”

  Rick took my right hand in his and began, “Well—”

  “You wrestled the gun away from him and you were both shot,” Jon interrupted. Rick gave Jon an annoyed look.

  I blinked and stared at Rick. “Really?”

  “That’s not how I would have told you, but yeah, it’s true. You saved our lives.”

  “Well, how do you like that? My patient’s awake. Wait—they’re both awake? Brilliant!”

  We all turned toward the door and were greeted by a lanky British man in his late-forties with salt-and-pepper hair, and a toothy grin. He shooed Jon away so he could check my vitals. While he checked my pulse, I guessed, “You’re my doctor?”

  He pulled out a stethoscope and listened to my heartbeat. “Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in. What? Oh, yes, I’m your doctor. Doctor Taber. How do you do? Not too well, of course, you’ve got a bloody hole in your arm. What rotten luck!”

  He chuckled at his own joke as he explained what had happened. When the gun discharged, I was shot in the left arm. The bullet lodged in some tissue but, luckily, no nerves or bones were damaged.

  I stared at my arm while he spoke. “So we knocked you out and ripped that little bugger right out! Medically speaking, of course.”

  I cringed as I envisioned this cheeky fellow inhaling laughing gas as he ripped the bullet out of my arm with a pair of rusty pliers. Shaking the disturbing image, I asked, “So how long ‘til my arm heals?”

  He put his hands on his hips and rolled his eyes. “Well, that’s up to you now, isn’t it? It’s your bloody arm, you know. You tell me when it’s going to heal.” He glanced around the room and was greeted by surprised stares. Scoffing, he added, “Blimey! You Americans are too serious. You’ll be fine in three to six months. Right, next patient.”

  While he was tending to Arthur, Rick, Jon and I spoke quietly. They explained what had happened between my blackout and my waking up in the hospital. It took two ambulances to transport the three of us to the hospital and we all ended up needing immediate surgery. I was fortunate that the bullet struck where it did – had I been shot a few inches over, it would have hit the brachial artery, and I might have bled to death.

  Arthur’s situation was far more serious since he arrived at the hospital dehydrated. When he was shot, the bullet entered his leg and struck the sciatic nerve. Months of therapy were needed and even then, it was not certain how well he would be able to walk.

  I listened in silence while Rick explained everything. When he finished, he took a sip of coffee. I glanced at the two of them, expecting there to be more. When nothing else was offered, I asked, “What about Oliver? You said we all needed surgery. What happened to him?”

  “That’s a matter for the authorities.”

  A large figure entered the room. It was Gatlin Cross. He was dressed in a double-breasted brown suit with a white shirt and aqua tie. He stood near the doorway with a grim expression on his face. “Doctor, may I have a word with you?”

  Doctor Taber craned his neck to see who called him. Sighing loudly, he muttered, “I’m a little busy right now, if you can’t tell. You know gunshot wounds, lots of blood? Dreadful business, really. Why can’t people just take poison like they used to in Agatha Christie’s books? So much cleaner. You’re still here? Shoo. Shoo!”

  I bit my tongue to keep from laughing, but the baffled expression on Gatlin Cross’s face was priceless. Something told me he was not used to being treated so poorly. Somehow, he managed to hold his temper as he informed the doctor that he was an ambassador and Arthur’s father.

  Doctor Taber groaned, but he finished with Arthur and followed the ambassador out the room. Several minutes later, Mr. Cross returned alone. He straightened his tie and looked at me.

  Extending his hand, he shook my right one, offering, “Miss James, I owe you a debt of gratitude for your service. You went above and beyond my expectations. I give you my word that you will be generously compensated for your efforts.”

  “Thank you, sir,” I said. “This has been one of my most challenging cases. I’ve learned a lot.”

  “Indeed,” he replied, releasing my hand. “Anyway, I wonder if there is any way for you three to leave the room to permit me a moment with my son.”

  My face heated and I felt my temper rising. “And just how in the hell do you expect me to—”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Father,” Arthur interrupted.

  Mr. Cross cleared his throat and clasped his hands together. “Son, this is a family matter. ”

  “And Rick is family.” Nodding toward me, Arthur added, “As far as I’m concerned, Jordan is, too.”

  The ambassador’s eyes narrowed in frustration. “Son, we need to discuss this situation privately. It’s a delicate matter. I’ve spent the entire morning on the phone with Drew, deciding how to address the issue of Devin and the kidnapping. It can’t be ignored because, unfortunately, the police and hospital became involved.”

  Arthur frowned at him. “Anything you have to say to me, you can say in front of Jordan and Rick. They saved me.”

  Mr. Cross studied Arthur for several moments before conceding. “Fine. They’re going to be interviewed by the police as well, so let’s get the story straight. We can’t have this incident have a negative impact on Stuart’s campaign, or Edward’s, for that matter.”

  “Are you blind? Or just stupid?”

  I turned to Arthur in surprise. There have been many times in my life when I would have loved to tell off my parents, but I hadn’t. I hadn’t because I was raised with manners and respect. I knew Arthur had been brought up the same. I felt, watching resolve set in his eyes, like I was watching a metamorphosis. The ambassador’s eyes widened. “I beg your pardon?”

  Arthur motioned at his leg and the marks on his arms. “Don’t you see what’s happened to me? Or to Jordan? I’d never met her until she rescued me from Oliver’s apartment, but because of me, she’s been shot!”

  “Devin, I mean, Oliver shot her and he shot you, too. You had nothing to do with that.”

  “You may have bought the Harris family’s silence, but not mine,” Arthur said. “All of this is my fault. If I hadn’t been so hung up on getting your attention when I was a kid, I never would’ve gotten drunk or stolen that damn car. She wouldn’t have been shot. And maybe Henry would still be here, too.”

  Mr. Cross glared at him in bewilderment. “My attention? What on earth are you talking about? I have always been there for you and your siblings.”

  Arthur swallowed hard and I noticed tears welling up. “That’s not true. You’ve always been so focused on your career and future you didn’t even notice what was right in front of you. You never stopped to reflect on the present and we all suffered because of it.”

  Gatlin gaped at him as if he’d never seen his son befo
re. Perhaps, he hadn’t.

  Arthur wiped perspiration from his face. “Don’t get me wrong. Francine’s accident was my fault. I just wish for once you would put the well-being of your family above your obsession with public appearances.”

  Even from a few yards away, I could see muscles pulsate in the ambassador’s temples. His jaw clenched. Crossing his large arms, he tapped his lip thoughtfully. “Is that why you’ve avoided us for so long?”

  Arthur looked up at the ceiling. After a few moments, he replied, “Maybe. Francine’s accident has eaten me alive for a decade. It’s a huge burden for a kid to bear, especially if he was never punished for it. Whenever I spent time with you guys, all I thought about was the accident. And no one seemed to notice me anyway. I figured it was easier to stay away.”

  Mr. Cross’s calm façade dropped for a moment. His voice cracked. “You think no one noticed you? We always miss you when you’re not around. It breaks your mother’s heart. You’re right to think my only focus is the future. It is, but I’m not focused on my future.”

  “It’s all you care about,” Arthur interrupted.

  “I’m focused on you and your siblings’ futures,” Gatlin snapped. “You’re all intelligent and passionate. I’m damn proud of you. I only want what’s best for you. When something stands in your way, I want it removed. I’m a father. I can’t help myself. I do it because I care. I can’t stand to see you fail.”

  Silence washed over the room. I looked at Rick and was greeted by his famous, unreadable expression. Jon was doing his best to blend into the background and avoid being brought into an awkward family encounter. I expected to see anger in Arthur’s eyes or to see them filled with tears.

  Instead, the young man who carried the burden of a life destroyed by his youthful angst bore a serene expression on his bruised, gaunt face. Softly, he said, “Sometimes, the most caring thing you can do is to let us fail. If we never fail, we can never truly know what it means to succeed.”

  The sound of my cell phone ringing broke the poignancy of the moment. I flushed in embarrassment as everyone stared at me. Rick walked over to one of the cots. He carried my purse over to me. After digging around for several moments, I located the phone and stared at the screen. An unknown number flashed across it. Taking a deep breath, I answered, “Jordan James.”

  “Who?” a quivering female voice demanded.

  I massaged my temples. “This is Jordan James. Who’s this?”

  “Teacup.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Have you found my Teacup yet?”

  “Your Teacup?”

  “I was just listening to the president discussing that awful crisis in Cuba and when I went to give Teacup his dinner, I remembered he’s missing! Have you found him yet, dear?”

  I realized I was speaking with my senile neighbor and explained, “Mrs. Carlson, I’m in London right now.”

  “London? Oh my goodness! Teacup can’t be there. He gets carsick. I can’t imagine him taking an airplane anywhere. Oh, dear. I’m afraid you’ve made a trip for nothing.”

  I glanced over at Arthur and saw him talking with the ambassador. Both men were wearing matching smiles as they shared a father-and-son moment.

  I took a deep breath and replied, “No, Mrs. Carlson, I think this was a worthwhile trip after all.”

  Epilogue

  Five months later — Boston, Massachusetts

  “I would like to begin by thanking all of you for being here tonight. I cannot put into words how proud I am to be standing before you, introducing to you my son, Stuart. I doubt my great-grandfather, Alfred Cross, could have even fathomed that one day, his offspring would be representing the people of this wonderful state in the senate.” Ambassador Cross beamed down at his son who stood beside the stage.

  When the applause died down, the ambassador continued, “My wife, Kathryn, and I were just saying yesterday how everything has come full circle for our family. My grandfather, the late Senator Andrew Dow, led this state through one of the darkest times in America’s history. Now, his great-grandson stands ready to serve you once more. It is with the utmost pride that I present to you my son, Massachusetts’ son, Senator-elect Stuart Cross!”

  As the room filled with the roar of applause, Stuart jogged up the steps. He walked up to his father and they shook hands, mutual respect apparent on both their faces.

  Stuart was dressed in a designer black suit with a white-collared shirt and deep-red tie. His blond hair was perfectly cropped and his green eyes danced as he surveyed the crowd with appreciation.

  As soon as the cheers subsided, Stuart leaned forward on the podium and spoke. “Wow! It’s gonna be difficult to top a speech like that.”

  The audience laughed.

  “Before I begin, however, I would appreciate it if everyone would offer a moment of silence in honor of my late brother, Henry.” Silence descended upon the room as Stuart stared down at the podium somberly.

  As he lifted his chiseled face, he began his own speech, “The finality of death makes a person really appreciate how precious life is. We’re here today to celebrate a new phase in all our lives. Today we look forward to a new beginning. Now, that banner over there says my name, but this party is not for me. It’s for you. It’s for all of you who were tired of watching politicians make you empty promises and decided to do something about it. You have given me a great responsibility by electing me senator and I will not let you down.”

  Another roar of applause filled the room. Stuart smiled. While clapping politely, I felt someone tap my shoulder. Turning around, I saw Michelle standing before me in an elegant light-blue dress that turned her gray eyes into a mesmerizing shade of blue.

  Her hair was tied up in a bun and she wore pearl earrings that matched her necklace. The most beautiful aspect of her breathtaking appearance was how she was glowing because of the almost unnoticeable bump pushing out her abdomen.

  “How are you feeling?” I asked as we forced our way through the crowd. We stopped at one of the large white tables with a colorful, floral bouquet in the center and sat down.

  “I feel amazing.” She beamed, touching her stomach gently. “How are you? How’s your arm?”

  In my black strapless dress, the scar on my arm was very noticeable. I shrugged. “It’s all right. I go to physical therapy once a week and my therapist says I’ll be good as new by the spring.”

  She grinned and squeezed my hand affectionately. “Good.” Glancing around, she shook her head in disbelief. “It’s hard to believe Stuart defeated an incumbent with sixty-five percent of the vote.”

  “People are looking for a change and they want a leader who can deliver,” I said. “Stuart has done well as a representative, hasn’t he?”

  “Oh, yes.” She leaned closer, adding, “I’m sure it has nothing at all to do with the Cross name.” When I didn’t reply, she smiled again. “I’m only half-serious. I’m just glad it’s over so I can have my Eddie back. My morning sickness seems to be hitting me at night and I’ve missed him when he was gone, working on the campaign.”

  “So, with Stuart’s house seat open, is Edward going to—”

  “Announce he’s running tonight?” She finished my sentiment. When I nodded, she shook her head and smiled. “No, Eddie isn’t going to run.”

  “But I thought that was part of the plan.”

  “It was part of his plan.” She motioned toward the ambassador, who stood beside his eldest son on stage, beaming. “It wasn’t part of ours. Things have been different since Arthur came back. Things have been better. Eddie told his dad that he liked being a judge and didn’t want to run for Congress. Don’t get me wrong. Gatlin wasn’t thrilled when Eddie told him, but he didn’t push like I thought he would. Maybe it’s because we’re pregnant or maybe it’s because of … Arthur!”

  I turned and saw Arthur dressed in a gray suit and sky-blue tie, hobble over to our table on crutches. Since that fateful night in London, Arthur had undergone two
surgeries. Rick had said his cousin’s doctor believed that, with extensive therapy, he would be able to walk again.

  Arthur grinned as he met Michelle’s gaze. “How’s my favorite sister-in-law?” he asked as she stood up to kiss his cheek.

  “A little tired,” she admitted, cradling her stomach gingerly. “You know, I’m only three months, but I swear it looks like I’m five. Why do Crosses have to be such large people?”

  Arthur laughed. “Don’t blame me,” he insisted. “That’s Ed’s fault.”

  “What’s my fault?” Edward appeared, smoothing his black tie and glancing around for answers. Arthur grinned as he nodded at Michelle’s stomach. A proud smile crossed Edward’s lips as he put his arms around his wife. The chemistry between them was so intense that when their eyes met, it was as if there was no one else around.

  Finally, Edward added, “I’ll definitely take responsibility for this. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to take my lovely wife for a spin around the dance floor. Stuart finally relinquished that stupid microphone.”

  We all laughed as Edward escorted Michelle toward the floor. Arthur turned to me. “You know, this is a nice song. Would you like to dance with the guy whose students refer to him as Professor Limpy?”

  “I’d love to, but, are you sure that’s a good idea?” I looked down at his crutches.

  He leaned them against the table and lifted his pants leg. A strange, sleek contraption was secured to his leg and he moved it for emphasis. “I can do all right.”

  Taking his arm, I said, “Then it would be my pleasure, Professor.”

  Using me for balance, he slowly led the way to the dance floor. The large crowd of supporters had dissipated. Many mingled with each other as they were served their dinners. A few decided to dance the night away. A charming singer with the looks of Nat King Cole and the voice of Frank Sinatra softly crooned a love song. Arthur groaned as he adjusted his leg, but once we began to sway slowly, he appeared to be enjoying himself.

  “So how’s your arm?” he asked, glancing down at the scar.

  I rolled my shoulder back slowly. “It’s getting there. A little stiff, but much better than it was this summer.”