Word of Honor

by Terri Blackstock

  He nodded. She breathed a laugh and stroked the side of his face. Her eyes filled with tears, and she realized that, if he knew—if he really knew—there might not be any brain damage.

  “Then let’s take a little test,” she said softly. “I’ll give you a name, and you nod if that’s who I am. I’m Aunt Aggie Gaston.”

  He shook his head.

  “I’m Miss Allie.”

  He shook his head again.

  “I’m Miss Celia, from Sunday school.”

  He nodded.

  “That’s right!” she said. “You know me, don’t you?” Maybe he would be all right, she thought. She reached for the buzzer, pressed it once, then a second time just to punctuate the urgency.

  Pete tried to talk again, but the tube kept him from it.

  “Shhh, honey, don’t talk.”

  But he kept trying, and she could see from his lips moving what he wanted to say. “Mama.”

  She swallowed and stepped back. Her mind raced as she sought the right answer. She couldn’t tell him, she thought. She needed help. He needed help. She pressed the buzzer again.

  “Yes?” one of the nurses asked on the intercom.

  “Pete’s awake!” she said. “Please hurry.”

  Within seconds the two nurses were in the room standing over him checking his vital signs, asking him questions that he answered appropriately. Celia stood back as tears ran down her face in anticipation of the question she was going to have to answer. She prayed that his grandmother would return soon.

  Her heart ached as she waited for the nurses to finish with him, and she tried to think of the best ways to tell him. Would it be better just blurted right out? Or should she pretend his mother just wasn’t here, that she would be back later? No, she didn’t believe in lying to children. But the truth was just too painful.

  As the nurses worked on him, he became agitated and tried to pull the tube from his throat. His face looked panicked and scared as Celia came back to the bed, and he kept trying to speak. “Ma-ma…”

  Celia bent over him. “Honey, she’s…. not here.” She wiped at the tears under her eyes. “Pete, does your head hurt? Are you in any pain?”

  He fought to pull the tube out of his throat. The nurses got his hands away and strapped them down. Tears began to pour from his eyes, and his face reddened with his frustration.

  A doctor rushed into the room and leaned over the bed and spoke to Pete, and began examining his eyes and asking him questions. Still crying, Pete answered with nods and shakes of his head, but that word kept forming on his mute lips. “Mama.”

  The doctor looked back over his shoulder and prompted Celia to answer him. She shook her head, indicating that she couldn’t. A sob rose up in her throat, and she muffled her mouth to keep from frightening the child.

  This is silly, she told herself. She was being a coward. The boy was confused, and she could clear that confusion up.

  She tried to level her emotion and took a step toward the bed.

  Just then, his grandmother came through the door, and Celia felt as if she’d been delivered. “He’s awake, and he recognizes me. But I haven’t told him yet…”

  Pete’s grandmother burst into tears and rushed to his bed. He struggled to free his arms.

  “Oh darlin’, we’re so glad you’re awake,” she said. “We thought we’d lost you. How do you feel?”

  Again, he mouthed the word and tried to free his hands to pull out the tube.

  “Why is he strapped down?” she demanded.

  “He was trying to take the tube out,” Celia said. “They couldn’t get him to stop.”

  “Oh, no, honey,” his grandmother said. “You have to leave that in so you can breathe.” She bent over the child and stroked his hair back from his eyes. He looked up at her, his big eyes focusing on her with every ounce of energy he had. “Honey, do you remember what happened at the post office?”

  He shook his head.

  “There was an explosion,” she said. “That’s why you’re here. You were in it.”

  He looked as if he couldn’t quite grasp that.

  “And so was your mama.”

  Celia stepped up behind the grandmother and put her hand on her shoulder, encouraging her to go on.

  “Honey, your mama’s gone to heaven.”

  He looked at her for a moment, not quite grasping what she’d told him. And then his eyes changed to an expression of horror. His face began to redden, and he shook his head viciously.

  “She got hurt real bad,” his grandmother said. Her voice cracked as she tried to go on. “Honey, Mama died.”

  He sat up, shaking his head and fighting the straps that held his hands. One broke free from the Velcro that held them, and he pulled the tube out and began to yell in a hoarse voice, “You’re lyin’, Grandma! Why are you lyin’ to me?”

  He collapsed back on the bed, struggling to breathe, and the nurses and doctor rushed back to him and began trying to calm him down. He couldn’t breathe, so he stopped fighting. They put the tube back down his throat, and when he was calm and breathing again, his grandmother took his limp little hand.

  “Oh, honey. I’m so sorry I upset you. But I wouldn’t lie about a thing like that.”

  He was too weak to fight, so he just closed his eyes as the tears squeezed out through his lashes.

  They all stood there helplessly until he cried himself to sleep.

  It was hours later, after Pete had fallen asleep and awakened again, that they had been able to convince him that it wasn’t a cruel joke. His mother had been killed, and he had been left behind. Celia didn’t have the heart to leave him, partly because his grandmother looked so torn and alone. Mary’s brother Zack was busy taking care of the funeral arrangements and calling relatives, so he wasn’t able to be there with her. So Celia hung around, trying to be whatever help she could be.

  She was glad to see Stan arrive, but the tense look on his face told her he hadn’t come to keep vigil with her. “I need to interview Pete,” he said.

  “No,” she said. “Stan, this is not the time. He’s not ready for this. He can’t even talk while he’s on the ventilator.”

  Mrs. Lewis got to her feet and moved closer to the bed, as if to protect Pete from him. He tried to smile at the distraught-looking grandmother. “Excuse me. I need to speak to my wife in the hall.”

  Celia followed him, ready to put up a fight to protect the little boy. “Stan, he just found out his mother is dead. He doesn’t want to talk about the post office. He doesn’t even remember any of it. I don’t want him getting upset again.”

  “Honey, I know you’re feeling real protective of him right now,” Stan said. “It’s a tragic situation, but I have to talk to him, because he’s our only eyewitness to a terrorist act. Now, if I can get enough information from him, maybe we can head off the FBI agents who also want to interview him.”

  “But you’ve got the guy in jail.”

  “We have reason to think there’s someone else who acted with him. Last night, Dan and Jill were almost killed on the I-10 bridge. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that that would happen the day after the bombing. Someone is still out there, and Pete might be able to identify him. Jill’s life could be at stake, and Dan’s, and who knows who else’s?”

  She sighed heavily. “All right, Stan, but so help me, you’d better be gentle with him. He’s just a little boy.”

  Stan promised, so she led him back into the room. “Mrs. Lewis, I’m so sorry, but my husband needs to talk to Pete for a minute.”

  “Well, okay, but don’t expect him to talk back.” She took the boy’s hand protectively.

  Pete looked despondent when he looked up at Stan, nothing at all like the bright-eyed youngster he had delighted in. “How you doing there, Pete?”

  The boy shrugged.

  “Pete, I’ve got to ask you something about the explosion at the post office. You’re the only one who can help us. Just nod or shake your head, okay? Do you remember being at
the post office?”

  Pete thought for a moment, then nodded his head. His mouth pulled down at the corners, and he covered his eyes with fists to hide his tears. His grandmother squeezed his hand.

  “Did you see anyone you didn’t know in there?” Stan asked. “Someone bringing a package or anything that wasn’t where it was supposed to be?”

  Pete nodded.

  Stan stiffened. “Was it a man?”

  Pete nodded.

  “Did he mail anything?”

  Pete shook his head.

  “Did you see anything with him?”

  Pete nodded and looked around. He pointed to the box of tissues on his table.

  “Tissue?”

  He shook his head and pointed to the box.

  “He means box,” Celia said.

  Pete nodded that she was right.

  “So the man came in and brought a box.” Stan pulled Jerry Ingalls’s mug shot from his coat pocket. “Pete, was it this man?”

  Pete looked at the picture, then frowned and shook his head.

  “No? Are you sure?”

  Pete nodded and held up his hands. Two fingers on each hand were bent down. Stan frowned up at Celia. She didn’t know how to interpret that.

  Pete took the picture and pointed to Jerry Ingalls’s fingers holding the sign with his number on it. Then he held one hand up with two fingers bent down again, and pointed at those with his other hand.

  “Something about fingers?” Celia asked.

  Pete nodded.

  “He didn’t have none?” the grandmother asked.

  Pete shook his head.

  “The man didn’t have some of his fingers?” Stan asked.

  Pete pointed at him, indicating that he’d gotten it right.

  “So Jerry Ingalls didn’t bring the bomb.” He studied the picture. “Pete, is there anything else about the man? Were his eyes brown? Blue? Gray?”

  Pete shrugged, but then he pointed to his face and made a full gesture.

  “He had a beard?”

  Pete nodded.

  “What color beard? Blonde? Gray? Brown?”

  Pete nodded at the color brown.

  “Was his hair brown, too?”

  Pete nodded and indicated that it was a little long.

  Stan let that sink in for a moment. “Pete, I need to know if anyone was with him. Did you see anyone inside the post office with him?”

  Pete shook his head, then pointed to the door.

  “Outside?” Celia asked. “Someone was outside?”

  He shook his head and held his hands like he was holding a steering wheel.

  “In his truck?” Stan asked. “Someone was in the truck?”

  Pete nodded.

  The truck that Jerry Ingalls drove was blue, so he decided to give Pete another test. “Pete, was it a gray truck?”

  Pete shook his head.

  “Was it white?”

  Again, he said no.

  “Was it blue?”

  Pete nodded.

  “Which side of the truck did he get in on?” Stan asked. “Right? Or left?”

  His grandmother looked up at Stan. “He doesn’t know his left from his right,” she said quietly. “Why don’t you draw a picture?”

  Stan grabbed the pad out of his pocket and sketched a truck. “Was the truck going this way, Pete?”

  He shook his head.

  “The other way?”

  He said yes.

  “And which side did the man get in on?”

  The boy pointed to the passenger side.

  “So, he wasn’t driving. It was Jerry Ingalls’s truck, but this mystery guy is the one who brought the package in.”

  “So, who was he?” Celia asked.

  “I don’t know,” Stan said. “And Jerry Ingalls doesn’t seem real inclined to tell us.” He looked at the child again. “Pete, you’ve been a big help. We might be able to catch the guy who did this because of the information you just gave us.”

  The little boy closed his eyes again, and fresh tears squeezed out.

  Stan leaned over the rail on his bed, and his face softened. “You must be pretty special, because God saved your life when you could have been killed. He must have something real important for you to do some day.”

  Big tears rolled down the boy’s face, and he wiped them away.

  Celia stepped up to the opposite side of the bed, and defensively touched his hand. The boys lips twisted. His grandmother leaned over and pulled him into a hug.

  Stan shot his wife an apologetic look. He could see that the day had taken its toll on her. “Celia, I want you to go home and get some rest,” he said quietly.

  “I was about to. I’ll just follow you home.”

  They said their good-byes, and walked together to the elevator. Celia was wiping her eyes as she got on.

  “Honey, I’m worried about you. You don’t need to be going through this with them.”

  “Just until tomorrow,” she said. “I’m going to sit with him, while his grandmother and his uncle go to the funeral.”

  “This is way beyond the call of duty for a Sunday school teacher,” he said.

  “That’s okay. He’s worth it.” She sighed and looked up at him. “So…Did the missing fingers ring any bells for you?”

  “Nope. But at least that’s something to start with,” he said. “At least we know that Jerry Ingalls isn’t the one who delivered the package into the post office. Maybe he’s telling the truth. That he gave somebody a ride to the post office and didn’t know what he was delivering.”

  “Not on your life,” Celia said, growing angry again. “Don’t you let that man go, Stan. He killed people we know, friends of ours. Little Pete is an orphan because of him.”

  “Celia, you of all people should understand my concern about locking up an innocent man.”

  “He isn’t innocent if he drove the car. He was involved, Stan.”

  “There’s no question he was involved. The question is, whether he knew about the bomb. And why he won’t tell us who he was driving that day.”

  “You think he didn’t know him?” Celia asked. “Just picked him up somewhere and gave him a ride to deliver the bomb? How likely is that? And why wouldn’t he give you a description?”

  “Got me.”

  They got off the elevator and walked out into the parking lot. “So what’s the next step?” Celia asked.

  “With this new information about his fingers, maybe someone can identify him. Meanwhile, we keep questioning Jerry Ingalls. But he swears he won’t talk until he has a lawyer. And he wants Jill Clark.”

  “She’s not considering it, is she, Stan? She’d have to be out of her mind to represent the man who took her hostage.”

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Jill doesn’t always think like the rest of us. There’s really no telling what she might do.”

  They walked across the parking lot until they reached Celia’s car. He opened the door for her, helped her in, then reached in and gave her a long, sweet kiss.

  She smiled and leaned her head back on the seat. “Stan, can I ask you a big, big favor? One of the biggest I’ve ever asked?”

  “Anything.”

  “Find Pete’s dad. You can do it. Somebody needs to. Pete needs his dad back.”

  “I’ve already set the wheels in motion,” he said. “I’ve got a few leads.”

  She reached up and kissed him again. “I knew I could count on you.”

  Chapter Forty

  Frank Harper followed the car Jill Clark was in for several miles before he panicked. He saw her talking on her cell phone, and could have sworn that the man driving was watching him in his rearview mirror. Had they spotted him? Was she calling the police?

  He was a lot of things, Frank thought, but he wasn’t stupid. No, he wasn’t going to be drawn into a trap. Quickly, he changed lanes, almost grazing the car next to him. Then without signaling, he took a right turn and got out of town as fast as he could.

  In the rental car
, Jill spoke to Pete Hampton’s grandmother and learned that the boy was awake and had been moved out of ICU. He had been told about his mother and was despondent. Jill wanted to go see him.

  “It’s not wise right now,” Dan said. “You’d be crazy to cross that bridge again tonight. Let me just take you back to Mark and Allie’s.”

  She let out a deep sigh. “I guess you’re right. Celia’s been at the hospital most of the day. Anyway, he probably just needs quiet tonight.” She stared out the window. “It’s a terrible thing to lose your mother.”

  Dan glanced over at her. “It is, isn’t it? I guess you would know.”

  She nodded. “Mom’s been dead for almost ten years. But I still miss her so much sometimes. There are so many things I need to tell her. So many things I need help with.”

  “Ironic,” Dan said. “You want yours and can’t have her, and mine’s alive somewhere and I haven’t talked to her in ten years.”

  She studied his expression for a moment. “Do you miss her?”

  He shrugged. “You can’t miss something you never had. My mother wasn’t like yours, Jill.”

  “How do you know? You never met my mother.”

  “She wasn’t like most mothers.”

  “Are your parents still married?”

  “Dad died eight years ago,” he said. “A heart attack at Pebble Beach. Right on the golf course.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “My mother cried her eyes out. And it occurred to me that she would have never cried that hard for me.”

  “I bet she would.”

  He shook his head. “Nope.” He stopped at a red light but kept his eyes on the road in front of him. “I think I kind of hoped she would hang around Newpointe a little more after he died. You know, since it was just the two of us.” He breathed a laugh. “She hasn’t been back since.”

  “Do you hear from her?”

  “No,” he said. “But that’s okay.”

  “Is it?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “I don’t have any expectations anymore. That makes it okay.”

  She turned that over in her mind for a long moment, realizing how sad it was not to have any expectations of people you were supposed to love. People who were supposed to love you. She wanted him to have expectations of her, and she wanted to fulfill them.