Picking Up The Pieces

by Brenda Adcock

  Frank clapped her on the shoulder. “Nervous?” he asked.

  “Tired of standing around and waiting for this damn circus to get under way,” she groused.

  Frank pointed to four officers who were assembling off-stage in the auditorium where the ceremony would take place. “At least it’s indoors,” he said.

  “Thank God for that,” Athon breathed. She looked at Frank. “You’re not going to say anything that will embarrass me, are you?”

  “Would I do something like that?” he answered, pressing a hand against his chest, feigning shock. “This is a dignified occasion.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of,” she groaned.

  An officer stepped to the microphone on the stage and began.

  Athon closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen. I am Captain Leonard Woolford. It is my honor and privilege to welcome all of you to Fort Sam Houston. Today we will celebrate the career accomplishments of Major Athon Michelle Dailey.”

  Frank and Athon joined the four other officers, shook hands, saluted, and waited.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen, when the command party arrives, I will ask everyone to stand. During the ceremony, military and civilian guests should stand for the playing of Ruffles and Flourishes, the national anthem, and the Army Song. Military personnel should not salute during the playing of Ruffles and Flourishes and the national anthem. Civilians should place the right hand over the heart during the national anthem. For your convenience, I will announce the main events of the ceremony prior to their occurrence.” A few moments passed before the narrator for the ceremony saw the signal to begin and spoke again. “Ladies and gentlemen, please rise for the arrival of the reviewing party.”

  Amid the shuffling of seats, the six officers made their way to the podium and assumed standing positions in front of a row of chairs. They stood at attention as four soldiers brought the colors to the stage and turned to face the audience as the national anthem was played. Crossing one another, the color guard posted the colors and left the stage. A moment later a chaplain stepped to the microphone to give the invocation. Athon stood tall and erect next to Frank. She watched as Lauren brought her small video camera up to record the event. She looked so proud of Athon. Bridget and Marty were standing behind Lauren, looking just as proud. The narrator stepped back to the microphone, asking everyone to be seated. He waited until the audience had adjusted themselves.

  “Today we will be part of history as we witness an award and retirement ceremony honoring Major Athon Michelle Dailey for twenty years of outstanding service. We are pleased that you are with us to share this important event. Ladies and gentlemen, Major Franklin P. Hardesty, Pentagon Liaison Officer for the Twelfth Air Rescue, Second Medevac Unit, Ramstein Air Force Base, Germany.”

  Frank patted Athon’s thigh and approached the microphone. For the next several minutes he recounted Athon’s enlistment at eighteen, her service as a helicopter mechanic, eventually her selection to the Army’s Officer Candidate School, and acceptance into pilot training. He listed the bases she had served at until her final assignment at Kandahar, Afghanistan. Athon thought Frank made her sound so good she was almost embarrassed by her own accomplishments. When he concluded his remarks, Frank stepped to center stage. An enlisted man took a medal from a nearby table and held it as the narrator returned to the microphone.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, please rise for the reading of the citation to accompany the award of the Distinguished Service Medal to Major Athon Michelle Dailey.” The narrator held the citation until everyone had risen, then read. “By the order of the President of the United States of America, authorized by Act of Congress July 9, 1918, the Distinguished Service Medal, First Oak Leaf Cluster, is awarded to Major Athon Michelle Dailey. The singularly distinctive accomplishments of Major Dailey culminate a long and distinguished career in the service of her country and reflect the highest credit upon herself and the United States Army.”

  The enlisted man took the medal to Frank and handed it to him, saluted, and returned to his position. Athon stood and moved crisply to stand in front of Frank. He pinned the DSM to her uniform and stepped back. They saluted, shook hands, and turned to face the audience. Athon watched Lauren snap a series of pictures. She felt relieved that the ceremony was almost over. She was more than ready to get out of the formal uniform. Her smile broadened as she thought maybe Lauren would rip it from her body as she had threatened to do earlier that morning.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” the narrator resumed. “Please remain standing for the reading of the retirement orders. Attention to orders: Department of the Army, Washington, D.C. Special order number ACG010, dated 30 June 2010. Subject: Retirement of Major Athon Michelle Dailey, currently assigned to Fort Sam Houston, Texas, is relieved from active duty assignment effective 3 July 2010. Athon Michelle Dailey is retired in the grade of Major, effective 3 July 2010, by order of the Secretary of the Army.” The narrator stepped forward and presented the retirement orders to Athon, then stepped away to salute her.

  Athon sat through the remainder of the ceremony without paying a great deal of attention to what was going on. There were letters from several officers farther up the chain of command, most of whom she had never and would never meet. She had been surprised to receive a message from the commanding officer of her last helicopter unit in Kaiserslautern. Along with the letter he sent a picture of Athon with her crew standing, sitting, and kneeling by the bay door of their chopper. She smiled when she saw that included in the picture were several members of her maintenance crew. Even though she had moved up to pilot, she always enjoyed being around and occasionally working with the unit’s mechanics. She jumped when asked to rise for the Army Song. As the voices died away she executed a left turn and exited the stage, followed by the other members of the reviewing party. It was finally over, she thought as she looked around for Lauren. When she finally saw her working her way toward her, Athon wanted to sweep her into her arms and kiss her, but that would have to wait.

  Lauren slid an arm around Athon’s waist and hugged her long enough to whisper, “God, you’re so damn hot I could eat you up right here.”

  Athon kissed the top of her head and said, “Later.”

  Accompanied by Frank, Mandy, Bridget, Marty, and, surprisingly, Raynelle Cosper, the group slowly made their way out of the auditorium. Athon and Frank put their hats on as they stepped outside. Suddenly a stout Hispanic woman wearing black stepped in front of Athon and stopped her.

  “Major Dailey?” the woman asked.

  “I’m Major Dailey,” Athon answered with a smile.

  Before anyone could react, the woman’s hand slapped Athon’s face with enough force to stagger her. As she touched her face and tried to recover, the woman moved toward her. “My son was Richard Ortega. He died because of your incompetence, while you came home.”

  Athon stood and rolled her head. “I’m sorry for your loss, Mrs. Ortega. If there was any way I could bring him back, I would. I would gladly exchange my life for his. Richie was a fine young man and an excellent pilot.”

  The grieving woman lunged at Athon, but was grabbed by Raynelle and held until the group made its way to their vehicles. Frank opened the door and ushered Athon and Lauren into the back seat before he slid into the driver’s seat and waited for Mandy to snap her seat belt. He sped away from the area as quickly as possible. Lauren drew a sobbing Athon into her arms and held her, murmuring as she stroked a hand through the grieving woman’s hair.

  WHEN THEY ARRIVED back at the house in Duvalle, Athon was exhausted and went into the bedroom to change clothes and take a nap. Lauren placed the picture on the small mantel in the living room. “Which one was Ortega?” she asked as Frank stood beside her.

  “He was her co-pilot,” Frank said, pointing at a cocky-looking young man standing slightly apart from the others. “Only joined her crew a few weeks before they deployed. He was killed by enemy gunfire on the last mission. There wasn’t anythin
g Athon could have done.”

  “I know, but she’ll always believe it was her fault.”

  “It’s tough when you lose your whole crew and you’re the only one who comes home. Athon was lucky to get that bird in the air.”

  “What happened?”

  Frank unbuttoned his dress jacket and sat down. “It was only about sixty miles from Kandahar to the site about twenty miles from a shit town called Girishk. I didn’t see everything when I swept the area, but the insurgents were waiting for us. Athon’s crew did everything they could, but there was too much gunfire. It was intense. She ordered Junior out of there and waited to take on the last of the injured from the convoy. By the time I swung around to lay down cover, she’d already taken a lot of strikes. She banked away, but without Ortega to help hold the chopper steady, she couldn’t gain much altitude. My co-pilot told me our fuel was low. As soon as I saw her put down safely a few clicks from the LZ, I...” he cleared his throat before continuing, “I had to return to base to refuel. I thought they’d be all right until I could return.” Frank looked tired as he rubbed his face. “I didn’t make it back until the next day. All that was left was a burning hulk.” His voice cracked. “The last thing she said was for me to take care of you.”

  “How did you know she was still alive?” Lauren asked.

  “We didn’t find a...a body in the pilot’s seat. There were a bunch of hoof prints and some drag marks. Just took a chance.” He shrugged. “Or maybe I was only hoping.”

  Lauren knelt in front of him and embraced him tightly. “Thank you for hoping,” she said softly.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Duvalle, Texas September 2010

  EARLY SATURDAY MORNING, a month after school started, Lauren unlocked the door to her office and flipped on the lights with her elbow before she set down the items in her arms. She had found a few things she thought would make her office look more inviting and warm. She had worked hard so far to improve the relations between the school administration and the community of parents and children they served. Between reaching out to parents and in-service classes, she hadn’t had much time to do something as simple as paint. Her middle school was located in a low income zone. The students didn’t believe anyone at the school genuinely cared about them and the parents had difficulty understanding many of the state laws regarding education. Lauren spent hours establishing at least a tentative trust factor. She made herself approachable to students and parents and listened to more heartbreaking stories than she ever imagined.

  The building itself wasn’t exactly inviting and Lauren finally received permission to repaint the office to alleviate the institutional feeling it engendered. She tried to convince Athon to accompany her. The two of them could knock it out in a few hours. But her pleading only led to a spat that could have escalated into a full-blown, and unnecessary, argument. That was all they seemed to do since Athon’s retirement. Every day was becoming either a high or a low with nothing in-between. Today she had eventually received a promise that Athon would prepare dinner instead.

  Due to the delay getting away from the house, it was a little before eleven that morning when Lauren began clearing things out of her office and draping plastic sheeting over the larger, heavier items. She had chosen a sand tinted paint that would match virtually anything and terra cotta and teal contrast trim. She had already made arrangements with one of the school’s art teachers to have students design and paint scenes that depicted the school on one of her walls. It would be a little hectic, but worth it in the long run.

  Lauren stopped to take a water break and look around the room, trying to get a view in her mind’s eye as to what it would look like when finished. A noise behind her made her whirl around. No one, other than the weekend janitorial staff and herself, should have been in the building. She was surprised to see Pat Stanton, dressed in worn jeans and a faded orange University of Texas sweatshirt, leaning against the door frame. Her attire was so different and relaxed from what she usually wore that Lauren had to smile.

  Pat pursed her lips together and nodded. Elegant, manicured fingernails showed on a hand resting on her hip. “Maybe I should hire you to paint my office,” she said, a slow smile curving her lips.

  “Well, I’d be glad to supervise while you paint,” Lauren countered. “At least lend my moral support.”

  The way Pat’s eyes scanned Lauren’s body felt like a caress and Lauren set her water bottle down and picked up the paint roller again.

  “I have a stack of reports in my office,” Pat said as she looked at her wristwatch. “Why don’t we both take a break around twelve-thirty or one and grab some lunch?”

  “I...uh...brought lunch from home.”

  “Put it in the fridge in my office. You can eat it next week.”

  “I’ll think about it. Depends on how much paint I manage to get on myself instead of the walls.”

  Pat squinted slightly and stepped closer. She pulled the rag Lauren had tucked into her waistband out and pressed it against Lauren’s cheek. “Looks like you’ve already started self-decorating,” she said with a soft chuckle. “But, as cute as it is, I think I like you better without the polka dots.”

  Lauren felt a blush rise up the skin on her throat and took the rag from Pat. She stepped away and looked around the walls of her office. “The color is cool and calming,” she noted. “Think it’ll seem that way to the first kid hauled to the office?”

  “I’d call it a crap shoot, but can always hope for the best,” Pat said. She took a deep breath and exhaled. “Well, the paperwork unfortunately won’t fill itself out. I’ll be in my office if you need any help or change your mind about lunch.”

  “Thanks, Pat.”

  Lauren watched the attractive woman walk away. She had been impressed by Pat Stanton since the day she interviewed for the assistant principal’s vacancy. Her long black hair outlined strong facial features that, in some ways, reminded her of Athon, or at least the woman Athon had been. Tears formed in Lauren’s eyes, a familiar sign of the grief she felt for the loss of the woman she loved and missed. Every day the shell of that woman walked through Lauren’s life without actually being there. Lauren knew she would never return.

  Pat had been warm and gracious when she interviewed for her current position and Lauren had been drawn to the friendly, athletic woman immediately, determined not to let her down. Since then Lauren had been placed in charge of a variety of projects aimed at the preparation for transition. What she missed the most was not having anyone she could discuss her ideas with. For her classroom lessons in Germany, she bounced ideas off Athon who had given her many insights into presentation. Now she was virtually alone.

  Lauren stepped back and looked at her work. She glanced at her watch and was surprised at how much time had passed. She had been so absorbed by her thoughts that she hadn’t realized how much she had accomplished. She wiped her hands on her rag and heard her stomach grumble. She unpacked her sandwich and chips and pulled a bottle of water from a small cooler before sitting on the floor in the middle of the room and stretching her legs out.

  “Mind some company?” Pat asked, holding up a small lunch box.

  “Pull up a piece of tile,” Lauren said with a sweep of her hand.

  Lauren watched as Pat lowered her body to the floor and folded her legs in front of her. Within a few minutes both women were chatting easily and eating at a leisurely pace. From time to time Lauren felt Pat looking at her.

  “Is something wrong?” Lauren asked as she washed her last bite down.

  “No. Why?”

  Lauren shrugged. “You just look like you have something on your mind. Anything I can help you with?”

  “No. It’s sort of a personal thing,” Pat said staring at her sandwich. “How’s your partner, by the way? I should have asked sooner.”

  “Athon’s fine,” Lauren answered without elaborating.

  Pat played with the bread of her sandwich and cleared her throat. “You know, I don’t usuall
y stick my nose into the personal lives of my co-workers.”

  “But you’ll make an exception in my case,” Lauren sighed.

  “I’d like to help if I can.”

  “Athon was a medevac pilot in Afghanistan when she was injured.” A tear escaped and ran slowly down Lauren’s face. “Her chopper went down during a night mission. She was the only one who survived...sort of. She was captured. Her body survived, but her mind wasn’t as fortunate. She looks the same, except for a couple of roguishly attractive scars, talks the same, walks the same...”

  “But she isn’t the same,” Pat finished.

  Lauren shook her head. “I don’t know from day to day who will greet me when I come home. The wrong word, a strange noise, almost anything can be the trigger that sends her to a place I can’t begin to imagine. She knows who I am and that I love her, so I should be grateful for that.”

  Lauren saw the question in Pat’s eyes. “We haven’t been— together in a while and I miss her. I was warned by her doctors it might happen, but that doesn’t make it any easier. I don’t know what to do any more except live one day at a time.”

  “I’m sorry, Lauren. If you ever need someone to talk to, please don’t hesitate to let me know. You’re a beautiful woman in the prime of your life. Your partner’s a lucky woman, whether she realizes it or not.”

  Lauren watched as Pat threw her trash away. She looked so relaxed and sexy. Sexy! Shit! Lauren shook her head and returned to her painting.

  She was surprised when her cell buzzed, but didn’t recognize the number on the display. She pushed a button and said a confident hello.

  “Lauren? This is Sheriff Cosper,” the voice on the other end of the connection said. “I’m sorry to disturb you.”