by Kelly Utt
I hate feeling like an invalid. It reminds me of John Wendell and the discussion I had in the living room of our Ithaca house with Mom and Ali not long before he died. I remember Mom saying how her work as a nurse at the hospital allowed her to see people aging, and dying. We talked about how to treat John Wendell with dignity so he didn’t feel like a burden. I also remember Mom saying that it was often a slippery slope for seniors who get injured or diagnosed with disease and then decline rapidly. I might rather die than be so dependent.
Then there’s the world of my Ancient Greece memories, where tensions are escalating and my responsibilities are multiplying. I feel pulled back there, compelled to solve the mysteries that remain. I want to do right by Ali. And by Isabel. If either is possible. I want to find out what else Roddy wants to show me. And why my mind puts up blocks when I ask certain questions, especially those about my parents.
Last but not least, there’s the dream world where I see my deceased relatives and visit my home in Ithaca even though I’m thousands of miles away. If I can’t be in my actual reality, the dream reality where I connect with loved ones is definitely my favorite. It’s a dream I can accept, even though it isn’t my first preference. Something about that realization is comforting. Maybe it’s self serving. I don’t mean that I’ll give up fighting for my family or my own life. But instead, I know concessions sometimes have to be made. Sometimes, we have to face hard truths and be grateful for what remains. It isn’t easy. Those who watch over me seek to offer me comfort, for which I’m grateful.
I’ve been bouncing between four different realities, and none of them see me safe and sound and at ease with my family. I can only hope that the hands of fate take me to such a place soon. What I really want, is for my family to be with me in the flesh. I want us all home in Ithaca and happy. I want every last one of us together-- Ali and the boys, Liam, Roddy and Marjorie, Mom and Joe, Nicky and Luis and Sara, our friends Duke and Jen, and Taye. Until someone finds Liam’s remains, my bet is that he’s still out there. Alive.
I know nothing can bring my grandfather back to us. It was his time to move on. But the rest of us can still be together. Like we were the night of the party, a couple days before we left for Lake Tahoe. That was such a good evening. Looking back now, it’s striking how we thought we’d been through the worst. We had endured the break-in and subsequent trauma, and we’d buried John Wendell. Little did we know that things would spiral so much further out of control. I guess that’s why they say hindsight is 20/20. It really is. The night of that party sits squarely in what I now consider to have been the good times. We were hopeful then. We looked forward to Liam moving to Ithaca, same as we did Marjorie and Roddy. Our friendship with Isabel was blossoming, as was my business venture with Liam, Roddy, Duke, and Taye. Ethan looked forward to starting preschool. Now, things are so very different.
I still don’t consider myself religious, but more and more, I’ve come to think of myself as spiritual. I don’t know how to define the higher power or powers in the universe. I don’t feel like that’s required. I do, however, sense something bigger than myself. It’s present all the time. I’ve prayed to whatever it is before, and I like to think I’ve received help from above. I decide it’s past time for another sincere prayer to everything holy.
I drop to my knees beside my bed and tilt my head upward, the rain still coming down outside. I’m not sure why getting on my knees is required, but it feels right, so I go with it. There’s something reverent about the gesture. It’s like I’m bowing in awe to everything I can’t control and asking, humbly, for help. Like I’ve done several times recently, I ask whoever is in charge to watch over my family and keep them safe. I pledge my own life and vow to give it without a moment’s hesitation in place of any of theirs. I ask for guidance as I face this mission while still recovering from my injury. I ask that I be led directly to Liam, and that Roddy be led to Ethan back at home. I ask that, one day, we all be together again, happy and safe. I close my eyes and place one hand over my heart, just like my sweet Ali does when she’s touched. It seems like the best way to indicate my sincerity.
When I’m finished and beginning to get up, Colonel Becker walks through the door. He has my bag in his hand.
“Everything’s here,” he confirms as he hands it to me. “I’m sorry you’ve been without your things. Some of the staff members here are apparently a little overzealous. Please accept my apologies.”
“Thank you, sir. I appreciate that.”
I’m glad to remain in the reality where I’m being treated with respect. What a relief.
“You have two fresh uniforms in there,” Becker adds, pointing to my bag. “I had them add a fresh one to replace what you were wearing on the last raid. You’re all set now.”
“Sounds like it,” I reply.
“Major,” he continues. “This is a day we’ll both remember. I couldn’t ask for a better soldier to share it with.”
“The feeling is mutual, Sir.”
With that, Colonel Becker turns and leaves the room. I don’t know if I’ll see him again before the mission, but I’m prepared either way. Despite the rain, I feel good.
I choose to expect success. What other choice do I have, really?
Part II
It Pours
5
When It Rains
Once Colonel Becker has left the room again, I look through my bag. He was right. It appears that everything is there. Two crisp, clean uniforms are folded neatly in the center. I take one out, then go into the small bathroom adjoining my room and put it on.
I use the toilet while I’m there, finding it odd that I don’t remember the last time I urinated. I assume they had a catheter in me during surgery. It’s strange that I haven’t felt the urge to go though. Even now, as I watch the stream of liquid leave my body, it doesn’t seem urgent. There isn’t a shower or a bathtub in my room, which is also odd. I seem to be clean, yet I don’t remember cleaning myself. Maybe the nurses did that while I was sedated? Unsure what to make of it all, I attempt to push those thoughts out of my mind. There are plenty of other things to concentrate my attention on. I’ve urinated and am clean now. That’s what matters, I suppose.
But I can’t let these nagging questions go. Not completely. I’m perplexed. I’ve never had surgery before, but I’ve been around enough friends and loved ones who have to know that urinating and defecating are important milestones of recovery that let the medical professionals know it’s safe to sign off on discharge. Even women who have given birth typically can’t go home until their bowels have moved. How is it that I’ve had surgery with anesthesia and have been sedated for a significant amount of time, yet I haven’t even felt the urge to urinate? I’ve been up and out of bed. Not once do I remember feeling a catheter. I would have. Surely. I don’t remember feeling an IV either. I would have needed fluids, right? I’m pretty sure that’s a standard part of any hospital stay. It’s definitely standard after surgery.
Come to think of it, I don’t remember the last time I ate or drank anything. Wait a minute. That’s bizarre. I’m beginning to wonder if something is wrong with my mind. Not much is making sense. It’s hard for me to tell what’s real and what’s not.
I force myself to pinpoint the last food I put into my body. It comes back to me. It was the boxed meal I ate in the briefing room before the mission. It was a ham and cheese sandwich with a side of chips and an apple. There was a can of soda to drink and a cookie for dessert. I sat beside Liam and ate my food while Colonel Becker and two other high ranking officers gave us instructions about the mission. I recall the sensory stimulation from that room. Air-conditioning blew forcefully inside as I chewed quietly and listened. Becker’s tone was solemn as he talked about the gravity of what we were facing. I remember seeing Tucker Eriksson seated a few rows in front of me. I recognized the pride in his body language. He seemed like a superhero. Or a viking. I can’t be sure, but I estimate that was at least two days ago based on the people who
have come in and out of my room.
A wounded man my age would need a serious number of calories to heal, not to mention, to recover from the physical energy expended during the raid. I was exhausted even before I got shot. That much adrenaline helps the body get through whatever imminent danger it perceives itself to be in, but rest and recovery afterward is imperative. That must include food and water. I rack my brain trying to figure out why I don’t remember eating or drinking. A number of possibilities come to mind, but they seem like a stretch. I entertain them anyway.
Could I have been fed through a feeding tube while unconscious? I pat around my abdomen to feel for proof. I don’t find any. No bandages or signs of an incision. Huh. That’s so strange. I move on to the next possibility. Maybe I was given a liquid diet and was too groggy to remember. Perhaps someone helped get some broth into me. That seems like the most likely scenario. It doesn’t seem feasible that I could go this long without sustenance. And really, water is an even more pressing need for the human body. We can survive without food far longer than we can without water. I roll up the sleeves of my uniform one at a time to look at my forearms for signs that an IV has been inserted recently. I don’t find anything. No marks. No residue from medical tape. I move my gaze to my hands. I look at the backs of them. They’re scratched up, apparently from the raid. It’s hard to tell for sure, but I don’t spot anything that would indicate an IV having been placed there.
I lean against the small porcelain sink in the bathroom and stare at myself in the mirror. The flimsy mirror is nothing more than a slim piece of reflective metal, hung hastily on each corner with four brackets. It looks as if it would fall and crash into pieces on the floor if it was jostled the right way. Examining it could make me lose faith in the competence level of this entire place. I know it’s a military infirmary. We aren’t talking a Mayo Clinic or a John Hopkins here. I’d sure feel better if the place were spruced up a bit. South Lake Tahoe Community Medical Center where Ali was admitted is on a completely other level. Bathrooms there are modern and solid. I should know. I spent quite a bit of time in the bathroom next to the emergency room, pleading for my wife’s life.
That reminds me. I need to turn my mobile phone on and get in touch with some people back home before this mission. I’ll have to leave questions about my bodily functions for later. I wash my hands and splash some water on my face, then dry off with a white washcloth on a shelf near the sink. To my relief, I feel the water. It’s refreshing. I straighten my jacket of my uniform. I raise my chin, providing an instant boost of confidence as I walk back into the main room and get my phone out of my bag. It’s turned off, so I plug it into an outlet beside the bed and power it on. It takes a few minutes to ready itself for use. The delay makes me nervous, even though I assume the phone will work properly if I give it enough time. My apprehension heightens when I see that there’s no cell signal. If I can’t speak with anyone at home before this next raid, it will make it harder for me to focus. I need to know that things are okay there. Or at least, that they haven’t gotten any worse. Finally, the phone picks up a wifi signal on an open network. I should be able to make my calls that way.
I glance over my shoulder at the closed door. I’d like to lock it from the inside so that no one interrupts me. I don’t intend to let Ava speak with Nicky or anyone else in my family again. She insists she’s here to help, but I already resent her presence. I want to be left alone so I can get back to some semblance of normal life. At minimum, I want to be treated with respect. I guess Ava treated me with respect. Sort of. But I’m not thrilled about her at all. It doesn’t look like there’s a lock on the door, so I’ll have to continue without the assurance of privacy. I stare at the floor in front of me as I decide who I should call first.
Nicky seems like the best choice since I spoke with him last. I cue up his name and hit the call button. There’s a lag, but it connects and rings. I tap one foot nervously while I wait. No answer. After five rings, it goes to voicemail. I’m not usually a fan of leaving voicemail messages. They never seem to turn out the way I intend them. For some reason, I usually end up jumbling up my words. I prefer to talk to an actual, live person when I talk on the phone. Or better yet, I prefer to talk in person. In this circumstance though, I decide to leave my brother-in-law a message. He promised to stay in the hospital with Ali. He’s the one most likely to know how she is.
“Hey, Nic,” I say into the phone. “It’s me, George. I guess you know that because you saw my name on your caller ID. Yeah. Well, I’m still at Camp Shorabak. I’m feeling a lot better now. I’m going out on another mission tonight. I’d really like to talk to you before I leave. Call me back? Okay. Thanks, Nic.”
Nothing else I say will make sense without context, so I end the call. I’ll have to try someone else. I dial Roddy, not expecting to get him. Just as I figured, it goes straight to voicemail. His phone is still off.
The question of who to try next is a little more complicated. I’ve been gone so long that I’m not in touch with who knows what and how they’re coping. I don’t want to upset Mom by dragging her into things if she hasn’t already been informed. She’ll be gutted by both Ethan and Liam’s disappearances. And she’ll probably still feel guilty for letting the man she thought was a nurse take Ethan away from the hospital in South Lake Tahoe. I’m sure she’ll find a way to believe the new abduction is related, and thus at least partially her fault. She might also be worried about me. Most likely, she is. I miss her and want to talk to her, but I’m not exactly in a position to comfort her right now. I need to stick to the facts and communicate concisely. It will be time to head out on the raid soon.
I guess I could call Marjorie, but then Mom might have her feelings hurt by me reaching out to my mother-in-law instead of my own mother. I silently debate the pros and cons.
Maybe I should call someone more peripheral, like Duke or Taye. Duke sounds like a good choice. He has the police connections, and he and Jen are probably keeping close tabs on my family. I find his name in my phone’s contact list and hit send. I wait while it rings, focusing my attention on keeping my foot still this time. It’s late morning in New York. Earlier morning in Lake Tahoe. I’m not sure where Duke will be.
“Hello?” a husky voice asks.
It’s him. It is so damn good to hear his voice. I need a friend right now.
“Duke? Is that you, buddy?”
“George? George!” he exclaims. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you, brother, but I’m glad to. Where in the hell are you?”
“I’m still in Afghanistan. I tried to call Nicky, but got voicemail. I understand Roddy is unavailable right now.”
“So, you know?”
If it’s bad news, I hope to God he isn’t talking about anything new. What I know already is plenty.
“Depends on what you’re referring to. What do you know?”
“Man,” Duke says. “No disrespect, but I’m not sure I should be the guy relaying information right now.”
I hold my breath without realizing it. It sounds like there’s something new.
“Right now, you’re all I’ve got,” I say. “I don’t want to upset Mom. I don’t want to hurt her feelings by going to Marjorie. Roddy’s off grid…”
“So, you do know?”
I wish he’d spit it out. Rip the bandaid off. This isn’t a time for beating around the bush.
“Roddy called my Colonel to say that Ethan had been…”
“That’s right,” Duke confirms, keeping me from having to say the words. “Roddy has gone to get him.”
“Right.”
Duke hesitates, choosing his words. I can tell he doesn’t want to upset me.
“The police are using every resource at their disposal to find him, George. The F.B.I., too. We have several strong leads.”
“Any proof of…” I can’t bring myself to say it.
“Not yet,” Duke replies. “But the F.B.I.’s top psychological profiler doesn’t think Ethan has been harm
ed.”
“How do they know? And how do you know? Is Taye involved, using his F.B.I. connections?”
“Yeah,” Duke confirms. “Taye is all over it. We’re doing our best to take care of your family while you’re away, my friend. We got you.”
A wave of emotion moves through me, threatening to break my focus. I love my friends, especially the ones who are like family. To hear that Duke and Taye are looking out for me without having been asked means so much. Tears fill my eyes.
“Thanks,” I mumble, choked up.
“Wait,” Duke says. “If you don’t know anything about the investigation, what else are you missing? Are you getting messages there?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I don’t have any voicemails or texts, if that’s what you mean. I haven’t had my phone for a few days… or, at least, I think it’s been a few days. I’ve sort of lost track of time. I powered the device on a few minutes ago and nothing came up. The signal is bad here. And besides, it’s raining.”
“Dude, you’ve been gone more than a few days.”
“I have? What are you talking about?”
Duke covers the receiver with his hand. I can hear a rustling sound, then muffled speech, like he’s conferring with someone in the room.
“Duke, talk to me,” I say. “Are you at work right now? Who’s there?”
More rustling. Then silence.
“Duke?”
“George, I hope this isn’t upsetting to learn. I don’t want to keep things from you though, so I’m going to tell you.”