The Guardian

by Dee Henderson

  She had met Dave a couple days ago, found the man Marcus called a friend charming. He’d kissed her hand while Marcus glared and she’d laughed at that. Shari couldn’t decide now if Marcus was serious or not. But H. Q. Victor was British, and the first thing she had noticed about Dave was his delightful accent. “You’re joking.”

  “It’s a small world.”

  “I can’t believe you know her. I love reading her mysteries.”

  “I’ll mention she’s got another fan when I see her. Ready to go?”

  “Yes.”

  She gathered together her bag and briefcase. He escorted her through corridors the hospital security staff had established as safe corridors, taking her eventually out through the basement to the parking garage, where a car was brought around to meet them.

  The press presence around the hospital was intense. So far Shari had chosen not to speak directly with the reporters, encouraged in that action by Joshua and Marcus. Anne released statements on her behalf and handled the press inquiries. Marcus wanted to keep the reporters and cameras a far distance away and Shari had to agree. He did it for security reasons; she did it for privacy reasons. She didn’t have much privacy left. What she did have she wanted to protect.

  The formal press briefings were held at 2 P.M.. at the FBI regional office, and she had been watching them on television, knowing in advance from Marcus what would be discussed but always hoping against hope there would be breaking news to report. This had become an intense, slow, grinding investigation that would eventually find the man who killed Carl and her father, of that she was certain.

  She had been in fights like this before in a political sense, when moving legislation required tenacity and hours of hard work in the face of no apparent movement. Then it would suddenly break free and everything would happen swiftly. It took a husbanding of energy to endure events like this. She was slowly accepting that.

  They crossed the street to the hotel, using the private underground entrance. The day she could walk across the street was over, Shari realized with grim humor. She wished she could have a moment of normalcy back. She hadn’t appreciated it nearly enough until it was stripped away.

  She paused with Marcus as he stopped to talk with Luke, confirming security arrangements for the night. Shari had gotten to know most of the security detail by first name, and she was impressed with their focus. They were professionals, but she had also picked up on the fact this particular case was also personal. No one wanted to let Marcus down.

  Her mom had come back to the hotel with Aunt Margaret earlier in the evening. Shari unlocked the door to the suite, found a solitary light on and the rooms quiet. They had apparently already turned in for the night.

  Marcus crossed over and closed the drapes against the night. “What would you like from room service?”

  Shari was getting accustomed to Marcus and his late night snacks. Ever since she had blown off dinner one evening, he had been unobtrusively ensuring she would have to be rude not to eat something. “How about some supreme nachos?”

  “Sounds good.” He picked up the phone and placed the order. “Ten minutes,” he commented, replacing the phone.

  She settled on the couch, pushed off her tennis shoes and flexed her stiff knee, relieved to be back at the hotel. “Josh managed to do reps lifting the five-pound dumbbell with his good hand.”

  “Excellent.”

  “Yeah. Only then he dropped it on his foot. I laughed and he tossed me out of the room,” she added ruefully.

  “I would say he’s about ready to travel.”

  “What time is our flight back to Virginia Wednesday?”

  “We’ll be taking a private flight, so it’s at our discretion. We’ll probably leave the hotel around 9 A.M..”

  “It will be good to be home. Being executor of Dad’s estate is a lot more complex than I realized. I thought I knew what to expect until I started wading through all the logistics. And since Dad was executor of Carl’s estate, both have fallen to me like a tidal wave.”

  “Take your time. You’ll do fine. I’m sure your dad chose you because he knew you would do an excellent job.”

  She looked over, surprised at the comment. It was nice to hear that confidence expressed.

  The food arrived, and Marcus positioned the plate between them.

  Shari tugged one tortilla chip free. “I like this quiet time of night. I always used to be a morning lark, but I’m becoming a night owl.”

  “I figured it was the bad dreams causing you to avoid bed until sleep forced you there,” Marcus countered.

  He’d noticed, but his response had been to simply adjust his own schedule to spend late evenings with her until she was willing to turn in. She should have realized it. “Some of that is happening too.”

  “Try reading at night. It will distract you.”

  “Can I borrow a book?”

  “Sure. As long as you don’t choose a mystery or suspense.”

  “You’ve got something else?”

  “I think there’s a biography in my briefcase.”

  His pager went off. Accustomed to the interruptions that were a frequent part of his life, she was surprised at his reaction when he saw the number. Pages related to work often resulted in a look of distance, occasionally she could pick up subtle tenseness, but this—before he even took the call he looked worried. “Excuse me, Shari.”

  He retrieved his phone and dialed, crossing the room to the windows. Shari tried not to eavesdrop, but since he hadn’t left the room she couldn’t help but hear. His words startled her.

  * * *

  “Kate, what’s happening? What did the doctors say? How is Jennifer doing?” He had been expecting the call hours ago. Kate had been good about calling after each scheduled treatment.

  “I walked in on Jennifer crying today, not that soft it-hurts kind, but the bone-wrenching crying that makes you ache because there is nothing you can do. Between the pain of the spreading cancer pressing against her spine and the effects of the radiation that makes her so sick she can’t eat—she is being pushed to the literal breaking point.”

  Marcus closed his eyes, feeling his heart wrench. Jennifer had been lying to him, keeping her voice steady and confident when they talked when she had to be so scared. The distress and tension in Kate’s voice was obvious. He needed to be in Baltimore, needed to see them. He was letting them down. His family needed him and he wasn’t there.

  Just as soon as Shari and her family were back in Virginia and security had been figured out there, he was going to get to Baltimore. “Please tell her I’m thinking about her. I’ll call her again in the morning. How’s Rachel holding up?”

  “Much better than I am,” Kate admitted. “She’s good in these situations, Marcus. I never realized how good. When Jennifer is resting, I’ve often found Rachel down one flight on the pediatrics ward, lending her special touch there, bringing smiles to children with not much to smile about. Then she comes back and joins Jennifer and tells her about each one. Rachel knew without being asked the best distraction she could offer was the pediatric patients Jennifer loves.”

  “I’m glad to hear that.”

  “Your latest gift of pink roses arrived this afternoon. Jen wouldn’t let me read the card, but whatever you wrote, it made her day.”

  “I intended it to,” Marcus replied. “And no, I am not going to tell you what was in the card,” he told Kate with a smile. He and Jen were making arrangements for Rugsby to reappear. It was at least one laughter-filled distraction he could offer Jennifer. “I talked to Stephen last night. He said he was flying out in the morning with Jack.”

  “They get in at ten. Tom is going to meet them at the airport.”

  “You haven’t said how he’s doing.”

  “He’s a guy I would have fallen in love with had Jennifer not found him first. You can see it in his eyes, Marcus, the knowledge he has as a doctor of just how grim things are, but he’s never beside Jennifer with anything less than optimism
.”

  “He sticks, no matter what the cost. We both knew that the day we met him.”

  “He loves her so much you can feel it when you see the two of them together. When they are quiet and simply holding hands . . . I’ve left the room a few times rather than intrude.”

  “I’m glad you are there. I’ll be out as soon as I can get it arranged.”

  “Jennifer knows that.”

  “Please, call me if there is any change.”

  “Day or night, I’ll page.”

  “Thanks, Kate.”

  He slowly closed the phone. Jen. He felt tears moisten his eyes. Life wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair at all.

  * * *

  “Jennifer is sick?” Shari didn’t want to interrupt his thoughts, but she did desperately want to take that look of hopelessness from his face.

  Marcus turned, pulled from his thoughts. “Cancer,” he replied heavily.

  Shari felt shocked. Jennifer had been so nice to her the evening of the shooting; there had been no indication anything was wrong. “She never said anything.”

  “She just told the family. And it hit like a bombshell. She’s at Johns Hopkins, undergoing radiation and chemotherapy.”

  “It’s bad.”

  “Very.”

  She ached for him. She thought about commenting on Jennifer’s faith, but it would sound like a religious Band-Aid. She had faith and she still felt angry at the platitudes people said as they made their condolences. She missed her dad and Carl so bad it ached. And Marcus was in a harder position, being asked to accept months of knowing the worst might happen. “Marcus, I am so sorry. Please, come sit down. Can you go see her?”

  “Once you and your family are back in Virginia and the security is tight, I’ll cut away for a day and fly up to see her.”

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Pray.”

  She heard the skepticism, the faint trace of irony . . . and the agony. He needed hope. She wanted to comfort, not debate, but she simply didn’t know what to say. She wrapped her arms around her knees, leaned her chin against the fabric of her jeans.

  It’s not like I’ve got a great track record, Lord. You and I are barely talking right now. I prayed intensely for Carl to make the short list, and he ended up dead because that prayer got answered. I prayed with every bit of emotion in my body for Dad to make it, and he died. What am I supposed to tell Marcus?

  “Why don’t you believe?” she finally asked, not sure if he would answer her.

  He sat down heavily. “I did once, as a child, before the orphanage. My mother believed. But her prayers didn’t seem to make a difference, and after a while it became easier simply not to hope.”

  “Hope deferred makes the heart sick,” she murmured. “The Bible says that in Proverbs.”

  “There’s truth to that.”

  “What happened to your mom?”

  “She died. Pneumonia.”

  A terse reply; he would have been young, and she could hear the hurt that still lingered. He had lost his mom just like she had lost her dad. Had prayed, and watched her die. And he had decided as a result not to believe. It hurt, how much she could empathize with him. If she didn’t have two decades of faith anchoring her down and causing inertia, she might have broken under this pressure and stopped believing too.

  She hugged her knees tighter against her. “What was it like, when you lost your mom?”

  He didn’t answer her right away. “Like I was the one being put in the grave. The thing I feared most had happened. She was the only light in my world, and it was gone.” He looked at her. “Like it must feel with your dad being gone.”

  She knew exactly what he meant. “I’ve spent my life with Dad always there as a compass, believing in me, convinced I could succeed, backing my dreams; and now he’s gone. It’s a horrible void. I find myself going through days waiting, hoping, for something to come along and take away that ache.”

  “Time fills it. And the good memories return.”

  “I don’t think anything in life is going to be harder than attending the funerals.”

  “Shari, you’ll get through them.”

  “Because I’ve got no choice.”

  “Because you’re a survivor,” Marcus corrected.

  Shari blinked, his assessment catching her off guard. She had only spent a little over a week with him, but he had managed to understand her in a more profound way than Sam ever had. On the surface her life might appear easy, she had the family wealth, the close family, but her professional life was defined by her stubborn ability to fight on against the odds. And in prayer . . . She wasn’t ducking her head and accepting what had happened; she had practically picked a fight. “Yes, I am. And so are you, Marcus.”

  He gave a rueful smile. “Yet one more thing we have in common.”

  “I think this one is more important than a love for chocolate ice cream and a habit of keeping humorous secrets.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. It depends on what kind of day it’s been.”

  She laughed. “You’re good for me.”

  “Of course I am.” He leaned over to his briefcase and pulled out a biography of Roosevelt. “Take a book and go curl up in bed. You need some sleep.”

  “Political history. Nice choice.”

  “Guilty. I thought of you when I picked it up.” He quirked an eyebrow. “Don’t stay up reading all night.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good night, brat.”

  She tweaked his collar as she passed behind him and said good night.

  Chapter Nine

  Shari didn’t think she was going to make it through the eulogy at her dad’s funeral. She fought the tears, struggled to keep her voice steady. It was the toughest speech she had ever written, ever tried to give. She had labored for hours to find the right words.

  The church was filled to capacity. It was a private service by invitation only, because of security, because so many wanted to attend and the church could only seat three hundred. Her dad had been loved.

  Joshua had come up to the stage with her. Her voice broke and she felt his hand come to rest against her back. She couldn’t look at the crowd. She raised her eyes desperately to the back of the church instead. Marcus stood at the back of the sanctuary and her gaze caught his.

  Marcus, this is so hard.

  His gaze was steady as he looked back at her. He believed she could do this. He’d sat up with her for over an hour last night just listening when she hadn’t been able to face turning in. He was one of the few men she had met that didn’t cringe when someone cried. He’d just pushed over a Kleenex box and stayed, not trying to solve the pain, just sharing it. She took a deep breath, looked down at her notes, and when she resumed, her voice steadied.

  Joshua had given his remarks before hers, and when she finished he led her from the stage back to her seat beside their mom. “You did a good job,” he whispered, leaning down to hug her. She wanted desperately to give him a full hug in return, but with his arm strapped to his chest she had to accept simply wrapping one arm around his waist. “Thanks,” she whispered. “So did you.”

  The final song began. The service was nearly over and with it part of her life.

  Beth took her hand. Her mom was bearing up under this burden so much better than she was. For Shari, it was facing all over again the reality of what had happened two weeks ago. “Honey, this is a day to celebrate, despite the sadness.”

  Dad was in heaven. Shari forced herself to smile. She wished that fact would take away the pain, but it only made her aware of how long it would be before she saw him again. She focused on the flowers adorning the front of the stage, picking out the beautiful bouquet from the O’Malley family. She wondered if Marcus had any idea how much that gesture had meant to her mother as well as herself.

  And what he had done for Josh . . . She didn’t know how to say thanks to Marcus for what she had only now begun to notice. The one-on-one conversations between the two men, the coordin
ation going on—Marcus had put Josh firmly in the middle of every decision being made.

  Marcus’s actions had passed on the mantel of head of the family, made it real and concrete. She wasn’t surprised by Joshua’s maturity and steadiness; under his carefree approach to life he had always been a decisive man like their father. But Marcus had given him the gift of acting on that reality. And it had helped Josh cope with his grief.

  The funeral concluded. The organ music resumed as ushers came to escort them from the front pews of the church down the center aisle. The graveside service was being held at the adjacent cemetery. Shari was dreading it. There was a hole dug out there, the dirt turned up, and even the false green carpet of grass laid across that dirt and around the stark evidence would not hide the truth. She was afraid her composure would break.

  Carl had been buried early that morning at Arlington National Cemetery. It had been easier to maintain her composure with that very formal ceremony. The honor guard, the folded flag, it represented the tribute of a nation to a good man.

  This was the tribute of a family to a husband and father.

  Marcus appeared at her elbow as the family prepared to go outside. “There is a canopy set up to provide shelter from the wind, and they have set out chairs for the family. Please stay under the canopy after the short service until Quinn and I join you.”

  Shari nodded. She was very aware of the fact they were physically keeping her surrounded as she moved around outside. For the first time since the shooting almost two weeks ago, she was not in a protected environment. It had been well advertised in the media where she would be today and when. It would scare her, that realization, if she didn’t have so many other emotions absorbing her.

  She trusted Marcus to keep her safe.

  She was the only witness to the shooting, and the burden of that sat heavily with her. Two men were being laid to rest today and justice for them now rested with her. She knew that, Marcus knew that, and somewhere out there the shooter knew that.

  She walked out to the graveside with her mom and Joshua, accompanying the rest of her extended family.

  Remarks at the graveside were simple. Their pastor read from Psalm 34, Dad’s favorite. A prayer was said. And then two ladies from the choir closed by softly singing Amazing Grace. The words rang through the glowing sunset of evening with a sweetness that finally brought peace.