by Dinah McCall
Her skin was soft and blessedly warm.
“Merry Christmas, darling,” he said softly. “This is a hell of a place to be on Christmas morning, but it doesn’t matter where we are, as long as I’m with you.”
Deborah flinched, then exhaled softly.
Mike waited, taking comfort from the steady beat of her heart.
Deborah had been hiding. At least that was what she imagined she’d been doing when she tried to open her eyes. She had vague memories of blood on the snow, of a sharp, burning pain, and then being carried somewhere warm.
She did remember Evan crying and Johnny hiding under her kitchen table, but she couldn’t remember why. She thought she remembered being on a carnival ride with Mike, but that didn’t make sense.
She did know there had been a bright light and a cold room, and someone telling her she was going to be all right. She thought someone had told her to count backward from one hundred, but remembered nothing after that.
Now she was coming out of hiding. Soon all would be revealed, including the reason for the antiseptic smell and the constant pain in her shoulder.
She took a slow breath, testing the motion, and winced when it hurt. She exhaled even slower, and when she did, it came out as a moan. Within seconds, she felt a hand on her arm.
“Sweetheart, it’s me. Mike.”
Mike. It was Mike. She wanted to open her eyes in the most urgent way, but they didn’t want to cooperate. He would tell her what was wrong. He would make the pain go away. She felt her mouth opening, heard herself speaking, and couldn’t understand why it sounded like a scream.
Mike saw her nostrils flare; then the tip of her tongue came out from between her lips and slid from one corner of her mouth to the next.
Her mouth was dry. That had to be it. He grabbed the water glass next to her bed, took out the straw and let the moisture on the outside dribble along the length of her lips—enough to lubricate, but not enough for her to try to swallow, for fear she might choke.
She opened her mouth to the water like a baby bird opening its beak to be fed. He could tell she was trying to speak, but the only thing that came out was a sharp cry. He shoved the straw back in the glass and quickly took her hand.
“Deborah, you’re safe. Don’t be scared, baby. Don’t be scared. I’m right here with you, and I’m not going anywhere.”
He saw her shudder, then try to swallow. He rang for a nurse. Within a few moments, a voice came over the intercom.
“How can I help you?”
“I think Deborah is waking up and in pain.”
“We’ll be right there,” the voice said, and less than a minute later, a no-nonsense woman he knew to be named Elinor came flying into the room.
“So she’s waking up, is she?” Elinor said.
Deborah heard the voice and moaned. Why did everyone speak as if she wasn’t in the room? She was lying right here. She could answer for herself.
“She hurts,” Mike said. “Can’t you give her something for the pain?”
“She’s getting it through her IV,” Elinor said. “Let me take her vitals and we’ll see what’s up.”
Deborah felt the blood pressure cuff on her arm. While she was trying to make herself heard, she promptly faded back into that place where she’d been hiding. It wasn’t until the pressure and the nurse were gone that she came out of hiding again.
Only this time she looked because she needed to see Mike O’Ryan’s face.
“Hey…there’s my pretty blue eyes,” Mike said softly, as he watched Deborah’s eyes slowly opening. “Merry Christmas, darling.”
Deborah sighed. “Mike.”
He could no more have stopped the grin on his face than he could have stopped breathing.
“Yeah, it’s me.” He leaned over and kissed the side of her cheek, then her forehead, before straightening up. “You gave us quite a scare, my love.”
Deborah’s heart stuttered.
Mike heard the little blip on the machine.
“Am I…?” she whispered.
“Are you what?” Mike asked.
Deborah licked her lips again, trying to lubricate them enough to form the words.
“Your love,” she finally said.
Tears quickly blurred Mike’s vision. “Yes, baby…very much my love.”
Her eyelids fluttered, then shut, but there was a slight smile on her lips.
Mike patted her hand, then kissed her again.
“Sleep good, little soldier, and get yourself well,” he said. “I can’t wait to take you home.”
There had been a lot to do once the chopper was gone. James and Thorn had taken it upon themselves to do cleanup so Evan could tend to his son. Before Evan knew it, they had all the blood mopped up from the floor and all the bloody towels in the washing machine.
Then they’d gone outside, recovered Puppy’s body from the snow-covered yard and wrapped it in an old bedspread they’d found under a table on the back porch. At first they’d been uncertain as to whether they would be able to dig a grave deep enough to bury her, because the ground was frozen. But then Thorn had tested the ground inside a small three-sided lean-to and found that not only was it dry, but it was also loose enough to dig.
When Molly found out what was about to happen, it was she who argued Johnny’s case.
“It will be better for him if he’s there. It’s part of the grieving process, and he won’t get better if he isn’t allowed to mourn. He’s already seen the worst in man. And if that isn’t enough, Deborah’s dog dies right at his feet. When I brought him into the house, Puppy’s blood was all over his pant legs, for God’s sake. The least you owe him is the chance to say goodbye. He hasn’t been able to do that for his grandparents. He wasn’t part of the process then, and it’s never going to seem real to him that they’re gone. Please, Evan. Trust me on this. Take him to the grave. Let him help put Puppy in the ground. Let him help shovel the dirt. Let him put up a marker, or something pretty on the grave. It won’t be easy for him, but it will be good for him. And let him cry. Lord knows he deserves it.”
Evan had listened to Molly’s fervor with the heart of a father. He’d wanted to spare Johnny any more pain, but he knew she was right. Johnny couldn’t heal until he’d had a chance to grieve.
So he’d gone to his son and told him the dilemma. That they were going to bury Puppy but were unsure as to what Puppy loved most, so they didn’t know what to put with her.
Johnny’s lethargy had shifted instantly. Tears were still running down his face, but the tone of his voice was almost animated.
“I know, Daddy! I know! Puppy’s chew toy is by the fireplace. She needs that.”
“Good idea, son,” Evan said, and mouthed a thank-you to Molly, who nodded in return.
Within minutes they all left the house, walking single file through the snow to the shed where Puppy’s body was lying.
The background color of the old spread was ecru. The pattern consisted of all shapes and sizes of leaves, in different shades of blue.
“That’s pretty, Daddy,” Johnny commented when he saw the bedspread they’d wrapped around the dog’s body.
The men looked at the old spread with new eyes. Molly remained silent as she stood with Johnny, letting him make all the first moves.
“You’re right, Johnny boy. That is a pretty blanket,” Thorn said.
“Yeah, and it will keep the dirt off her, right?” James added.
Johnny nodded as he studied the scene. The hole was about four feet deep. The pile of dirt beside the hole was dark, rich earth from countless years of cows in residence.
“So how do you think we should do this, son?” Evan asked. “Should we put Puppy in first and then her toy, or should the toy go first and then Puppy?”
“Oh, put Puppy in first,” Johnny announced. “She wouldn’t want to lie on her toy.”
Evan looked away. He couldn’t bear seeing his son’s heartbreak. This was almost as difficult for him as the day he’d buried Johnny
’s mother. Then, Johnny had been too young to know what was going on. Now, in a symbolic way, Johnny was burying everyone he’d seen die, including his grandparents, Senator Patrick Finn and Deborah’s dog. God bless Molly. She had been so right.
“Then Puppy it is,” James said.
He and Thorn bent over, each taking a corner of the spread, and carefully laid Puppy’s body down in the hole.
“Now Puppy’s toy is next,” Evan said.
Johnny handed it to Evan. “Here, Daddy. You give it to her. I can’t reach.”
Obviously the toy was not to be tossed in on top of the dog. So Evan got down on his knees and laid the toy on top of the spread.
Molly stepped forward.
“Usually at a funeral the preacher says some nice words about the person who’s going to heaven, but there’s not a preacher here today. So maybe we should each just say what we think about Puppy instead. Evan, you go first.”
Evan bit the inside of his lip to keep from coming undone and couldn’t bring himself to look at his son. In that moment he knew that this funeral was going to be as healing for him as it was for Johnny.
He’d left part of himself in a foreign land, and even though they’d shipped him home in more or less one piece, he’d still felt as if the man he’d been had died there. The man who’d come home had to become someone else. The only stable thing in his life was his son. Every step of this odd little service was, for him, like coming out of the dark. He looked at his grandfather and great-grandfather. They were watching his son’s face, and he could do no less.
He walked to the pile of dirt, picked up a handful, then walked back to the edge of the grave.
“Puppy was a good and faithful dog. She considered it her job to protect. She died protecting Johnny because she loved him. I’m thankful for Puppy.”
Molly stepped up next with her handful of dirt.
“Puppy was a very pretty dog. She had the warmest brown eyes and a lick ready for any friend. She kept us all company at her place by the fire.”
She scattered her handful of dirt over the spread as devoutly as if it had been a person of great importance.
James and Thorn followed suit, talking about Puppy’s great hunting abilities and thanking her for saving Johnny’s life. Then finally it was Johnny’s turn.
He had his handful of dirt. And he’d been standing silently at the edge of the grave for several minutes without talking. Evan was afraid that it had all become too much for him, but Molly’s expression had urged him to wait. Finally, when Johnny spoke, Evan was glad he’d waited.
“Puppy, I didn’t get to play with you for very long. But sometimes you can have a best friend for just a day. Ever since I came here, you were my best friend.”
There wasn’t a dry eye among them as they watched the little boy turn his hand upside down, then open his fingers. The tiny handful of dirt scattered as it fell.
Without speaking, James and Thorn picked up shovels and began shoveling dirt back into the hole, covering up the body as they went. No one moved, no one spoke, until the hole was filled and the dirt on top had been carefully mounded and smoothed.
“That’s that,” James said softly.
“Amen,” Thorn echoed.
Johnny looked up at his father.
Evan picked him up, then gave him a hug as he buried his face in the curve of Johnny’s neck.
“Don’t cry, Daddy,” Johnny said. “Puppy’s gone to heaven now.”
“You’re right, son. And I’ll bet she’s chasing rabbits in the sunshine right about now, don’t you?”
Johnny almost smiled as he nodded.
They walked back to the house, but with lighter hearts than when they’d walked to the shed. With each passing hour, Evan had come to realize how much he cared for Molly and how much he’d come to depend on her. Now that the trouble and turmoil were over, and passage between Deborah’s home and Carlisle was finally possible again, he knew they would be leaving. Trouble was, he didn’t want to leave Molly to go one way and them another. But he couldn’t imagine a woman like her wanting to be saddled with a traumatized child and a man who’d come home in pieces.
Evan walked into the living room, and found Molly and Johnny sitting on the sofa near the fireplace. She had wrapped his son in an old patchwork quilt from off her bed and was holding him in her lap. At first he thought she was talking, then he realized she was singing to him.
Emotion welled up inside him so fast that it took him unaware. One moment he could see her, and the next he couldn’t see anything at all for the tears. He could hear James and Thorn back in the kitchen, talking as they prepared a meal for everyone to eat.
Just for a moment, it felt like home.
He walked across the room and sat down beside them, only then realizing that Johnny was asleep.
Molly looked at him, then sighed. She’d known from the moment she’d seen his face that he would be a hard man to leave behind.
“I don’t want to lose you,” Evan said.
Molly smiled through tears of her own. “You don’t have to,” she said.
Evan’s heartbeat accelerated.
“What do I have to do to keep you with me?”
She reached for his hand, curling her fingers through his and then giving them a slight squeeze.
“Just don’t let me go.”
Epilogue
For the media, Senator Darren Wilson’s death on Christmas Eve and the news that he’d committed murder almost overshadowed the arrival of Santa. There wasn’t one member of Patrick Finn’s family who felt obligated to grieve, and the same was true for the O’Ryans.
Alphonso Riberra had lifted his wineglass to the riends with whom he was playing cards and made a small toast.
“Hey, guys…to the big spenders.”
“Hear! Hear!” the men echoed, then downed their wine.
At which point Riberra laid down his cards amid a chorus of groans and raked in the pot.
Farley Comstock had been taking care of Deborah’s chores while she was gone and was happy to get his old rifle back, but he’d been a bit bothered that a bad man had been using it. To remove what he considered “bad vibes” from the rifle, he’d taken it apart on his kitchen floor and set to cleaning it from one end to the other. Once he was satisfied that all traces of Darren Wilson had been wiped from the gun, he called it his Christmas present to himself, and put it back over the kitchen door, where it had been hanging for years.
The new baby that Ruthie had given birth to was wailing as he went outside to bring in more wood. He just grinned at the sound. Another little Comstock was in the world and making herself heard.
A week after the shooting, Mike brought Deborah home. After the hustle and bustle of the hospital, and the number of people who’d been in the house with her before, it was too quiet and too empty. Puppy’s absence was palpable. She couldn’t get rid of the image of the old dog’s shattered body bleeding out in the snow. If it hadn’t been for Mike, she would have been so depressed, she wouldn’t have known how to cope.
As it was, the holiday decorations that were still up looked tattered and sad, like someone who’d been too late for the party. The presents she and Johnny had chosen were still tucked under the tree, as was the one that Farley had finally brought over for her.
Even though she was a bit wobbly, she still insisted on walking through every room in her house. It was her odd way of homecoming, as if she felt obligated to explain and apologize for having been gone so long.
Mike could also feel her trying to distance herself from him. If he hadn’t been so sure that she loved him, it would have made him nervous. He followed her into her bedroom, then sat down on the bed as she prowled through her closet. When she came out, she’d changed her clothes for a loose-fitting flannel nightgown.
“Honey, are you hungry? Would you like to take a nap? Just tell me what you want and it’s yours.”
Deborah looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. He was so absolutely
gorgeous in her eyes, and he’d proved himself quite a warrior. She’d heard only bits and pieces of what had happened after she was shot, but when he’d held her later, she’d known the truth. Through his touch, she’d seen the chase, felt the fear and seen the end of Darren Wilson.
“You know what I really want? I want you,” she said.
Mike arched an eyebrow. “I don’t think you’re up to—”
“But right now I’ll settle for a hug,” she said.
He grinned. “I can do that.”
He held her close, afraid to squeeze for fear of hurting her healing shoulder.
Deborah laid her head against his chest and closed her eyes. The rock-steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her ear was as comforting as the flannel nightgown she was wearing.
“Where are we going with us?” she asked.
He took the ribbon out of her hair and let it fall, then nuzzled the side of her neck, scattering butterfly kisses along her chin, then centering on her mouth.
At that point he dug in his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box.
“I was going to wait to do this, but I don’t know why. This seems as good a time as any.”
Deborah saw the box, and her heart skipped a beat.
“Oh, Mike,” she said, and then pressed her fingers against her lips to keep from crying.
He set her on the side of the bed, then got down on one knee.
“I could talk all day about why this seems right, but the bottom line is so simple. I love you, Deborah. More than I’ve ever loved a woman in my life. Will you marry me?”
“I never thought I would hear those words,” she said.
“I’m still waiting for an answer,” he reminded her.
“Yes, yes, a thousand times yes. I will marry you.”
Mike slid the ring on her finger, got up from the floor, then scooted onto the bed beside her.
“Sealed with a kiss,” he said softly, as he tasted the tears on her lips.