Fort Collins

by Christian, Claudia Hall

  Sissy shrugged, and Ivan laughed out loud.

  “What?” Mari asked Ivan.

  “She will still meet with school,” Ivan said. He kissed her forehead. “My Sissy.”

  She blushed.

  “Let’s get the hell out of here,” Seth said.

  Grinning at Seth, Sissy took Ivan’s hand, and they walked out of the office. They were whisked into a waiting limousine and home in a few minutes.

  “This is really nice!” Sandy said at the entrance to the apartment.

  “Sandy!” Charlie yelled.

  For this brief moment, Sissy knew that everything was perfect. For now.

  Never again would she assume that her life could unfold only in response to her dreams and wishes. Two bullets had ended that childish dream. Real life — with its ups and downs, awful and amazing times — was so much more than that dream.

  Sissy hoped to never forget the overwhelming gratitude she felt right this moment. She was grateful for her life, for Ivan, for all those who rallied around her, for love, and most importantly for the chance to live one more day.

  “What is it?” Ivan whispered to Sissy.

  “Just happy, I guess,” Sissy said in the same tone.

  He laughed.

  ~~~~~~~~

  Monday afternoon — 2:02 p.m.

  Denver, Colorado

  When they’d returned to the courtroom, the Judge had warned the attorneys not to argue so much. Or at least that’s what Noelle thought he’d said. Over the last two hours or so, she’d testified to what had happened the day she was supposed to get beaten up in the park.

  Of course, she left out the parts about Bestat being a dragon and Jacob stopping time, and all the weird stuff. No one needed to know those things. Knowing all of that would just confuse the issue. At least that’s what Sandy had said. Noelle’s job today was to help convict this awful man.

  The Deputy District Attorney made a big deal of the pictures Noelle had taken on her phone. Before she’d started painting Bestat, Noelle had taken a series of pictures of the area and of Bestat. The police had collected the phone from her before she went to the hospital. The defendant could be seen in a corner of every picture. The police department had blown up the pictures so he was the center of the pictures.

  The grainy images showed the defendant standing alone among the trees. The date stamp showed that he had been there for a while before the boys showed up. In the first image, the young man was staring at Noelle through the trees. The look on his face was one of. . . well, she didn’t know what: Lust, maybe? Rage? Hatred? Some mixture of all of that. She hadn’t noticed him that day. When the Deputy District Attorney showed her the photo, Noelle’s entire body had shaken. The look on his face terrified her. Had he planned to do to her what he’d done to Ivy? Hurt her and then carve his name on her most private place?

  The next photo showed him with a cell phone to his head, as if he were calling someone on his phone. The photo after that showed him taking pictures of her with his phone. He was messing with his phone in the next photo. The Deputy District Attorney said that his phone records showed that he was sending the pictures of Noelle to the boys so they would know who to attack and where.

  Noelle shivered at the thought.

  After all of the questions and arguments and boring moments, the Deputy District Attorney said she didn’t have any more questions. Now, it was time for Noelle to deal with the Defense. Noelle knew from Samantha Hargreaves that the defense had made it a policy to harass the “kids” in the trial. As the Deputy District Attorney sat down, Noelle felt the mood of the courtroom shift. Everyone sat up as if they were on guard for whatever horrible thing the Defense did next.

  Noelle leaned back in her chair. By leaning back, her legs came off the ground. She unconsciously swung her legs because she could. The Defense Attorney noticed right away.

  “Stop that,” the Defense Attorney said.

  The Judge’s head jerked up to look at the Defense Attorney.

  “What am I doing?” Noelle asked.

  “Your honor, I would like to submit that this witness has been coached,” the Defense Attorney said.

  “What does that mean?” Noelle asked.

  “Good question,” the Judge said. “What exactly are you referring to, counselor?”

  “This witness is trying to convince this courtroom that she’s an innocent girl,” the Defense Attorney said. “Rather than a conniving, manipulating, scam artist who would like. . .”

  Noelle didn’t hear the rest because Samantha Hargreaves popped to her feet and started throwing out “Objections” and “Warnings” and whatever else. It took a few moments for the courtroom to settle down.

  “In the first place,” Noelle said, “I am an innocent girl. Nobody had to teach me that. That’s what I am! And in the second place, I not a scam artist. What would I be scamming? I went to the part to paint my boyfriend’s step-mother. Why is that so weird?”

  The courtroom fell very silent. The Defense Attorney sniffed as if he was laughing. Noelle scowled and shook her head.

  “I don’t have any skin in this game,” Noelle repeated what Nash always said in these situations. “If anything, I wanted to spend my first day at the new school building at school!”

  The Defense Attorney gave one of his sick smiles.

  “Why did you take photos of my client?” the Defense Attorney asked.

  “I didn’t,” Noelle said. “I was taking photos of the entire area. Your client happened to be there.”

  “Why did you take his picture?” the Defense Attorney asked.

  “I didn’t,” Noelle said.

  “Are you saying that you did not take these photos?” the Defense Attorney asked. He shook his head in exaggerated confusion.

  “I took these photos,” Noelle said. “I didn’t take them of him. He just happened to be there.”

  “We all know that this witness took photos for her painting and that your client was in the scene,” the Judge said. “Ask a different question, or I’m releasing this witness,”

  “Where is this painting?” the Defense Attorney asked. “The one you supposedly were painting.”

  “My Dad has it,” Noelle said. She looked at the Judge. “Can I get it?”

  “If you do, we’ll have to admit it into evidence,” the Judge said.

  “But I’d get it back — right?” Noelle asked.

  “Eventually,” the Judge said.

  Noelle thought for a moment before shrugging.

  “I can always paint another,” Noelle said.

  “Bailiff?” the Judge asked.

  The bailiff went out into the audience to take the canvas from Aden. He held the painted side against him so that no one could see it. He gave it to Noelle. There was a subtle gasp around the room when Noelle held the painting up.

  The painting was a lovely mix of trees and grass. In the center, sat Bestat Behur on a mustard colored blanket. Bestat’s face was placid and she had a soft loving smile. Her hair was braided down her back. Noelle turned it so the Judge could see.

  “That’s quite lovely,” the Judge said. “You have quite a talent, Norsen.”

  “Thanks,” Noelle said.

  “You expect me to believe that you painted this?” the Defense Attorney asked.

  “I don’t know what you believe or don’t believe,” Noelle said. “You asked me if I had made the painting and I’m showing you the painting I made.”

  Noelle shrugged.

  “Is there anything else, counselor?” the Judge asked.

  The Defense Attorney looked at the table where his co-counsel were sitting. They shook their heads.

  “It would appear not,” the Defense Attorney said.

  “Looks like you can head back to school, Norsen,” the Judge said.

  “No, sir,” Noelle said. “They’re done for the day. But I’ll get to spend some time with my dad, which will be great. Daddy? Can we go for ice cream?”

  Embarrassed, Aden just w
aved at her from the aisle.

  “I want to see all of the attorneys in my chambers,” the Judge said with a bang of his gavel.

  Noelle popped out of the witness box and ran to him. They hugged. Samantha Hargreaves got up to walk them out.

  “That was awful,” Noelle said.

  “You were amazing,” Samantha said.

  “Do I have to come back?” Noelle asked.

  “Maybe,” Samantha said. “We’ll see. Remember. . .”

  “I won’t talk to anyone about it,” Noelle said. “Well, maybe Buster. He’s an expert on creepy people. He knows them when he sees them. Can I tell Buster?”

  “Buster?” Samantha asked.

  “Our dog,” Aden said.

  Samantha was so charmed by Noelle that she hugged the girl.

  “I have to go in to see what’s going on,” Samantha said. “Can you walk yourselves out?”

  “Of course,” Aden said.

  “I’ll stop by tonight,” Samantha said.

  “Thanks,” Aden said.

  Aden and Noelle watched as Samantha went back into the courtroom.

  “Ice cream?” Aden asked Noelle.

  Noelle nodded, and they walked toward the front of the courthouse.

  “When does Mom get home?” Noelle asked.

  “This evening,” Aden said. “She wants to make sure she has a chance to see you.”

  “And go to marriage class,” Noelle said with a grin.

  “That, too,” Aden said with a smile. “That’s pretty nice, huh?”

  “Very nice,” Noelle said.

  They walked out of the courtroom.

  Chapter Three Hundred and Eighty-seven

  The truth

  Monday evening — 6:32 p.m.

  New York City, New York

  “Thank you,” Honey said to the maître d’ when he gave her a napkin.

  She and MJ were sitting in one of New York City’s nicest restaurants. Usually closed on Mondays, the restaurant was hosting a special meal for the Fey Team, paid for by a grateful patron. Honey was the only life-partner there. The rest of the team was sitting around the restaurant floor in tables of three and four. She and MJ had been seated at a two-person table overlooking the Hudson.

  Honey leaned forward in her wheelchair. A tall, lanky man, MJ leaned all the way across the table to kiss her lips.

  “I hope this makes up for missing marriage classes,” MJ said.

  Honey smiled. She looked up when MJ’s superior officer, Alex Hargreaves, and her work-partner Raz came by the table to say “Hello.” After a few minutes of happy chatter, they wandered off to check in with other tables. She smiled at MJ.

  “I know that smile,” MJ said. “What’s going on?”

  “I wondered when you’re going to tell me what’s going on,” Honey said.

  “What do you mean?” MJ made a considerable effort to look indignant. He wasn’t fooling Honey, and he knew it. That didn’t keep him from laying it on thicker. “The team is getting this nice meal as a thank-you. I thought you’d like to come!”

  Honey grinned at his efforts.

  “Don’t you want to be here?” MJ continued. “Look around. No other Fey wife or husband is here. Only you. That alone should mean something to you.”

  He threw his hands up in mock exasperation.

  “Sometimes, I just don’t know what you want,” MJ said.

  Honey kept grinning. The waiter came up to offer them wine. MJ ordered a glass of red wine for himself. He and the waiter settled on some raspberry-infused water for Honey. She was on such a thick regimen of muscle relaxants and pain meds for her injured spine that alcohol was out of the question, and carbonated drinks caused her Crohn’s Disease to flare up.

  When the waiter disappeared, MJ shook his head. He opened his mouth to continue his odd rant.

  “Stop,” Honey said.

  “But. . .” MJ said.

  He was never one to let anyone have the last word. She held her index finger to her lips. He closed his mouth, and she leaned forward again. He leaned across the table toward her.

  “How ’bout the truth?” Honey said. She raised her eyebrows in amusement.

  “What are you talking about?” MJ started.

  “Okay, okay,” Honey said with a chuckle. “I get it. You and the team are here for a special thank-you dinner. I’m here because I happen to be in town. And yes, I plan to take photos to brag to the rest of the Fey wives and husbands. They will wish they were here with us. I feel very lucky.”

  Honey gave him a curt nod that caused her shoulder-length white-blond hair to bounce. Her hair was so fine that it flew up in a static halo around her head. He stroked the back of her head to smooth it down. Sure that he’d dodged her question, he leaned back in his chair.

  The waiter brought their drinks and explained their dinner. The menu was a Prix Fixe, which meant that there was only one menu, no choices. He explained that one of the reasons this restaurant was so popular was that the Chef prepared the menus based on whichever customer had the most extreme dietary needs. Because Honey had Crohn’s Disease, the Chef had prepared a feast of food based on her restrictions.

  “Are you sure?” Honey asked. “I usually just eat around. . .”

  “It’s our pleasure,” the waiter said. “The Chef finds it to be an interesting challenge. And. . .”

  The waiter knelt down to Honey’s wheelchair height.

  “The staff eats dinner before we serve so that everyone knows the menu,” the waiter said. “I will tell you that this is the best menu I’ve tried, so far. Trust me. You’re going to love tonight’s dinner.”

  Honey smiled.

  “In honor of your service as a military wife,” the waiter continued, “the Chef has offered to provide you with the recipes, in case you’d like to make this yourself.”

  MJ beamed at Honey, and she smiled.

  “Now sit back and relax,” the waiter said. “Let us do the rest.”

  “Pretty nice, huh?” MJ said.

  “Very nice,” Honey said.

  MJ smiled and took a drink of his wine.

  “Why am I in New York?” Honey tried a different question to see if he’d actually answer.

  He squinted at her while he tried to come up with an answer.

  “Why don’t we try the truth?” Honey asked.

  She raised her eyebrows in expectation. MJ turned to look at the water. The lights of the city made the Hudson sparkle like tiny diamonds. MJ was silent so long that Honey began to worry. She touched his hand. When he turned, his eyes were filled with tears.

  “I don’t know how to tell you,” MJ said.

  “Are you sick? Cancer? You caught some deadly flesh-eating, antibiotic-resistant Ebola-like bacteria? Virus?” Honey said with a gasp. “Is it your leg?”

  “Oh.” MJ gave her a slight smile. “No. I’m fine.”

  “Then what is going on?” Honey asked.

  He opened his mouth.

  “Just tell me the truth,” Honey said. “We’ll deal with whatever it is.”

  He closed his mouth and nodded. Honey made every effort to wait patiently. But as the minutes dragged, she wanted to kick him. If she’d had working legs, she would have, in fact, kicked him.

  The waiter came by to drop off some warm bread. He set a small cup of butter for MJ and another cup for Honey. He explained that the Chef had found a recipe for a butter substitute that tasted good and shouldn’t cause a flare-up.

  “I’ll try it!” Honey said with a smile.

  “Let us know if anything bothers you,” the waiter said.

  Honey smiled and watched him leave to serve another table. When she looked back, MJ was watching her intently.

  “Just tell me,” Honey said.

  “You know how Blane used one of Jill’s twin’s umbilical blood to reseed his bone marrow?” MJ asked.

  “Blane’s doing really well,” Honey said. “His AIDS is gone. I mean, no one’s sure if it’s forever, but, for now, he’s virus
free. He’s done the HepC treatment, and his liver has healed. He says he feels better than he has since he was a small child.”

  “Jill had twins, right?” MJ asked.

  “Right – Tanner and Bladen,” Honey said. “Maggie and I spend Thursday afternoons with the twins and Jackie. They’re hilarious.”

  “Well. . .” MJ nodded.

  “Well?” Honey asked.

  MJ blew out the breath that Honey hadn’t realized he had been holding. Her eyebrows lowered with concern. MJ took a breath and began talking at a rapid pace.

  “There’s a new technique that’s shown a lot of promise for people who are paralyzed. They use stem cells by injecting them into the injury sites. I’ve been following the studies in case maybe we have another child. If we did, we could use their umbilical blood or whatever. But Nadia, you remember Nadia?”

  He looked up expectantly.

  “The woman whose guest bedroom we’re staying in?” Honey asked. “Yes, in fact, I do remember Nadia. I expect we’ll see her after dinner.”

  MJ chuckled. He took a breath and started talking again.

  “She learned about you from Nash. I didn’t ask her or anything, but she called me last week. She asked for your medical records. I was busy with an action, so I just sent them to her. I knew she was a close family friend and a doctor. I figured she would just look at them or review them or whatever. I didn’t know she was super-duper rich, you know?”

  “What did she do?” Honey threw into his stream of words.

  “She sent your records to this team of people. I never. . . I mean, how likely is it that we could ever afford it, or even, who knows when we’ll be able to have another child? I mean, this team, of scientists, you know, they’re doing it for free with two disabled veterans a year. And it’s working, but it’s really expensive. Really expensive. And then, Jill talked to Nadia last weekend, and you know how Jill is.”

  As if he’s expressed an entire thought, MJ stopped talking and looked at Honey.

  “And that means?” Honey asked.

  “I brought the other umbilical cord with me. I mean, Tanner’s or Bladen’s or. . .,” MJ said. “You have an appointment tomorrow.”

  “I have an appointment?” Honey asked with a shrug.