The Best of Times: A Dicken's Inn Novel

by Stansfield, Anita

  The phone went dead and Chas yelled into it, “Jackson? Jackson?” as if she could make it reconnect. She turned the phone off, then hung her head and sobbed every bit as hard as she had when Melinda had called a few days ago. Then she sank to her knees and thanked God for giving her a miracle. She couldn’t imagine what Jackson had been through. But he was alive! Oh, he was alive! In the midst of her prayer, a question popped into her mind. “PTSD?” she repeated aloud. What kind of horrible disease had he contracted? Was that it? He’d gotten sick somewhere? Maybe it wasn’t as bad as she’d been believing. She hurried to the computer and googled the letters. She gasped when the list came up. She put a hand over her mouth. Post traumatic stress disorder. “Oh, help,” she muttered and started to cry again.

  Polly came in and startled her. “What are you doing?”

  “He’s alive, Polly. He called.”

  “Oh, my gosh!” Polly squealed. “I’m never here when the drama hits!”

  Chas repeated the gist of the conversation, then pointed to what was on the computer screen. “Oh, dear,” Polly said. “That doesn’t sound good.”

  “No, it doesn’t, but . . .” Chas hugged Polly tightly, “he’s alive. Oh,” she said, “I need to call his mother. I’ve got to do it now.”

  “I’d say,” Polly said.

  Chas dialed the number with trembling fingers. Melinda answered, and Chas said, “It’s me. Put your mother on the other extension.” She whimpered. “Jackson just called me. He’s alive.”

  Melinda let out an excited shriek and said, “I’ll get her. Hold on.”

  With Melva and Melinda both on the phone, Chas repeated what had happened, and they all cried. After she got off the phone, Chas took a nap. It was the first sleep she’d had without drugs since Jackson had stopped calling. That evening Melinda called to tell her that the FBI had called to inform the next of kin that Jackson Leeds was alive and in a military hospital, which they would not name, and they weren’t sure when he would be able to make any calls. When Melinda had inquired over his condition, she was told that he was stable and he would recover; nothing more. The two women talked for a long while and concluded that they just had to be patient and settle for the relief of knowing that he was alive and that he would recover. And they didn’t even want to talk about what it might be that he needed to recover from.

  For more than a week none of them heard anything. Chas fought to keep busy, and now that she knew he was alive and in a hospital, it was easier to focus on something besides her grief and fears. Still, she felt afraid—and haunted. Haunted by things she didn’t know and could only imagine. She started having nightmares about him, and had to call the home teachers again to ask for another blessing. Ironically, Ron had a brother-in-law who had been through some horrible things in the military, and had been treated for PTSD. Ron reported that it took some time, but he was doing well. That information, combined with the blessing, helped Chas feel more calm, and she stopped having nightmares.

  Chas woke up one morning with the determination to find out what was going on with Jackson, and if possible, to at least hear him assure her with his own voice that he was okay. She was fed up with this FBI covert excuse for keeping this man’s loved ones from being involved in his recovery. Even his own mother hadn’t been informed of anything that gave her any consolation.

  Chas started with a prayer, then she called the office where Jackson had worked and asked to speak with either Agent Veese or Agent Ekert. She said it was urgent but remained vague. She hoped they might believe she had information regarding something they were currently working on, which would encourage them to call her back sooner rather than later. Only twenty minutes passed before she got a call from a wireless number, and heard a male voice ask to speak to her.

  “This is me,” she said.

  “This is Special Agent Veese calling from the FBI. I was given a message to call you.”

  “Yes, thank you for calling me back.” She told him exactly who she was, calling herself “the woman in Jackson Leeds’ life, the one whose picture is on his desk and all over his apartment,” and that she needed more information to go on. She expressed concern for Jackson, and a desire for him to know his loved ones were there for him. She also expressed frustration on behalf of herself and Jackson’s mother and sister. Even with her careful explanation, she was still expecting to be diplomatically brushed aside with the same old answers. But Agent Veese said kindly, “You’re Chas. You’re the one I picked up at the airport.”

  “That’s right,” she said eagerly.

  “In that case, you call this number back when you have a flight to Norfolk, and I’ll pick you up at the airport and take you to see him.”

  “You can do that?” she asked, suppressing the urge to squeal loudly into the phone.

  “Yes, but I can’t promise you’ll get more than a few minutes with him; an hour if we’re real lucky. He’s heavily sedated, and an agent is required to be with him all the time, especially when any visitors or medical personnel are in the room.”

  “Why?” she asked, aching for answers, anything to help her understand this.

  “It’s protocol, ma’am, under the circumstances. Because of the work he’s been involved with, we need to know what he says when he doesn’t know what he’s saying.”

  “Okay.” That made sense to her. It was nice to finally have something actually make sense.

  “And what about his condition? Can you tell me how he’s doing . . . really?”

  “I can tell you that on the drive to the hospital. But I have to warn you, ma’am, I’m willing to do this because I think Jackson needs to see somebody that can give him some hope. However, you might want to reconsider. He still doesn’t look very good; not at all like himself. He might belt me in the jaw after he comes around for letting you see him like that.”

  Chas thought about that for a second, managing to keep silent the tears that came. She asked quietly, “Can he talk on the phone if someone could help him?”

  “Maybe, but I doubt it would be very effective.”

  “You’ve worked with him for years, Agent. What do you think I should do?”

  “I think you should be on the next plane and make sure he knows that you love him no matter what’s happened. If you’re the kind of woman who can do that, I’ll do anything I can to help you.”

  “Why?” she asked, wiping more tears.

  “He would do the same for me.” His voice picked up traces of warm pride and fierce determination. “He’s put his life on the line for me more than once, and if it weren’t for him, we never would have brought down the drug-dealing scumbags who nearly got us all killed.”

  “He did it?” she asked, feeling the same warm pride.

  “He did. But I shouldn’t say anything more.”

  “I understand. I’m going to get a flight. I’ll call you back soon. And thank you. Thank you so much!”

  Chas had everything arranged in less than an hour, including making arrangements for all of the business at the inn and letting Melva and Melinda know where she was going. They all agreed that it was best for Melva not to try to see Jackson in this condition, and Chas reassured them that she would call as soon as she could and tell them everything.

  During the drive to the airport, Chas cried intermittently. But there was hope and joy mixed with her tears. She was going to be able to see him. And while she was steeling herself for how bad it might be, she was grateful to be the one that Agent Veese would be willing to help, because he believed that she could help Jackson. And that was all she wanted right now—to help Jackson.

  The flight felt far too long, and by the time she landed she had to continually will herself to remain calm. She didn’t want to be a sobbing idiot with Agent Veese. She could save that for being with Jackson. He’d already seen her as a sobbing idiot.

  Veese and Ekert found her at the same place as they had before, but this time, the drive from the airport was more calm. A few minutes into it, when not
hing had been said, Chas interrupted the silence. “I’m waiting, Agent Veese.”

  “I know,” he said. “I’m stalling.” He sighed and turned to look at her over the seat while Ekert drove. “We don’t know why it happened. Apparently the undercover identity he’d assumed in order to get the people we were after got him into trouble. Apparently someone else was real angry with this guy, and they thought that Leeds could give them information, which of course he didn’t have.” Chas nodded and fought for her composure. If she started crying, he was more likely to stop talking. “He was in their custody for three and a half weeks before we found him and were able to get him out. They roughed him up pretty bad,” he said, but he said it gently. “There were no broken bones, and no internal injuries; nothing that won’t heal with time.”

  Chas nodded and let out a sigh of relief that couldn’t disguise the little sob that came with it. “That is very good, then.”

  “Yes, it’s very good,” Veese said, and Chas realized that knowing nothing had truly let her imagination wander into horrible territory.

  “The worst of it now is just how sick he’s been.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Apparently he picked up some kind of nasty parasite, and it’s made him really sick. I have to be straight with you and tell you that . . .” He paused and met her eyes. “Do you want me to be straight with you?”

  “Yes, of course,” she said, cautioning herself against discounting the horrible territory where her imagination had wandered. “They didn’t feed him much, and what they gave him was wretched. That’s probably what made him sick, and whatever he’s got, it’s bad. He’s been in a lot of pain, so they keep him pretty much sedated, just because he’s utterly miserable otherwise. Between the injuries and the illness, he’s just been a mess. That’s all. But they’re treating both, and he’s showing improvement, and he’s going to be just fine. Nothing permanent.”

  “Oh!” Chas said and put both hands over her quivering stomach. There was no stopping the tears that trickled down her face.

  “It’s okay, ma’am,” Veese said, facing forward again but passing her a tissue over the seat. “We’ve both had some of that since we dragged him out of that hole.”

  “You?” Chas said. “You’re the ones who rescued him?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Ekert said. He hadn’t previously said a word.

  “He would have done the same for us,” Veese added.

  The remainder of the drive allowed Chas time to take in what she’d learned, and to vent her tears silently so that she could hopefully be more calm when she saw Jackson. The only other thing she said was, “Could I have a couple more of those tissues?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Veese said and passed them to her.

  At the hospital she took every step with hope and dread. She prayed that she could handle this well, and that her being here could make a difference on Jackson’s behalf—and her own. She knew when they were approaching the right room because a man in a dark suit with an ear wire was sitting outside the door. He came to his feet when he saw Veese and Ekert approaching.

  “Any change?” Veese asked him.

  “Nothing other than they say his vitals look better today,” the man said.

  “Take a break,” Veese said. “I’ll cover for a while.”

  “Good, I’m starving,” the agent said and walked away. Ekert sat in the chair he had been occupying, and Veese pushed open the door, hesitating a moment to check Chas’s expression. She nodded firmly and followed Veese into the room. He closed the door behind them.

  Chas approached the bedside, holding her breath. She felt immediate relief to see that he didn’t look as bad as she’d expected. Again she had allowed her imagination to run wild. But perhaps that wasn’t all bad when she felt more relieved than shocked. He still looked bad. His face bore evidence of many cuts and bruises, but they were clearly in stages of healing. He looked a little swollen in places, but she suspected that too was improving. The only medical equipment hooked to him was an IV in his left arm, and monitors that showed he was very much alive. She set her purse on the floor and quietly slid a chair across the floor so she could sit and hold his right hand. She felt a subtle flinch in his hand when she took it, but he remained asleep, no doubt aided by the medication.

  She was glad to have him unconscious while she cried again, consumed once more with a combination of horror and relief. Veese handed her a box of tissues that had been on the opposite side of the bed. She thanked him, and he made himself comfortable on the other side of the room, discreetly reading a newspaper to give her as much privacy as possible. She sat there for a few minutes, adjusting to the reality of being with Jackson, and the evidence of what he’d been through. She knew that once he recovered physically, he would be treated for PTSD. And his healing on both counts might not go quickly. Once again, she was faced with needing to be patient.

  A nurse came in, said hello to Veese, and started checking Jackson’s vital signs while Veese gave her a one-sentence explanation of who Chas was and why she was here.

  “Don’t be afraid to talk to him,” the nurse said to Chas, “even while he’s asleep. They say it helps. Although,” she glanced at the clock, “he should be coming out of it soon. We like to bring them around a little between doses, just to see how they’re feeling and responding. I’ll just give you some time with him, and you let me know when he needs something for the pain.”

  Chas nodded and thanked her as she left the room. “Once he wakes up,” Veese said, “I’ll give the two of you some privacy. I’m not worried about him divulging any great national secrets when he’s conscious.”

  “If he does, I’ll be sure to pass them along and then conveniently forget,” she said, mildly facetious.

  He smiled at her and turned the page on the newspaper. “No wonder Leeds likes you.”

  “I like him, too,” she said and kissed Jackson’s hand. Recalling the nurse’s advice, she ignored Veese in the room and eased closer so that she could speak in a low voice near his ear. “I’m here, Jackson. I love you. I love you so much. We’re going to get through this . . . together.” He remained as he was, and she impulsively started rambling about the good times they’d had together, the holidays they’d celebrated, the things they’d helped each other through. She knew Veese was in the room, but also knew he couldn’t hear what she was saying while she whispered. She just hoped that Jackson could hear it. She needed him to know that she loved him. She loved him so much.

  CHAPTER 17

  Jackson felt himself merging into consciousness. It still took him a long moment each time to be assured that he was surrounded by the sounds and sensations of a hospital room in the blessed United States of America. Once he knew that, the rest was just a temporary inconvenience. He’d been assured often enough that the pain and illness were temporary, so he was beginning to believe that was true. And he knew from experience that he didn’t need to be awake long before he’d be given something to help him remain in oblivion while the healing took its course.

  He’d been promised that he would soon be able to actually make a phone call, and he was greatly looking forward to that moment. The nurses and agents who came in and out had offered to help him make a call, but he didn’t want to speak to Chas and sound as horrible as he felt. And for reasons he couldn’t explain, he was a little afraid to talk to her. He’d been haunted by her words when they’d last parted, that she was afraid something bad was going to happen. Maybe if he had listened to her . . . He couldn’t go there. He’d told himself a hundred times not to go there. But he couldn’t avoid the regret he felt for the choices he’d made that had led up to this disaster. And the thought of how close he’d come to leaving Chas to face life alone—again—enhanced the chronic nausea he’d been dealing with.

  Jackson came more fully awake but found it difficult to open his eyes. That was nothing new. He found some comfort in a vague sense that his dreams had been good, as opposed to what he usually experienced.
He couldn’t remember what he’d dreamt, but it had left him feeling less alone, less frightened, more prone to believing that this was going to end. Then he moved his hand and became aware that someone was holding it. He squeezed and felt the gesture returned. His heart quickened while he attempted to convince himself that this had to be his imagination.

  Chas’s heart sped up when he began to stir. She saw his expression change and knew he was conscious and that his thoughts were deep. She remained quiet and allowed him time to become more awake before she made her presence known. She felt him squeeze her hand, and her heart beat hard and fast.

  Jackson turned his head on the pillow and forced his eyes open. It took him a long moment to focus, and another long moment to accept that he wasn’t hallucinating. He felt tears slide over his temples and felt her hand wiping them away. “You’re here,” he said, his voice raspy.

  “I am,” she said, and he made a noise of disbelief.

  As they made eye contact with an intensity that was familiar, she felt such an enormous combination of sorrow and joy that she couldn’t speak. His eyes reflected her own emotions perfectly. He seemed to understand without a word spoken that the unfathomable joy of being reunited under such circumstances would not be felt without the horror that had preceded it. She finally leaned over and pressed the side of her face to his, whispering near his ear, “It is the best of times; it is the worst of times. . . .”

  “Amen,” he muttered and lifted his other hand to the back of her head, holding her close to him with a strength that surprised even him. She looked at him again, and he said, “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” She touched one side of his face, then the other, as if she could heal the wounds. “I had to see you. I had to. Veese helped me.”

  She nodded toward him, and Jackson turned just as Veese put down the paper and came to his feet. “I’ll give you a few minutes alone,” he said and opened the door.