by Neesa Hart
She laughed. “You’re right about one thing. If we’d gone to a restaurant, you’d have been mobbed. And it has little or nothing to do with me. Your presence seems to have an astounding effect on people. I noticed it at the dance recital.”
“People in Washington are easily impressed by anyone they feel is in a position to do them a favor.”
“Just tell me you don’t have to write restaurant critiques for your friend the caterer, and I won’t feel so bad.”
He laughed. “I promise. Although I could probably do a fairly impressive job of summing up the decadence of that dessert.”
“I don’t doubt it.”
“And”—he stretched out an arm to scoop up a folder he’d placed on the blanket—“speaking of articles, here’s Monday’s installment.”
“Is this the last one?”
His lips twitched. “I decided to do four. I’m a little enamored of my subject.”
She set the folder aside with a slight smile. “You’re not much for subtlety, are you?”
“Never gets you anywhere.”
Turning slightly so she could lie on her side and closely observe his face, she traced a finger along a wrinkle in his shirt. “Actually, your blunt approach seems to be having something of an effect.”
“You don’t say?”
A smile played at the corner of her mouth. “And not just on me, either. I didn’t have a chance to call you this afternoon and tell you what happened today.” She’d been getting the haircut he couldn’t seem to stop touching.
“Good news?” He twined a tendril around his finger.
“Extremely. Doctor Cornelius Van Root from the Sillred Institute read your last article.”
“I’m very impressed.”
She pinched him lightly. “You don’t have a clue who he is, do you?”
His eyes twinkled. “Guilty.”
“You know, you really should read my press releases.”
“I’d rather hear it straight from you. It turns me on to watch your lips.”
She deliberately ignored him. “Dr. Van Root is the world’s expert on cochlear implants. He’s the foremost surgeon in the field, and he specializes in difficult cases.”
His expression turned serious. “He’s interested in Amy?”
“Yes. He’s flying through Washington this weekend on his way to an international medical conference, and he’s agreed to examine her tomorrow afternoon.”
“No kidding?”
“Nope. If Dr. Van Root believes she’s a good candidate for an implant, he said he’d donate his surgical time. Wishing Star would finance the hospital costs and the implant and Amy’s transportation to California.”
“That’s great.”
“Incredibly great. I never dreamed I could get someone of Van Root’s caliber on board. Not only can he help Amy but his support of Wishing Star will go a long way toward helping hundreds of other children, too.”
“I’m glad.”
“It’s because of you.”
“It is not,” he insisted. “You’re the one doing all the work. I just write it down.”
She smiled at him. “Don’t be modest. It doesn’t suit you.”
“It’s true. I just tell stories, Cam. That’s it. The story is only as good as the person it’s about.”
“You’re a very nice man, you know.”
His hands tightened at her waist. “I’m awfully glad you think so.”
She laid her head against his chest again. “Anyway, the piece you did on Amy was more than I could ever have hoped. I’m very sorry I doubted you.”
“You’re forgiven.”
Several heartbeats passed while she gathered her courage. “Jackson?”
“Hmm?” He sounded sleepy.
“I—I don’t think I ever thanked you for what you did the other night.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“Neither did you.” She held his gaze. “I know it wasn’t exactly a walk in the park for you.”
“You were hurting, Cammy. I wanted to be there for you.”
“I don’t think you can possibly understand what that means to me.”
“You don’t?”
“No.”
“I do.”
She lifted her eyebrows. “What do you mean?”
“Honey, you sat in a tree house with me and listened.” He brushed a tendril of hair off her forehead. “You didn’t push me. You didn’t lecture me. You even resisted the urge to share your analysis.” He managed a slight smile. “You just listened to me. No one’s ever done that before.”
Her eyebrows knit together. “No one?”
“Not that I remember. My job, hell, my life, is made up of people who want something from me. You’re the first person I’ve known in a long time who just takes me as I am.”
“That’s what friends are for, Jackson.”
“How do you know?”
She smoothed the frown from between his forehead. “I have friends, you know?”
“I know. I just don’t like to think of how much crap you carry alone. It shouldn’t be like that.”
Long seconds passed while she studied his face. “No one should grieve alone,” she finally said. “Not even you.”
A long breath left his body. “You know, don’t you?” he asked.
“That you want to talk about Leo?”
He nodded.
“Yes. I know.”
“How do you know?”
“You read faces for a living, and follow your instincts. I read faces, too. I just have different reasons.
I’ve known since you walked into my office tonight.”
“Do you mind?”
“Of course I don’t mind. I think you need to talk about it, and I’m very glad you’re willing to share it with me.”
“I thought you wanted me to call Costas.”
“I think Mike could help you professionally.” She laid her hand against the column of his neck. “But I’m not going to listen to you as your doctor, I’m going to listen as your friend.” Her thumb skimmed his jaw. “I’ll take whatever you want to give me.”
He swallowed. Hard. Then he pressed her head against his chest again. “I know how hard it was for you to trust me about your mom. I want you to know that.”
“Yes. It was.”
“At first I thought I could give you this so you’d feel like we were even.”
“Psychological tit for tat?”
“Something like that.”
“But now?”
“I don’t want to carry it around anymore.”
She nodded. “I understand. Make the pass, Jackson. It won’t be nearly as hard as you think.”
Almost a full minute passed while he wrestled with demons and she waited, still and silent.
“He had so much life,” he said at last. “There was an energy in Leo that just sparkled. The entire time I was with his family, I kept trying to figure out how to get them out of there.”
“How long have you had this addiction to saving the world?”
“Years. I guess. I think it started when Billy Phillips tried to beat up my sister in fifth grade.”
“Only jerks beat up girls.”
“Jordan wasn’t exactly a typical girl. I think she took the first swing.”
“And Billy swung back?”
“Yeah. He was twice my size, but I couldn’t stand it. I dove on him and started beating the snot out of him.”
“Did you get hurt?”
“Split lip.”
“What about Billy?”
“Broken nose and a black eye.” She heard the slight smile in his voice. It felt like a positive sign.
“And you saved Jordan?”
“I thought so, anyway. It felt good.”
“So you kept on doing it.”
“When the opportunity presented itself. I told you the other day that I’ve seen a lot of kids get stepped on. It bugs me.”
“That’s what makes you a good person.”
/> “With Leo’s family, though,” he shrugged, “it was different.” The tip of his forefinger traced a lazy path over her hand. “I needed to save them. For Leo’s sake, I needed it.”
“Did they want saving?”
“I don’t know. They’d never known another life. Especially not Leo and his brothers and sisters. Even before his father’s death, they were used to dodging sniper fire on their way to the market.”
“What was a day in the life of Leo like?”
His chest ached with the force of emotion. “Explosions and gunfire echoed through the streets. Everything was dirty, half-burned or destroyed. Leo thought nothing of finding a corpse in the street. He usually checked the body for valuables without even breaking his conversation with me. It’s how they survived. He stole almost everything for them. His sister’s prized possession was a plastic necklace he’d swiped from a dead tourist.”
“And you hated it.”
“What I hated was the fact that adult problems had stolen his childhood.” He paused. “I loved that kid. In many ways, he reminded me of myself. He had big dreams. Somehow, in the middle of all that, he’d managed to hold on to his wonder.”
She smoothed her hand across his shoulder in a gentling caress. “What happened the day he died?” she finally asked.
A silent war raged in him. The tension in his muscles, the shallow rhythm of his breathing, the tightening of his hands on her shoulders all told her he was struggling. “I wanted an ending for the series,” he said. “I wanted something that would show the stark contrast between Leo’s life and the war on the streets. Somehow, I felt like I could capture that juxtaposition and make the war stop. If the war stopped, Leo’s life would become normal. It sounds crazy.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
He uttered a harsh curse. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I was so captured by the entire thing—more involved than I should have been. It wasn’t just a story. It’s always supposed to be about the story. But it wasn’t. I was seriously involved this time.”
“That doesn’t make you a bad person, Jackson. You know that.”
He ignored her. “I took risks. I let Leo take risks.”
“Jackson—”
“No.” His voice sounded raw. “You don’t understand. For days, Leo had been offering to take me into the west quarter of the city. The fighting is the worst there. It’s dangerous, and I knew it. I wouldn’t let him go.”
“But on that day, you did?”
“Yes.” He fell silent. “Aren’t you going to ask me why?”
“Do you know why?”
“Because I’m a selfish bastard.”
She shook her head. “No. You couldn’t have known what would happen.”
“Would you let a kid guide you into the southeast section of this city?’’
She leaned back to meet his gaze. The ravaged look in his eyes hurt her. She had to carefully school her expression. “That’s a ridiculous question. Did you consider, even once, that you might be putting Leo in danger?”
He hesitated. “He made it easy to forget how young he was.”
“He knew the streets, Jackson. He knew how to survive.”
“I shouldn’t have let him go.”
“How exactly did he get caught in that explosion?”
His eyes drifted shut. “The guy driving the car stopped it in the middle of the street and fled. He left the driver door open. Leo wanted the radio. He took off for the car before I could stop him.”
“You suspected the bomb?”
“Something made the driver abandon the vehicle.”
“And before you realized it, Leo was in the car?”
“I was instructing my photographer. I turned around in time to see him climbing in. I shouted. He waved to me. And it blew up.”
“Oh, Jackson.” She pressed herself tight against him. “I’m so sorry.”
“The force of the blast ripped through a building. Everyone was screaming. I ran for the car. I pulled what was left of him out of the wreckage.”
“I saw the picture.” The photo of Jackson, surrounded by a ball of fire, carrying a badly burned child, had run in every newspaper in the country.
“My photographer took it.”
Long moments passed. She wrapped her arms tightly around him, trying to absorb some of his grief. “Was Leo dead when you reached him?” she asked quietly.
“No.” His body shuddered. “I got him away from the car. He was still breathing. Most of his body was burned. He was in horrible pain. I kept talking to him, telling him I’d get help, threatening him. I did everything I could think of.” His expression was ravaged. “The last thing he did was ask for his mother.” Wetness made his eyes gleam.
An answering tear slid down her cheek. “Have you told anyone else this story?”
He shook his head. “I finished my last article for AW, then I helped Leo’s mother take care of the funeral arrangements. I dug his grave myself. I begged her to let me relocate her, but she wouldn’t budge. Her entire life was there. I left her some money.” He threw his head back with a harsh groan. “God. I took her kid, and I left her a thousand dollars in cash. What the hell does that say about me?”
“What do you think it says?” Her heart was breaking, but she carefully prodded him for the whole truth.
He wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “It says I’m a self-interested asshole who cared more about a damned story than I did about a kid’s life. And now,” he went on ruthlessly, “they want to give me an award for it—a bunch of ’em, in fact. In the eyes of my media colleagues, I’m a hero because I didn’t let my personal feelings get in the way of the story. I let a kid get blown up so the world could know what a rotten life he had. Can you believe that?”
She gripped his upper arms. “Do you believe it?”
“Of course I believe it, Cam. Leo’s dead, it’s my fault, and I walk away from the whole thing with awards and honors for my trouble.”
Long seconds passed. His heart beat a pounding rhythm against her ear. “Is it true?” she finally asked.
“Is what true?”
“Is it true that you cared more about the story than you did about Leo?”
She felt him stop breathing, felt the stillness settle on his large frame. His mind virtually hummed while he probed the darkness within, looking for answers.
Cammy laid her hand against his face. “Find anything?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“Want some help?”
“Desperately.”
“If you’d known that car was going to explode, would you have taken Leo into that part of the city?’’
“No.”
“If someone had told you that helping you would get him injured, much less killed, would you have allowed him to tag along?”
“No. Absolutely no.”
“But you’ve convicted yourself anyway?”
He looked at her with a blank expression. “What?”
“If you believe it’s your fault, despite the evidence to the contrary, then I can’t talk you out of it. Do you want me to try?” He probed her with his gaze. She shrugged. “Ask yourself this question: what could I say to change your mind?”
He stared at her for long seconds. “Nothing,” he answered.
“Exactly. No matter what I say, you’re going to believe that Leo died because of you until you’re ready to believe otherwise.” She laid a hand against his cheek. “It doesn’t matter that the man I know would have given his life for that child. Or that I believe Jackson Puller is an honorable, decent, caring human being who would never put his aspirations above the welfare of another person. Or that you would have done anything in your power to prevent Leo’s death.”
“Cammy—”
“It was awful, Jackson. I know that. I can’t even imagine what the experience was like for you. Life hurts. Sometimes, it downright devastates. What happened wasn’t fair or right or good, but because of you—because of your memories, and your
stories, and your strength—a part of Leo is still alive. Sooner or later, that part will be the thing that heals you.”
“Sometimes I think it’s going to kill me.”
“I know. It sneaks up on you, doesn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“And there are times when you think you can’t take another breath because the pain is so bad?”
“Yes.”
“But then you do, and the world keeps moving, and you keep moving, and the next thing you know, you have it almost under control again.”
“Something like that.”
“Grief takes time, Jackson. It hurts, but it finally passes. It is the guilt that will destroy you. You’ve got to find a way to let it go.”
“How am I supposed to do that?”
She smoothed the lines from around his eye with her fingertip. “All right. Let’s say it was your fault.” His eyes widened, but she continued. “Let’s say you were reckless and you subjected yourself, your photographer, and Leo to unnecessary danger. If that’s true, it was a dreadful mistake. You showed a serious lapse in judgment, and as a result, someone else got hurt. Did you mean for it to happen?”
“No.”
“Did you know there would be a bombing that day?”
“Of course not. Cam, I—”
“Wasn’t sniper fire the most serious danger in the area?”
“Probably.”
“And did you already consider that a young native child wasn’t at any real risk from the snipers? Didn’t an American journalist and photographer provide larger, more likely targets?”
He paused. “Yes.”
“Did your photographer feel that the danger was too great a risk? Did he try to talk you out of going to that sector that day?”
“No.”
“So ask yourself,” she said quietly. “Did you really contribute to Leo’s death, or was it an unbelievably tragic set of circumstances that happened to catch you in the middle?”
“I don’t know.”
“And you don’t have to know,” she assured him. “Not now. But even if you made a terrible mistake, a mistake with horrible consequences, it doesn’t have to destroy you.” She paused as she studied the intense look in his eyes. The subtle shift in his expression told her he was starting to come back to her. “I can forgive you,” she whispered as she trailed her fingers over his eyebrow, “because there’s nothing to forgive. But you can’t forgive yourself right now. If I could, I’d absorb all this pain for you.”