Edgewood Series: Books 1 - 3

by Karen McQuestion

  “Well, if you insist. Thank you.”

  “We insist,” Mr. Bernstein said.

  “Of course, we can’t literally award you a medal,” she said. “And for security reasons, there won’t be a ceremony. This is more or less an understanding between us.”

  “So I can’t take it home with me?” The mental image I’d had of posting it on Facebook instantly vanished.

  “Well no. Because you won’t actually be getting a medal. And you can’t tell anyone about it. Officially, it will be like it never happened.”

  Seeing my disappointed look, Mr. Bernstein said, “But you’ll know what you did, and so will we. That’s another hallmark of a true hero. They don’t do it for the glory.”

  President Bernstein said, “If I could change the topic?”

  “Of course.” Her husband and I said the words at the same time. Even sitting in bed wearing a hospital gown, she had an air of authority.

  “I understand, Russ, that you will be escorting our daughter to the Presidential Black Tie Bash?”

  “Yes ma’am.”

  “I have been briefed about the threat, and as a mother, I’m very worried, but as the leader of the country, I know the importance of not letting the enemy see our vulnerability. We will not let the Associates see us cower in fear. The Presidential Bash will go on as scheduled. I know I can rely on you and your friends to protect Layla.”

  “Absolutely,” I said. “You can count on us.”

  Mr. Bernstein said, “My daughter can be a firecracker, Russ. She’s been given special treatment for far too long and it’s gone to her head. Don’t let her intimidate you.”

  “I won’t, sir.”

  He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “I have to warn you that she can be rather bossy. Pushy, at times. It’s not really her fault. It’s a family trait.” He grinned at his wife who smiled back.

  “Yes sir.” Clearly the night of the Bash would be full of challenges. I thought about my last encounter with Layla and found myself blushing. To get my mind off the thought of her knee working its way up to my crotch I said, “As long as I’m here, I’d like to do another healing session, if I could.”

  “Of course,” President Bernstein said.

  “It would help me if you would lie flat,” I said, instructing the president. “And then close your eyes and stay completely still.” As it turned out, Layla Bernstein wasn’t the only one capable of being bossy.

  This time around when I had finished, I sensed that the healing energy had completely saturated every inch of her being. I rubbed my hands together and wiggled my fingers. I said, “I’m finished.” President Bernstein opened her eyes and I knew she had completely recovered. Her color was good, her eyes sparkled, and energy pulsated off of her body. Such a difference from a few days ago. “Aren’t you getting kind of tired of lying in that bed?” I asked.

  “Funny you should mention it,” she said, sitting up. “I was just thinking that I’ve been away from the office for far too long.” The president swung her legs over the side of the bed, holding her hand out for her husband’s assistance. “If you’ll excuse me, Russ, I think I need to get dressed and get back to work.”

  “Of course.” I nodded.

  “Thank you, again,” Mr. Bernstein said. “I am very grateful.” Tears came to his eyes.

  “No problem,” I said. “Glad to help.”

  “We’ll see you at the Bash,” the president said.

  “Okay, see you then.” We said our good-byes and I left pretty quickly after that. Seeing me come out the door, Dr. Karke, who lurked in the hallway, rushed back in. As I made my way to the elevator, I heard him say, “President Bernstein, you shouldn’t be out of bed—”

  And the president’s voice thundered, “Karke, get out!”

  When I heard Karke’s footsteps scrabbling out the door, I had to smile. The president was back.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Nadia

  I listened in the next room as Dad called the PG official and explained that I could go on the Washington D.C. trip after all. He didn't go into details about his change of mind, for which I was thankful. My mother's attack was on record with both the police department and the hospital, so it wasn't a secret, but I didn't think announcing it to the world was the way to go. When I heard Dad say, “Okay, wait a second while I grab a pen,” I knew for sure things were going my way.

  After he hung up, I stuck my head in the doorway. “Well?”

  “They still want you.” He grinned. “They gave me a number to call in about half an hour to find out the flight arrangements. You'll leave this afternoon.”

  Hearing those words, my heart nearly burst with happiness. I know that sounds dramatic, but it was true. Over and over all I could think was that I'd get to see Russ. I wasn't going to be left out. I was going to be part of this mission. Meeting the president and going to the Bash? That was frosting on the cupcake as far as I was concerned. I didn't care what the mission was, I just wanted to be there because it meant being part of something big with Russ at my side. It could have been a mission reviewing dinner at Denny's for all I cared. The important thing was that I'd be there when it happened.

  My suitcase and carry-on were packed by the time Dad made the second call. He was relieved to find out they'd be sending a car for me because his mind was really with Mom at the hospital and taking me to the airport was one less thing to worry about.

  When a black limo pulled up in front of our house right after lunchtime, I turned to Dad and said, “I guess this is it.” One of our neighbors, the very nosy Mr. Johnson who had nothing better to do since he retired, came out on his porch to stare. Limousines weren’t a common sight in our neighborhood. Mr. Johnson held his hand over his forehead to get a shaded view.

  Dad helped me carry my bags out. “I'm going to miss you, Nadia.” He patted my shoulder and sighed. “But this is for the best, I think. When you get home things will be better.”

  “I think so too.”

  The limo driver got out and shook Dad's hand, then wordlessly loaded my things into the back. “Take good care of my daughter,” Dad said.

  “Yes sir,” came the muffled reply from the back of the vehicle.

  “Thanks for letting me go on the trip, Dad,” I said.

  He held me by the shoulders before giving me a fierce hug. “They said I won't be able to call you once you’re in D.C. so you’ll be on your own kiddo, but know that I'll be thinking about you. Your mom and I are really proud of you and we love you,” he said, his voice overcome with emotion. “I will miss you.”

  “I know. I’ll miss you too. Tell Mom I love her.” It was easy to be generous with words of love when I was getting what I wanted, but there was more to it than that. Since my mom had been hospitalized I realized that I really did love her. All this time I'd resented her and saw her as the enemy, when it suddenly clicked that the part of her I hated wasn't really her at all. The harsh words, the mean decisions—all of that came from the disease of her mind. Her paranoia and fear were holding me prisoner. Underneath it all was still the mother I remembered from when I was a little girl, the one who read me picture books, sang me to sleep, and took me to the park. Our relationship for the last several years was so horrendous I’d almost forgotten that things had once been different. Maybe in the future it could be different too.

  After I waved good-bye to my father and we’d pulled away from the curb, I left the problems of home behind me. Being in a limo would normally have been exciting, but the experience didn’t fully resonate because my thoughts were already in Washington D.C. with Russ. At home I didn’t wear the spiral ring he’d given me, because my parents would question it, but now I felt comfortable taking it out of my bag and slipping it onto my finger. I tilted my hand underneath the sunlight coming through the limo window, and smiled at the way the gem stone glistened. Russ’s words about the spirals echoed in my memory: symbolizing our interlocking lives and our never-ending love. Our interlocking lives and never-end
ing love. I couldn’t wait to see him again.

  The plan was that I would be flying from Milwaukee to a second airport, and from there taking a connecting flight. Once I’d landed in D.C., I’d be escorted by a PG official, but in the meantime, I was on my own. My Dad had said that they'd apologized for the flight arrangements. Ideally they'd have given me a nonstop flight, but since it was so last minute this was the best they could do. I didn't care. As long as I made it in time for the Bash, that was the important thing.

  The first flight was uneventful. It wasn’t until I got to the second airport that things fell apart. Once I disembarked, I pulled out my boarding pass to see the time difference between flights. Two hours. Plenty of time to find my gate, and once I was there I could grab something to eat. The next flight would be shorter. And then I’d be on my way to Russ.

  That was the plan anyway.

  When I got off the plane, I found an open seat where I could watch the monitor above the desk to be sure my D.C. flight was still listed as being on time. And it was on time, right until it wasn't.

  “Attention passengers of Flight 1709,” a woman's voice said over the loudspeaker. I looked up to see a perky young woman talking into a microphone behind the counter. “Due to extreme weather conditions, all flights have been cancelled. Your luggage can be picked up on carousel four.”

  All around me other passengers grumbled and muttered profanities. I think I had my mouth open for about three minutes because I was totally in shock. Weather conditions? How could that be? All of us collectively wondered what in the world she was talking about. The view through the floor-to-ceiling windows told us it was gorgeous outside. Sunny with a light breeze. At home the weather had been the same and I’d heard birds chirping while I got a whiff of my neighbor’s freshly mown grass. It was the kind of day where flowers smiled while woodland animals helped a Disney princess dress for the ball. It was definitely not the kind of day where a flight would be cancelled because of extreme weather conditions. Please. Around me people gathered up their things and began to line up at the counter to find out their options. All of us had somewhere we wanted to be and it wasn’t here.

  As the line inched forward people relayed information to the others in line saying that the reason for the cancellation had nothing to do with the weather where we were, and everything to do with the weather in the flight path. Dangerous wind currents or some crap like that. If it made us feel any better, we were told that all of the flights in the airport, not just ours, had been cancelled. It didn't make me feel any better.

  When I got within earshot of the desk, I heard each person making a case for getting on the next possible flight. One man was going to his brother's wedding, another guy would be seeing his girlfriend for the first time in months, and an elderly woman was taking her little granddaughter to see a doctor, a specialist. The little girl, cute as a button, but obviously thin and sick, with a scarf over her head, had a rare form of cancer. "The doctor fit us in," the grandmother wailed, wiping away tears with a tissue. "He usually has a three month wait for an appointment, but he worked us into his schedule because her case is so serious. We can’t miss our appointment." The airline representatives (now there were two behind the desk) tapped on their keyboards, looking for options. For the grandmother I think they made a special exception because I saw the employee lean over the counter and whisper something the rest of us couldn't hear.

  I had a bad feeling that my excuse—a student trip to D.C.—wasn't going to cut it. Bit by bit the line moved forward. Each person dragged their bags or moved them ahead with a shove of their foot. I had my backpack slung over my shoulder. I held it there until my muscles ached and I was forced to put it on the floor.

  When it was my turn at the counter, the woman didn’t even look up. Her head was tipped down so far her chin seemed to be pinning down the jaunty red scarf looped around her neck. “Flight 1709?”

  “Yes,” I said, putting my boarding pass on the ledge. “I need to get on the next available flight. It’s really important.”

  She still didn’t meet my gaze, but her eyes crinkled in amusement. I had the feeling that this wasn’t the first time she’d heard that. She tapped at the keyboard, “The next available flight is on Sunday at two o’clock.”

  “Sunday at two o’clock?” I couldn’t keep the shock out of my voice. “No way.”

  She looked up. “That’s two o’clock in the afternoon. You’re arrival time will be 3:57.”

  “No, you don’t understand,” I said putting both hands flat on the counter and leaning forward. “I can’t fly on Sunday. I have to be in Washington D.C. as soon as possible.”

  “Believe me, I do understand,” she said gently. “All of these people have to be there as soon as possible.” She gestured to the line behind me, which snaked back as far as I could see. “But you have to understand that we only have so many flights. We’re working to get everyone to their destinations as soon as possible. If you want, I can refund your money and you can make other arrangements.” Her frustration and weariness rolled off her in waves. I knew she was having a bad day, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t having such a great time myself.

  “I don’t want a refund. I want a flight out of here.” Why did other people get what they wanted while I had to struggle for everything? I wanted to cry but I wasn’t going to. For years I’d been Nadia the one who never protested, the girl who just went along with what other people wanted, but today I was pulling out a reserve of strength I didn’t even know I had. Love could do that to a person. “I understand that you have to accommodate everyone but you seem to be able to make exceptions. How come you found a way for that little girl and her grandmother to get to Washington D.C. today?”

  She looked up now and I saw that the red scarf around her neck was knotted in the front. She leaned forward and whispered. “Yes, we made an exception for that woman, but it was a matter of life and death.” Her eyebrows narrowed in irritation. “A child’s life.”

  “Well I’m legally a child, and my getting to Washington D.C. is a matter of life and death too,” I said. “So I need for you to make an exception for me too.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Russ

  The Praetorian Guard decided that I needed to get together one on one with Layla Bernstein one more time and since she had a gap in her schedule this morning and I was already up, Dr. Wentworth said I could go right from the hospital to the White House. “Carly’s going to wonder what happened to me,” I said.

  “Don’t worry about Carly.” Dr. Wentworth guided me down the hallway with her hand against my back. “I’ll fill her in later this morning.”

  She said it so nonchalantly it was clear she was clueless about how angry Carly would be when she discovered they’d taken me somewhere without her. I wouldn’t want to be Dr. Wentworth during that conversation. At my house, Carly’s wrath was legend.

  “I’m not sure why I have to get together with Layla again,” I said. “I mean, we’ve already talked and she thinks we met in Miami.”

  “The Guard feels it’s important to cement your relationship.”

  "There's really no relationship," I told Dr. Wentworth, as we approached the elevators that would take me topside. "I'm just her date for the evening of the Bash. We did dance lessons back home, so that’s covered, and I know how to make small talk. I really don’t get why we’re doing this.”

  “So you’re saying you don’t want to do it?”

  “Well, of course I’ll do it,” I said. “I just don’t think it’s completely necessary.”

  “I know, Russ, and I agree,” she said. "But it's really not up to me. If it makes you feel any better, we all have to do things we don't want to do for the benefit of the greater good.”

  “It's not that I don't want to get together with Layla,” I said. "I just don't think it's the best use of my time.” I was tired too, something I hated to admit. I'd just come from doing a healing session at the hospital and it had worn me out. Not that it was
n't worth it to save the president, but it did come at a personal cost.

  “I think you can spare a few hours,” she said dryly, pressing the button for the elevator. "You know, a lot of guys your age wouldn't find spending time with Layla to be such a hardship.”

  "It's not a hardship. It’s just…”

  “What?” The elevator doors opened; she held it with one hand.

  “The last time we got together she was really pushy.”

  “What do you mean? How so?”

  I was starting to regret even mentioning this. “I mean physically pushy.”

  “She pushed you? Like an attack?”

  “No, the opposite.” How to put this? “She was encroaching on my private space.”

  “Like making moves on you?” Dr. Wentworth’s eyebrows raised in amusement.

  I nodded. “I think I’m going to have to tell her I have a girlfriend.”

  Dr. Wentworth barked out a laugh and patted my arm. “Oh Russ, you’ve totally made my day.”

  She was still chuckling as the elevator doors closed and I dreaded the thought that she’d be sharing this story with the rest of the staff. I wished I’d had the chance to explain that it wasn’t that I couldn’t handle Layla’s advances. I could. It’s just that I didn’t need her stuck barnacle-like to my front while I was trying to scope out a banquet hall looking for Associates. Not only that, but I wasn’t attracted to her that way, although I had a feeling that under certain circumstances my body might respond as if I were attracted to her that way, which could be really embarrassing.

  I tried thinking about things that were not sex all the way to the White House and even while waiting in the same sitting room that Mallory, Jameson, and I had been in the last time I’d been there. I sat opposite the oil painting of the gray-haired woman in a bonnet, the one who’d stared down disapprovingly at Jameson. She didn’t look like someone who’d ever had sex or took much pleasure in anything, for that matter. Yes, as long as I had the image of that old woman in my mind I’d be in complete control.