A chapter ago I said that I'd not do another emotional or long story. I guess I stated a falsehood. This is turning into one of my epic stories and will be a multi-parter. It's the kind of story that I like to write (and to read). I know going in that it will not get many reviews/comments since it is not what it seems that most of you want to read. I wrote it for me and a few others. If the rest of you like it - so be it. If not - so be that, too. (kkbug it's got emotion. Hope you like it.) I can write fluff, I have written fluff, I will write fluff again in the future. I like fluffy stories. Just not a steady diet of them.
A number of people have influenced this tale: my new friend Carrie from the UK (who does not dwell here in the CA fandom); Sue (who knows what role she played in sparking part of this) and Mandy58 of course.
I own nothing of Covert Affairs.
The sound of pounding roused Auggie from his slumber. It took a minute or so for his sleep fogged brain to discern what the sound was and where it came from – someone was knocking loudly on the front door. 'The front door', he thought as he stumbled sleepily down the hall. 'Nobody uses the front door'.
"I'm coming," he yelled as he turned the corner from the hallway into the living room and the pounding got louder. "Who is it?" he asked as he located and undid the deadbolt lock on the door.
"Virginia State Police," came the reply. "Would you open the door, please?"
"Sure. Just a minute," Auggie said nervously as he twisted the thumb latch in the middle of the knob. "What's this all about?" he asked as he opened the door and stood there in nothing but his sleep pants.
"Does a Christopher Austin Anderson live here?"
"Yeah. Sort of. He's my son, but he's supposed to be in Illinois at college," Auggie replied with uncertainty. "Why do you want to know?" Auggie was fully awake now.
"There was an accident out on I-495 near the George Washington Parkway interchange involving a Mercedes with Illinois plates registered to an Austin James Anderson and driven by a young man with Christopher Austin Anderson's wallet and Virginia driver's license in it in his pocket."
"Austin is my brother, Christopher is my son. Is he …"
"No. He's not dead that we know of, but he is reportedly seriously hurt. We were sent to notify anyone living at this address that he's at Georgetown University Hospital."
Auggie sighed deeply, fighting back the need to cry. "If you haven't figured it out already, I'm blind. My wife and daughter are out of town. Could you give me a couple of minutes to get some clothes on and give me a ride to the hospital? I'm not going to be able to get a driver or cab to take me there for several hours."
"Yeah, I guess we can do that."
Auggie fumbled with the light switches beside the doorframe. "Come in and have a seat while I quickly get some clothes on. Hopefully that gave you enough light," he said before rushing down the hall as fast as he could, nearly tripping over Piper in the process. The small dog yelped in surprise. In the bedroom he pulled off his sleep pants, leaving them in a heap on the floor, and pulled on the pair of jean shorts lying on the floor beside the bed and then pulled the first shirt his hands touched in the bureau drawer over his head. After slipping his feet into a pair of thong sandals he made a quick detour to the back door to grab his cane, cell phone and keys from their place on the counter before returning to the living room and the waiting VSP officer.
Once out the door, Auggie took the officer's arm. With only a little bit of awkwardness the officer got Auggie to the patrol car and even placed his hand on the door handle.
"I'm sorry Mr. Anderson," the youngish officer began, "but I'm going to have to put you in the back. I just hope any nosey neighbors don't think you've been arrested."
"Oh, they'd know better," Auggie admitted. "Or at least I hope they would."
"Can I ask you something?" the officer asked as he put the vehicle in gear and began to back out of the drive.
"Yeah. I guess. Do I need a lawyer?"
"Lawyer? No, of course not. What I wanted to know was how you knew I was a cop if you couldn't see the uniform? I could have been anyone."
"Trust. I just had to trust that you weren't someone playing a sick joke on me, or there to bash in the head of whomever answered the door. Then I heard the crackle of the radio on your shoulder. Then I was sure. This accident … was my boy at fault?"
"Preliminary observations are that he was not. Every indication is that the other driver was going north in the southbound lanes. There was the strong smell of alcohol on his breath, but we won't know how impaired he was until we get the tox screen back."
Auggie sighed in frustration. "That information … doesn't make anything easier. Honestly, how badly hurt is my son?"
"I couldn't say, sir. All I know is that they called for the MedStar helicopter. They don't do that for DOA, or for minor stuff."
"And the other guy?"
"You don't want to know. All I can say that your son was very lucky. We're just crossing the Potomac on Chain Bridge Road. We'll be at the hospital soon."
For the rest of the short trip to the hospital Auggie rode in silence. He prepared himself for the worst; prayed for the best; and knew it would be somewhere in-between.
Once they reached the Emergency Room entrance at Georgetown University Hospital, the officer parked the squad and took Auggie into the ER. There he pulled one of the ER nurses aside. "Where's the young man from the crash out on 495? I've got his father here."
"I think they took him to surgery. I'll check," the woman said and hurried off. She was back in a few minutes. "Christopher Anderson? Is that who you're looking for?"
"Yeah. Christopher is my son," Auggie said nervously. "Can you take me to him?" He raised his right hand holding his folded up cane so that he knew she saw it.
"The young Mr. Anderson is in surgery. I'll get an orderly to take you up to that waiting room." And she was gone again.
A few minutes later an orderly approached. "Mr. Anderson, I'll take you up to the surgery waiting room," he said as he took Auggie's arm. The VSP officer touched Auggie on the arm and bid him 'Good Luck'.
"It works better if I take yours," Auggie said as he broke the grip the man had on his arm and moved his hand so that he was gripping the other man's elbow. He followed the man – as if he really had a choice in that – through the maze of corridors, up the elevator, and through another maze of hallways. Even if he'd been paying close attention he doubted that he could retrace his steps.
Eventually the man stopped walking. "Here's the surgical waiting area. There's no one here but you."
"Do you mind showing me to a seat?" Auggie asked as the orderly started to walk away.
"There's a sofa just to your right. Just scoot over a couple of inches and you'll find it."
Auggie reached to his right and did find the arm to a piece of furniture. "Ah, okay. Sorry."
"S'all right," the man said as he headed off the way they'd come.
After a quick orientation of what was indeed a sofa, Auggie sank onto it. He leaned forward resting his forearms on his thighs. He sat there thinking about everyone he needed to contact: Annie of course. But it was the middle of the night and he really didn't want to call her until he had something to report more than Christopher had been in an accident and was in surgery. Then he should call Austin.
And Langley. He needed to call the office and tell them that he needed a few days – or would it be weeks?—off of work. At that though he sighed deeply. There was so much going on that was coming to a head. He could stall and put some of it off for a day or two … The phone in his pocket rang. He fished it out and answered it.
"Yeah?"
"Auggie, where are you?" the voice was that of the Director of National Intelligence – his boss.
"I'm at the hospital in a surgical waiting room," Auggie replied automatically.
"How is Christopher doing? Or do you not know anything yet?" the DNI asked gently.
"I just got here. All I know is that he was hit head-on by a wrong way driver on the 495; was air-lifted here to Georgetown University Hospital, and is in surgery. What kind of surgery I don't know," Auggie said wearily. He didn't even have to wonder how the DNI knew what had happened. He knew how he knew. One less call to make.
"Take a few days off. Keep us posted as soon as you can. I'd like to give you more than a few days, but …"
"I know. I understand," Auggie said with resignation.
"Have you talked to your wife yet?"
"No. Wanted to wait until I could tell her the extent of Chris' injuries and a prognosis. Right now, I don't have either."
"I can suppress this information for a few hours. I hope that's enough time for you to get in touch with Annie. I doubt that I can keep it off the local airwaves though."
"As long as the media isn't camping out in the hospital lobby and hounding me. Or Annie when she gets here. … Chip, I've got to go. Thanks for calling." Auggie ended the call. He thought he'd heard someone come into the room, but apparently he was mistaken.
Auggie went back to waiting. He hated waiting and waiting rooms as a general rule. This morning it was pure agony. He tried to use the time by sorting out what on his desk at work could be delegated to someone else, what simply had to have his touch or attention, and what he could simply set aside until he had the time and concentration to deal with effectively. That's what he tried to do, but his mind kept diverting to thoughts of his son: his birth, his first day of school, memorable T-ball and later baseball games, his son's graduation as valedictorian of his class not that long ago. And he could not help but wonder what Christopher was doing on that section of road when he was supposed to be at school in Illinois.
An exasperated sigh escaped Auggie as he checked his watch. It was approaching 6:00 AM and time that he needed to be calling Annie. He'd been here a little over three hours and he still had nothing to tell her. Now he was irritated, too. He wanted answers and he wanted them now. He picked his cane up from the floor between his feet, stood up and unfolded his cane. Sweeping his cane in a wide arc on the floor he oriented himself to the room. Turning to his left he moved forward until the echoes of his cane indicated that he was in a long narrow hallway. After listening intently for a few moments, he turned to his left and slowly, but confidently, walked down the hallway, left hand gently trailing the wall. He stopped to investigate every opening in the wall. Three doors down he found a door that wasn't locked. Behind it the faint sounds of a heart monitor and other surgical suite sounds. He pushed the door open and took a few steps inside.
"Sir, you're not supposed to be in here," the brusque female said.
"Didn't see the sign," Auggie stated lifting his cane a bit. "I'm looking for information on Christopher Anderson. I've been in the waiting room for hours without a single word of him."
"And just who are you?"
"August Anderson. His father. If you'll tell me where he is and what's happening with him I'll leave. But not one minute before." Unconsciously he drew himself up to his full height and squared his shoulders imposingly.
"I think that's who they're just finishing up with. Wait here while I make sure," she said moving off to the right.
In front of him Auggie heard swinging doors opening and closing with a gently flapping.
"What's going on here?" a gruff authoritarian male voice said. "You're not supposed to be in this area. Medical personnel only."
"He's looking for word of his son – Christopher Anderson. The guy you just finished with," the female from before said.
"Oh. But still. Not supposed to be here," the still gruff male voice said over the sound of removal of surgical gloves. The faint smell of surgical scrub and blood reached Auggie. His son's blood? "If you'll come with me, I'll give you what information I can."
"Auggie Anderson," Auggie said, shifting his cane to his left hand and extending his right. "And you are?"
"Dr. Greg Peterson. I'm an orthopedic surgeon, but still pretty well versed in the other injuries the young man sustained," Dr. Peterson said as he firmly shook Auggie's hand. "I'm sorry, Mr. Anderson …"
"Sorry about what?" Auggie interrupted while a feeling of dread came over him.
A comforting hand touched Auggie's arm. "Sorry that we didn't know that you were here for him. I would have come out and explained things to you. Come with me and I'll let you know what's happened medically and what we hope are your son's chances."
Auggie took the surgeon's arm and followed him to a small room across the hall. His feeling of dread had abated a bit, but had not completely left him. There was an edginess to the man's voice that hid something. The surgeon moved two chairs around in the room. "There's a seat there just to your right," he said. Auggie swept his arm slightly and found the back of the chair and then sat down in the arm chair. The doctor sat facing Auggie without the usual barrier of a desk between them. To Auggie it felt as if they were almost knee to knee.
"Despite the airbags, your son took a beating in that car he was in. From what I heard it was a violent head-on wreck that the other guy did not survive. Your son is very lucky just to be alive."
Auggie swallowed hard. 'Lucky to be alive' usually meat something serious, possible life-changing had happened.
"He's got a nasty gash on his head that looks worse than it is. CAT showed no fractures, brain bleeds, or bruising. Both bones in his right forearm were broken – clean breaks – it's been set and will heal nicely. Internally there's no sign of serious injury; some bruising, but that should do okay. His lower legs were very badly damaged."
The doctor paused for a moment. Too long in Auggie's opinion. "Okay, what are you trying not to have to tell me," Auggie said guardedly.
"Both his lower legs were seriously mangled. I think I managed to save the right. There wasn't much I could do for the left. I regret that I had to, but I had to amputate his left leg just below the knee."
The news that his son had just lost part of his leg hit Auggie like a blow to the gut. For a moment he thought he was going to be physically sick. He swallowed hard.
"It's not the end of the world for him," the surgeon said compassionately. "There is life after amputation. With the state of prostheses today, he'll still be able to do just about anything that he wants to do."
"Oh, I know that. I wasn't born blind," Auggie said pointedly. "His right leg. You said you think you've saved it. If you did, will it be functional? I've known men, and women, whose limbs were saved, but eventually they opted for amputation so they could get a prosthesis and actually be functional. I don't want that for my boy. Better to lose them both now and go forward from there."
"If the blood flow reestablishes the way it should, he'll keep the leg and it will have good function for him. It will never be one hundred percent again, but, with hard work, he should get to ninety percent. Maybe a bit more. We'll know in a few days if he'll keep it."
Auggie sighed deeply. "Now to figure out what to tell his mother when I call her."
"You're not together?"
"Oh, we're still married. She and our daughter are just out of town right now. Not due back until mid-week."
"Good luck with that one."
"When can I be with my boy?"
"He'll be in recovery for a while. Can't let you in there. But he'll be going to ICU. I can get someone to take you there now so that as soon as he's in his room you can be with him. I'm guessing about an hour-and-a-half till his released to ICU. You'll be more comfortable down there, too."
"Can I use my phone in here? I think it's time to call my wife."
"Yeah, if you can get a signal. If, not you'll be able to downstairs. I'll send someone over to escort you down." The doctor rose to leave. He briefly laid his hand on Auggie's shoulder as he passed by.
As soon as he heard the door behind him close, Auggie dug his phone out of his pocket. He took a deep breath and punched 1 on speed dial. He heard the phone ring on the other end.
Shortly Auggie heard Annie's sleepy voice. "Hullo."
"Annie?"
"Auggie. Do you know what time it is?"
"Not exactly, but it's before 7:00. Wanted to catch you before you got too far into your day."
"You did that. What's wrong, Auggie? You don't sound right, even for this hour of the morning." Auggie could hear the bewilderment in his wife's voice.
"It's Chris."
"What about Chris?" There was a mother's alarm in her voice now. The sleepiness was completely gone.
"He's been in an accident. A bad one. You need to come home. Now."
"Which hospital is he in? Corry and I can fly out of here straight to Chicago..."
"He's not in Illinois. He's here in Georgetown University Hospital. I'm not with him yet, but I will be soon. He's just got out of surgery and will be going into ICU shortly."
"Georgetown? He's supposed to be …"
"I know, Babe, I know. He was driving one of Austin's cars according to the Virginia State Police. I've got to go now. Someone is here to take me down to him. Be careful, but get here as soon as you can. Love you."
He ended the call before Annie got too curious. He didn't want to tell Annie that her son had lost his leg over the phone. He sat hunched forward with forearms on his thighs, holding the phone in his hand for a bit thinking, considering. For all the time he'd known her and been privy to her innermost personal and intimate thoughts, he really did not know how Annie was going to react to the news that her son had lost a limb. Would she take it in stride? Would she go all hysterical on him? No, in all honesty he didn't think she'd go into hysterics. Take it in stride – he knew she wouldn't do that, but where on the spectrum in between she'd fall he hadn't a clue. Now Corrine – Corrine would likely be the one to take to hysterics. Even though, at sixteen, she thought she knew it all, she really didn't have the life experience to handle this kind of life event. Especially to the big brother she idolized. When Christopher had left for school last fall, his being gone from the house had sent her into a state of defiance he had not thought her capable of. They would have to approach this carefully with her.
How and when to tell the rest of the family was now his concern. When he got down to Christopher's room in ICU he'd call Austin so he could get the insurance stuff started. And then he'd call James, his aide at work, to have him track down Austin's car and see if there were any personal effects of either Austin or Christopher that could be salvaged. A sound at the door brought Auggie's mind back to the here and now.
A few minutes later Auggie was being shown to a recliner in the corner of one of the ICU cubicles. Before she left the kindly, and very accommodating, nurse brought him a plastic pitcher of ice water and a disposable glass. And she mentioned that she'd be back from time to time just to check on him and see if he needed guidance to anywhere on the floor. She'd also shown him where the call button was located on the side-rail panel.
Auggie settled into the recliner and dug out his phone; it was time to start notifying people. The phone was barely out of his pocket when it began to chime James' tone. "James, I was just getting ready to call you," Auggie answered with a cheerfulness he didn't feel.
"You don't need to do that fake cheery thing with me, boss. How's Chris?"
Auggie sighed. James always seemed to be one step ahead of him. "He's holding his own, Jim. That's about all that I can say right now. He's had some surgery and is still in recovery. I'm in what will soon be his room in ICU. I haven't actually seen him yet."
"Holding his own is good. Do you know that there's a contingent of reporters outside the hospital? You are at Georgetown Main, right?"
"Yeah. Georgetown Main. God, do they expect me to make a statement? What I know I do not want to share with the public. This has NOTHING to do with my position with the CIA. It's personal. And private. I know that it's not in your job description, but could you come …"
"I'm already half-way there, boss. Just wanted to make sure that I was going to the right place."
Auggie started to say something more to James but discovered that the other man had already terminated the call. The curtain at the hallway side of the room was pulled back slightly, the metal slides making a rattling noise in the ceiling track.
"You might want to watch this, Mr. Anderson," the nurse said turning on the TV and quickly changing the channel.
"You know who I am?" Auggie said with surprise.
"When you live in this area it's rather had not to know the Deputy Director of the CIA on sight."
From the speaker in the rail panel of the bed came the tinny sound of the TV. 'Late last night there was a horrible crash on the 495 close to the George Washington Memorial Parkway interchange that backed up traffic for hours. And miles. The wreck was caused by a driver allegedly going northbound in the southbound lanes. The alleged wrong-way driver, Tyrone Bentley, 27, has a lengthy arrest record for DUI and did not have a valid driver's license from any state. He died on scene before help could arrive. The other driver was the nineteen-year-old son. Christopher Austin, of Deputy CIA Director August Anderson. There are no reports on his condition, but he was MedStar transported to Georgetown University Hospital in DC. In other news …'
"While the reporter was speaking there was helicopter coverage of the scene and a close-up still of one of the vehicles. That vehicle appeared to be a Mercedes but it was so mangled it was hard to tell for sure. There's also a cadre of reporters set up the street outside the hospital and demanding to know your son's condition. By law, we cannot tell anyone anything without your permission. Rumor has it that the hospital administrator is on her way in to see how you want this handled. I mean to see if you need space for a press conference."
"I just want them to go away and leave me and my family alone. My Aide from the office is on his way in also. James Ridgeway. Big, tall, black guy, or so I've been told. If you run into him send him my way please."
"Don't worry, Mr. Anderson. We will shield you and your family as best we can." And she was gone.
Before he could punch in the numbers to his brother, Austin's home line, the phone in his hand chimed again. "Hello," he said cautiously.
"Mr. Anderson? Bex Larsen here. I'm sorry to bother you, but I've got to know. Is the news right? I mean has Chris been in a wreck?" There was a tone in her voice that Auggie could not quite place. Concern. Yes, that was there, but something else, too. And she sounded close to tears.
"Yes, Bex. The news is correct. Chris was in a wreck last night. I'm at the hospital now."
"It's all my fault!" Rebecca Larsen exclaimed with a cry. "All my fault. He was coming home to see me."
"Bex, it's okay. It's not your fault. It's that drunk that was going the wrong way's fault. Bex, listen to me, Chris is alive. He's hurt, but he's alive. And he's going to live. Do you understand me, Bex?"
"Y…yes … I understand you," Rebecca said between sobs.
"Good. Chris is in the ICU. You can't see him today. But when he can have visitors I'll make sure you get to come see him. Okay?"
"Okay."
"Now, I don't mean to be rude, but I've got a lot to deal with right now. I've got to go. Just remember Chris is alive. I will call you soon, I promise Bex." Auggie terminated the call. He ran his left hand through his hair, fisting a handful and drawing his fingers upward, tugging slightly at his scalp. Just what he didn't need – a guilt ridden, emotional, teenaged female. He shook his head and lowered his hand to his phone.
A few minutes later he was talking to his brother. "Hey, Austin," Auggie began again with the faked cheeriness.
"Cut the crap, Auggie," Austin said sternly. "What's wrong? You'd not be calling at this hour unless something was wrong."
Auggie sighed audibly. "I've got some bad news, some worse news, and some maybe okay news. Which do you want first?" he said in a voice that concealed nothing.
"Augs, give it to me in just that order,"
"Chris wrecked your car. Lost his left leg below the knee in it; might lose his right. It wasn't his fault. He was hit head-on by a drunk driver going the wrong way on the interstate. The other guy died." By the end of his words Auggie's voice was cracking and barely a whisper. He was talking to his brother and best friend; he could let his guarded emotions down for a bit.
"You're not shittin' me are you Augs. When and where?"
"God, Austin, I wish I was. I've been here since two or so. I guess maybe around midnight. I-495 just inside the Virginia border. He was just a few miles from home. Do you know why he was coming home and why he didn't tell us he was coming?"
"He was between semesters, the temp job that he thought he had between the end of the spring semester and the summer one didn't materialize. He wanted to come home for a bit and see you and this chic Bex Larsen. He didn't want to fly so I loaned him the car I was going to sell because I'd just bought a new one. I don't know why he didn't tell you he was coming. I thought he had." There was a tired, concerned quality to Austin's voice. "Augs, did Annie take Corry to Orlando like she was planning?"
"Yeah. I called her a bit ago. All I told her was that Chris had been in an accident and here, not there and to get home as soon as she could. That's all I had the heart to tell her. She's going to kick my ass when she gets here, but … I think they're bringing Chris in the room now. I've got to go. You've got the basics for the insurance and to let everyone there know. Call me later if you need more." Auggie ended the call and shoved the phone back in his pocket.
"Mr. Anderson," the kindly nurse from before said. "We're bringing your son in now. Just stay where you are while we do what we need to do. He is still heavily sedated, but his vital signs have been strong and stable for the last half-hour. He's got a couple of IV's going, a catheter to drain his urine and several automatic monitors to check his blood pressure, heart rate, and blood gasses. These are all normal for ICU. He is breathing on his own so he does not have a respirator, but he is on oxygen. That is not abnormal for here." She moved away from him. Auggie only half paid attention to the sounds around him. A few minutes later she stood before him again. "Mr. Anderson, your son is in the bed now and as comfortable as we can make him. There are pillows under his right arm, and both lower legs. The rail on this side of the bed is down so that you can hold his hand easily if you want to do that. Is there anything that I can do for you before I leave? Oh, James is here; out in the ICU waiting area. Let me know when you're ready to see him."
"Okay. On your way out, would you pull the shades or curtain or whatever so that I can have a few minutes of total privacy with my son?"'
"I can do that. Or I can do that and hang around to tell you what it is that you're seeing when you check out your son the only way you can."
Auggie sat still in shock for a moment. Did he really hear what he thought he heard? "You're not going to fuss at me for touching my son?"
The sounds of a sliding door closing and the privacy curtains being closed. "Not at all. I'm Paula, by the way. I'll be here until six tonight and the next two days taking care of you and Christopher. Stand up. Are you right or left handed?" Paula asked as she came closer to Auggie.
"Right."
"Take a small step forward and you'll be right at the edge of the bed." Paula was right beside him now. "I'm going to take your right hand and guide you through this. We're going to start at the top of his head." She gently took Auggie's right hand and guided it to the shaved patch on Christopher's head. "This is where his head was lacerated. His head's been shaved – it's the new look for summer – and the cut glued back together. He'll have a scar, but not a horrible one. He's got some bruises on his face. That sometimes happens when the airbags go off. His mouth and teeth are just fine. This is the oxygen delivery system. It's kind of normal. Left shoulder, down the left arm, some bruising here, and the IV line. His torso is covered but I'm sure there's a good deal of bruising there. I'll look and let you know how badly bruised his chest and abdomen are if you want me to." Auggie shook his head 'No'. "Left thigh, knee, and what you want to see and don't want to see all at the same time – your son's residual limb. Go ahead. Use both hands. He's sedated it won't hurt him now."
A small cry of emotional pain escaped Auggie and tears formed in his eyes as he explored the length and contour of what was left of his son's left leg.
"It's okay Mr. Anderson. It's hard on everyone the first time the see a residual limb on a loved one. Some people get physically sick, or pass out. His residual limb is about average in length and nicely contoured. He should have no problem getting a good fitting prosthesis. That's a compression stocking to help keep the swelling down and maintain the shape that the surgeon worked so hard to achieve. When you're done looking, we'll move on to the right side."
Auggie allowed himself to be guided around the end of the hospital bed.
"Here are the toes on your son's right foot. They're nice and warm and pink. He's got a good pulse to it, too. I'm sure Dr. Peterson mentioned how worried he is about blood flow. So far so good. I'm cautiously optimistic. That's the air cast for his leg. More comfortable than the hard plaster cast I'm sure you were expecting."
"Wasn't expecting anything. Didn't know what to expect actually," Auggie said blandly while touching each toe on his son's foot tenderly. He remembered the first time, a little over nineteen years ago, when he first examined his son's legs, feet and toes, just to make sure his newborn had the full complement of fingers and toes. And now … "I'm done. I've seen all that I need to see." He began to work his way back around the hospital bed.
"Are you sure, Mr. Anderson?"
"Yes." Auggie said forcefully. "You can send James my way now." His tone was curt. Commanding.
The sliding door into the cubicle opened, but did not close. Several minutes later the familiar footsteps of his Aide were heard coming down the corridor.
"Auggie?" The deep rich baritone of James Ridgeway said as he came through the privacy curtain.
"Jim, I'm so sorry that you had to come out here this morning," Auggie said apologetically.
"It's okay, boss. I'm glad to do it. Maddie understands, too, and sends her … god, condolences sounds so wrong." He gasped. "Oh, my! I'm so sorry, Auggie."
"Kinda hard to miss is it?"Auggie asked as he stroked the back of Christopher's hand.
"Does Annie know?"
"No. Didn't have the heart to tell her over the phone. Just told her he'd been in an accident and to come home."
"Okay. What, if anything, do you want to tell the cadre of media that are clamoring for news?" James laid a comforting hand on Auggie's shoulder.
"I want to tell them to go to hell. But, I will settle for you telling them that there will be no press conference. I will not make any sort of statement. And we want to simply be left alone to deal with the private and serious injuries to our son in privacy. Do you think that that will satisfy them?"
"I don't know. But I'll give it a try. Oh, and boss, I've got your back."
"I know you do, Jim. You always do. Oh, when you've managed to get rid of the press, would you track down the car Chris was driving and see if there's any of his personal effects that are salvageable?"
"Of course, boss. Was planning on doing just that." James left the room after a consoling touch to his boss' arm.
Auggie shifted the recliner around so that he could sit on the edge of the seat and hold Christopher's hand somewhat comfortably. He located and wrapped his hand around his son's limp hand, being careful not to disturb the IV. He laid his forehead against the mattress. How long he sat like that, listening to the rhythmic click of the IV monitor, the even blips of another monitor, and his son's soft even breaths Auggie did not know, but a familiar name, James Ridgeway, came through the TV speaker in the bed rail making him pay attention to that, too. Soon the recognizable, although distorted, voice of his Aide came from the speaker.
'Ladies and Gentlemen of the Press: I'm going to give a brief statement on behalf of the family and I will not be able to answer questions following this statement:Deputy CIA Director August Anderson and his family appreciate the concern for their son, Christopher, who was injured in an automobile accident early this morning. This is a private and personal family matter. Mr. and Mrs. Anderson are at their son's bedside now and will not be making any statements to the press now or in the future. Although his injuries are significant, Christopher is projected to make a full recovery. The family requests that their privacy be respected. No details will be released about the nature and extent of Christopher's injuries. Any further questions can be directed to the Public Relations Office of the CIA. Thank you for your understanding and concern.'
The usual sounds of press shouting questions followed until the news channel cut back to their reporter in studio.
James' statement to the press brought a brief pleased smile to Auggie. He knew that he could count on James to put his unspoken thoughts into words. Then he went back to waiting and listening. Nursing staff came and left. Soft moans and the gentle twitching of the hand he held caused Auggie to startle to attention.
"Chris? Christopher? Are you here with me?" Only more moans. He tried again a little louder, a little more commanding, "Christopher! Answer me!"
"Dad?" A soft whisper. And a whimper.
"It's okay," Auggie said standing and trailing his left hand up his son's arm and shoulder to his head. He placed his palm on Christopher's cheek and stroked his hair. "It's okay, Daddy's here."
Auggie felt his son's eyelashes flutter against his thumb and he leaned into his father's touch.
"Do you know where you are?"
"A hospital?" Christopher asked quietly.
"Yes, Georgetown University in DC. What's the last thing you remember?"
"Driving and being almost ready to cross the river. What happened, Dad?" His voice was still soft, slightly slurred from the sedation, but it was getting stronger by the end of the question.
"You were hit head-on by a drunk wrong-way driver just after you crossed the bridge. You'll probably never remember that. And that's a good thing." Auggie continued to stoke his son's hair.
"Where's Mom?"
"I would imagine somewhere between Orlando and here," Auggie said quietly. "I called her and told her that there'd been an accident. Told her to come home right away."
"Corry's gonna hate me for ruining her trip to Universal."
"I doubt that, Chris. I really do."
Like I said in the beginning, I don't expect expect many reviews, but I sure do like them.