Wow, just realized that this is officially the second-longest thing I've written, ever. Guess I've gotta go for the personal record now.
In regards to the news from PP and other-PV land, let's stay positive! We've gotten this far, after all.
Up next in this PV, more answers...
And, of course, more questions.
####
"it's for Greenlee…from Ryan."
Funny, he never would've guessed that a paper could feel like a one-ton Sumo wrestler.
"This isn't funny, Bianca."
Considering she wasn't laughing or so much as cracking a smile, he was thinking that maybe she agreed with that assessment.
"He wrote it – we believe he wrote it just before he died… in case…"
He'd once made a mint out of half-truths and fill-in-the-blanks, but his tolerance level these days was really damn low. "In case what?" Leo smacked the envelope onto the desk. "You act as if he could've known that some escaped felon lunatic was gonna use his place as a hide-out. That he just knew he was going to be…"
Now he was doing it. Couldn't even say the word.
Murdered.
"Who is this 'we,' anyway? If this is from Ryan, then what are you doing with it?" He picked up the envelope again, and it had become just paper. Harmless, at least on the surface.
"That's not important." She wouldn't meet his eyes.
"The hell it's not." He tried to soften the edge, ran a hand through hair he felt like pulling out. "But okay, let's pretend for a second that it's not. Why me?" That was the question he really wanted, 'needed,' answered. "Why are you giving this to me?"
His friend, this woman who had changed so much – this girl he would still trust with his life – gave him a long look. An appraisal, before answering: "Because when she reads this, she is going to need someone who can support her. Who knows her, good and bad…and someone who loves her beyond all reason."
####
She wore a smile like she could conquer the world.
Like she could fly.
And in his arms, she did.
The man swinging her so easily through the air sported a similar grin. Carefree. Whimsical.
Free.
The gleam in his eye gave him away, this father.
This dad.
The tiny postcard was framed by a blue and pink border.
Gender neutral.
The slogan floating above the happy family advised Talk to your kids about good health.
Tad folded the pamphlet so that only two images remained: the Talk to your kids…
And the smiling little girl.
"It's still a little hot, so be careful."
He turned, accepting the styrofoam cup with none of the care he should be taking. Playing with fire, now that was becoming a favorite pastime.
"Thanks."
One word: one word could build a bridge, right? Move mountains? Make the past few days a bad dream?
They sat on opposite ends of the bench, the preoccupation of another crisis with JR no longer a shield, at least for now.
They sat and waited, for what grand proclamation he could not know. Or maybe, didn't want to know.
This had been her idea - an admission, a concession, a final leap of faith in the grand powers of the mental health system.
In his more rational moments, Tad could concede the point, accept that maybe their daughter needed something that neither of them could give right now.
This wasn't one of those moments.
"Can I ask you something?' He shifted to Dixie again, the sting of the coffee, and so much more, on his lips. "What are we going to do when that -" He minced the word that he really wanted to use - "that guy comes out here and tells us it's just a phase? That our girl is just acting out like any other kid her age? That she's just a confused tomboy. What then?"
He could see her struggle, pull herself from that lost wilderness that seemed to lay claim to another piece of her every day. When those crystal clear baby blues met his, however, none of that dull uncertainty remained.
Only the simple conviction of a mother.
A mom. "And what if he doesn't say any of that?"
What if he doesn't say what you want to hear.
The steady click of shoe against floor signaled that their question would soon be answered, for better or worse. The doctor approached, clipboard in hand.
Tad intended to do the polite, courteous thing and wait for the man to speak.
The sight of that brimming notepad and the pains which the doctor took to subtly conceal its contents tossed all propriety somewhere down the hall, towards the morgue.
"Tell us what's wrong with our daughter."
He could regret the tone and the immediately disturbed expression of his wife. He could even regret the poor choice of words.
What he could not regret was his need for an answer.
"Nothing is wrong with your child, Mr. Martin." The tone of the slim man before them had also lost some of its polite, courteous tint. He quickly recovered, and it didn't go unnoticed that the good doctor had switched from 'daughter' to 'child'...or that he addressed his next words primarily to Dixie. "I do, however, think it would be best to refer Kathy to a specialist, so that you may fully understand your options."
"What kind of specialist, doctor?"
This time, the man's eyes did turn to him. But they were no longer the cold, objective eyes of a doctor.
They were the same eyes in that brochure. The same ones Tad saw in the mirror most days.
And they were conveying so many things.
Tad wanted nothing more than to blacken those eyes. Punish them.
"A specialist in gender identity issues."
Blind them.
####
He didn't steal a pair of scrubs or hide his face behind some lifted chart. His disguise consisted of a hoodie and a hope that his worried eyes blended in with the surroundings. Leo had found her room with surprising ease. The hardest things, it seemed, were sometimes the easiest.
Like flipping on the local news to see the person you'd fought so hard to keep alive - the person who could make the world come alive with a wry grin and a well-placed heel - laying motionless on the ground. Or having some lady who'd just given cheap publicity to the latest fad diet tell you that your ex-wife, your always-everything, had been 'rushed to the hospital….more details later.'
Or like rushing to the hospital yourself in a hotwired car, not really giving a damn if you ended up making your grand reentrance into the world courtesy of a speeding ticket and a theft charge.
Leo clutched the envelope, his one anchor.
The sight of his former father-in-law and the diva who had always had a soft spot for him, despite her protests to the contrary - these images should have inspired anything besides overwhelming, crippling anger.
Anger because they stood in the way. They, with their grudging vigil, would keep him from getting more than a tantalizing glimpse of dark hair….of familiar eyelashes.
They would keep him from getting to her.
Musing over the wrinkled paper in his hand one final time, Leo rushed for the hospital exit.
No one would keep him from saving her, though.
No one, or nothing.
####
We are in the year 2013.
You have been in a coma for over a year.
Do not attempt to move suddenly.
You are still recovering.
You have anterograde amnesia.
Do not panic.
Angie's gaze lingered on the last word – the only crystal clear word, and she wanted to laugh. Maybe that wasn't such a good idea, because she had a feeling that if she started, she just might never stop.
And that would be counterproductive to the 'no panic' clause, right?
Instead, she took a breath and summoned that calm, collected place inside that took over whenever she put on a doctor's coat. And, to her relief, she found that all of the memories and knowledge that came with that distinction were still intact.
She remembered how to intubate.
She remembered how to decipher words and images that could seem alien to the non-initiated.
She just, apparently, would never remember another patient again, assuming there would 'be' another patient in her career.
"How long -" She tried again, because the words still felt like a boulder in her throat. "How long do I have?"
He smiled and put the cue cards down.
David Hayward: the man who'd tested her oath to 'love thy neighbor' more than any human being on the planet.
The man who had ultimately saved her life. Not once, but twice.
Angie wondered how she should feel about him now and decided she would rediscover that answer. The first of many fresh starts.
"You know, you asked me that right before the coma."
"And what did you say?"
"As long as it wants to give." He had lapsed into silence. The one thing about David she would never forget is that silence was never a good thing. His palm rested on the cards. "The power of your short-term memory is variable. It could be five minutes; it could be five hours. You know the brain, last great unexplored frontier and all."
She nodded, already feeling the fight against that first small, but sharp sensation in her head. That first loosened thread. "Then we'd better make it count."
He didn't tell her to rest or argue about the uselessness of overloading her with information she would soon forget anyway.
He just shrugged. He just…got it. "What do you want to know?"
The memory loss was apparently not entirely exclusive to her short-term memory. The last thing she could remember was waking up in that cold hospital room. And seeing David's face. "Who did this? Who shot me?"
"JR Chandler." The confirmation was clipped, but the force behind it anything but.
Angie closed her eyes, an image of a small blond-haired boy retreating into...consumed by the darkness.
"I remember multiple shots."
"There were several injuries." The silence was so prolonged that she opened her eyes, unsure – or perhaps hoping – that the whole exchange had been a dream.
"And four fatalities," he finished.
Her gasp echoed through the quiet room. "Who?"
He was no longer looking at her. For most people, that refusal to make eye contact might've been a sign of a lie. For David., she knew it was only a defiant stand against the truth.
"Don't worry, Dr. Hubbard, your family and friends are just fine." The sharp edge in his voice was threatening to spiral into something else. He quickly reigned it in, taking back that control he so craved, and reminding her of the man the rest of the town despised. "Fine if you ignore the fact that they believe they buried you over a year ago."
His prod had worked, because now her entire focus was on her family. "Are they OK?"
The grin was anything but endearing. "The good chief is as incompetent at his job as ever, but any fool can see that he still pines for you every day. And your son - I'd say that little girl of his has probably been a saving grace."
He must've read something in her face, because the grin quickly transformed. Softened. "Yes, there is a new Angela Hubbard in the world."
"Oh my God." Her fingers touched lips that trembled with an equal mix of sorrow and joy.
"This can end right now, Angie." The quiet tone, minus all the bravado that she and the rest of the town had come to know so well, was a reminder of the faithful boy who had been. Of the compassionate doctor that could be.
And she listened.
"I can tell them you're here. End all of their regrets, doubts, should-have-beens. No one deserves it. I know that better than anyone."
And his precious control was rapidly fading, redirecting her focus again.
"David, did you -"
"It doesn't matter, OK?"
Angie grabbed his hand. "Yes, it does. It always matters."
The steadiest hands in the northeast had relinquished that control.
"And you matter."
She expected him to pull away. Fiercely remove any trace of the tear that had escaped down his cheek.
He squeezed her hand instead.
And she fought to hold on, secure in this one tangible amidst the rapidly advancing fog.
"Before….before it happens again, I wanted to say two things." Her fluttering eyes searched for one final connection. "I'm so sorry for your loss."
And found it.
"What was the second?"
She smiled, with effort. With ease. "Thank you….for everything."
And the last image, imprinted on her closing eyelids, was more than worth the effort.
Cast into the dark once again, she cloaked herself in the words, the assurances that always guided her back to the light.
Maybe they could again.
I thank You that You know my pain and sorrow.
"David, you've gotta get back here."
Your Word says 'as a mother comforts her child, You comfort us.'
"I've been through every inch of those files for the past few hours, and I found something."
I ask that You be my comfort today.
"David, I found her."
Help me to sense Your presence and Your peace.
"I found the woman who's gonna save Greenlee's life….who'll save all their lives."
Amen.