Edgewood Series: Books 1 - 3 (94 page)

Mr. Specter had taken a physical hit, but I was shaken to my metaphysical core. The waiter looked at me like I was something vile, monstrous. It was worse than my mother thinking I was possessed by the devil—this man thought
I
was
the devil. I tried to hold on, I even thought:
Take me to Russ
, but it was no use. I felt myself fading from sight and being pulled back, back, back to Wisconsin, then Edgewood, and finally under the covers of my very own bed.

Russ

I woke to a sharp rapping noise. Minutes before, in a dream, it had been the sound of a woodpecker, but as I woke up I realized it was someone knocking on the door to my suite. I struggled out of bed and flung the door open, so sure it was Jameson that the words ‘get lost’ had already taken shape in my mouth, so I was a little taken aback to see Dr. Wentworth there. “Dr. Wentworth.” I rubbed my eyes. “I wasn't expecting you.”

“Obviously,” she said, giving me the once over.

Self-consciously I ran my fingers through my hair. “What time is it?” I looked down at my bare feet, glad to see I had pulled on a T-shirt and pajama pants before going to bed.

“Five-thirty. You need to get dressed and come with me right away. The president has asked to see you!” Her eyes shone and her mouth stretched into a wide smile. I'd never seen her look so enthused.

“Really?”

“Yes. She’s made enormous improvements during the night. The medical team is very pleased with her progress.”

“Let me jump in the shower…”

“We don’t have time for that. Get dressed. We need to go immediately.”

I can’t tell you how much it goes against my way of doing things not to shower right away in the morning. At home there’d have to be a fire to get me to skip it, but since Dr. Wentworth followed me into the suite and plunked herself down in the sitting area, I didn’t have much choice. I ran my hand under the faucet and managed to wet down my hair (which always stuck up funny in the morning), brush my teeth, and throw on some clothes. We were out the door in five minutes.

When I got out to the hallway, I almost walked into a man standing guard by my door. He wasn’t wearing a uniform, but something about him said military to me. It might have been the close-cropped hair, flak jacket, and the semi-automatic weapon held at his side. “Hi,” I said. He just nodded.

As we made our way down the hall, I asked Dr. Wentworth, “What’s up with that?”

“We had a slight security breach the other night,” she said. “Nothing to worry about, but we’re covering our bases.”

“A slight security breach?” That didn’t sound good.

“You didn’t hear anything in the hallway last night?” she asked.

“No.” I drew in a sharp breath. Something happened while I was sleeping?

“A minor disruption. We’re not entirely sure what happened. Probably just someone goofing around,” she said, sounding bored. “Come along. We don’t want to keep the president waiting.”

I was starting to know the route, so this time around I kept pace with Dr. Wentworth rather than letting her take the lead. If I’d had her laminated pass and her retinas (for the scanner), I could have made my way to the hospital room by myself.

When we got to the hospital room President Bernstein was sitting up in bed, a tray positioned in front of her. Her husband stood at her side, holding a cup with a straw to her mouth. “That’s enough,” I heard her say, and he pulled it away. Her voice made me smile; it was strong and familiar, exactly the voice of the Commander-in-Chief I’d heard giving presidential speeches. When Mr. Bernstein caught sight of us, he waved us over. “This is the young man I was telling you about,” he said to his wife. “Russ Becker, the miracle maker from Wisconsin.”

I strode over to the bed to shake President Bernstein’s outstretched hand. She clasped it gently while I said, “I’m very pleased to meet you.” Next to me, Dr. Wentworth beamed up at me like a proud mother.

“The honor is all mine,” she said. “I am very grateful you agreed to travel here for my benefit.”

“Of course,” I said.

“And for the benefit of the country,” Dr. Wentworth added.

On the other side of the room Dr. Karke was talking quietly to one of the nurses. He’d given me a nod when we walked in, but it was a safe bet I wasn’t getting any thanks from him. The president called out, “Doctor? Would you mind if I had a few moments in private with Russ?”

Dr. Karke raised his eyebrows, but he said, “Of course that would be fine.” The nurse took the cue and left first, followed by Dr. Karke. When the president raised her eyebrows at Dr. Wentworth she took off too, although she walked slowly as if hoping it was a mistake and she’d be called back. No one did call her back though. As she went through the doorway her head turned and I caught one last lingering look.

“Now that we got rid of them,” President Bernstein said, holding my hand in hers, “I can say what’s really on my mind.” She squeezed my fingers as if afraid I might bolt out of the room. “I don’t know what it’s like for you to heal someone, but I can tell you how it feels being on the receiving end.” Her eyes twinkled. “I couldn’t move and I couldn’t talk, but I could feel the warmth coming off of your hands and it felt like just what I needed. Even more than that, I could feel the energy and love radiating out of you and pouring into me. It was remarkable.”

I didn’t want to get too full of myself, but I’d be lying if I didn’t say I felt a surge of pride just then. I mean, how many people get to pull the president of the United States back from the brink of death? “I’m glad to be able to help,” I said. “It was my honor.”

Mr. Bernstein spoke up. “You should know that you will be the first recipient of the Civilian Medal of Honor for acts of valor above and beyond the call of duty.”

The Medal of Honor? When he said the words, I felt my ribcage seize hold of my heart. The Medal of Honor was a big, big deal—too big for me. I thought about the men and women who gave their lives during battle or performed heroic acts at great cost and suddenly I felt insignificant. I’d done something important, but not because I was brave or willing to sacrifice my life but just because it was the right thing to do. Under the same circumstances anyone would have done it. “That’s not really necessary,” I said sheepishly. “I’m not in the same category as the other Medal of Honor recipients. It wouldn’t be right.”

“Now I don’t want to hear any of that,” Mr. Bernstein said. “You are worthy, believe me. Interestingly enough, the hallmark of a true hero is denying that they’ve done anything heroic. You’re clearly in that category.”

“But the Medal of Honor? I don’t know about that…”

“It’s the Civilian Medal of Honor,” Mr. Bernstein said, holding up one finger. “An important distinction.”

The president briskly said, “It’s not up for discussion, Russ. The decision has been made.”

“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.

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.