Hell Bent (9 page)

M
y email is packed
with unopened messages, and all I can do is stare at them. My job as supervisory admin includes following up on all the requests for computer repairs and upgrades throughout the Federal Building Marine offices. I need to buckle down and get back to business.

Eventually, I work my way through the backlog and schedule all the requests. I have a few minutes, and I go into the directory and check out General Watson, Cameron’s dad. I know this isn’t really part of my job, but it is information that is readily available, and I’m not breaking any rules. I have a sneaking suspicion that he knows about Milly, given that he’s just recently married to Senator Sabrina Hamilton.

The general is a highly respected man in these corridors, but not particularly well liked. It has nothing to do with his position and everything to do with his personality. He is known for being a hard liner who has little empathy for humans or their lives. He goes strictly by the book.

It comes as a surprise that just as I am looking him up, the phone on my desk rings, and the general’s secretary is on the line. She asks for someone to come immediately and fix an issue with his computer, and I take this opportunity to do the job personally.

I am being escorted into his inner office, and he has his back to me, his chair rotated so that he is facing the wall behind him. He is on the phone with someone, and I hold back respectfully until his call is completed.

“General Watson? You have a problem with your computer?” I ask.

The general swirls around and his brow wrinkles as he tries to place me. “I know you,” he says.

I am wondering if he will recognize me. My attire is different, but he’s met me before. “Yes, sir, we met briefly at once or twice.”

“Ahhh, yes, of course. You’re Cameron’s best man.”

“Yes, sir.” I maintain my professional, respectful attitude. To be anything else would be a bad reflection on me.

The general stands and comes around his desk toward me. “Stewart, right?”

“Yes, sir,” I respond.

I am surprised. It’s not typical for a general to learn the name of those beneath him, particularly when they are no longer active duty. And it suddenly all becomes clear and confirmed in my mind: he knows too. Of course he does: Sabrina must’ve told him. I wonder how he feels about his son marrying a potential health disaster. Or the possibility that he may not have any grandchildren.

He catches the look in my mind, considers me for long moments, and finally speaks. “Stewart, what goes on in my private life is strictly that…private. Is that understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

Does he understand that I don’t give a shit about him, his career or reputation, and that the only person I will protect through this is the cream-puff?

He looks at me, sizing me up and memorizing my face. I feel a wisp of discomfort—if only from the personal inspection—but no fear. He is so predictable.

“Then get to your business, Stewart,” he says, and I nod and walk around him to reach the computer on his credenza.

The general stands behind me for some time and I can feel his stare at my back. Shortly thereafter, he walks out of the room, but he leaves the door open so his secretary can monitor what I am doing.

You don’t scare me, General.

S
omething is changing within me
, and it feels very strange. I don’t know what this is, but it’s not anything I’ve felt before. It’s like I don’t belong in myself, in this body, in this head. I am someone who knows what she wants, and I really can’t say this is true anymore. Now I feel like I want more, but can’t really define what “more” would be.

It’s times like these that I wish I had my mother to talk to. While she may have been in a dream world with regard to Dad, she still was exceptionally bright and certainly had life experiences to share. Maybe this is part of growing older? Do we lose our values and begin to see entirely different things as being more desirable, more “us”?

If this is how it works, then how can we ever make plans for the future? It feels like rowing a boat. You take sight of something on the far shore and row for it, only to discover when you get there that there is another spot down the coast that looks better. When you keep doing this, you eventually spend your life rowing. Is that what I’m doing?

Bryce is bringing all sorts of confusion to my head. My life is about Milly, about taking care of the ninny because she won’t be able to care of herself. Or is it? Bryce is planting other thoughts in my head, and these are confusing me. Or is it Bryce, as a man, who is confusing me?

I want him. It’s that simple, and no matter how long I row, I know this will be the case. I like everything about him. He feels so strongly about trust, about commitment, and that is something I have yet to find in my life. The proof begins with the diorama of tattoos across his strong, virulent body. These are not temporary results of a drunken night in the wrong part of town. These are life-long memorials to people who mean something to him.

I have to ask myself: as much as I care about Milly, would I be willing to tattoo her entire life across my chest? I can’t say I would, so even though Bryce is trying to convince me to live for myself, he is very much like me. He is living for others.

Milly will be meeting me for lunch in a few hours, but first I need to make rounds. I pop into Mr. Whitney’s room and see immediately that he has declined. He is now on oxygen, and his eyes are closed; he is no longer responding to my touch. I look over his chart and see that his bodily functions are in the process of preparing for his passing. All his vitals are reflecting this, like a train slowing as it approaches the station. Soon, his heart will sigh with the knowledge of a job well done, and stop. I wonder about Mr. Whitney’s family and why there never is anyone here with him whenever I stop by.

Will I die alone? Why is it the idea has never bothered me, until now? Why all this introspection? I have so many wonderful things in my life today, things that are new and exciting. Why do I feel so morose?

This is when I recognize it. It’s fear. It’s insecurity. In one way, I envy Mr. Whitney, for his future is all there, on the chart—predicted. Mine is on open water, and I don’t even have a spot on the shore in sight. I think I do, but things have changed. How on earth can one person make such a change in how I think? I’m afraid of losing Bryce, afraid that something this wonderful isn’t intended for me, like a mis-marked Christmas package.

Where will I trip up? Will I say something typically acidic as I often do? Will I wear something he hates or not be available when the phone rings? If something this slight drives him off, then surely I don’t want him to begin with.

This is when I realize that the proof of having a future together is that a man of his caliber is interested in me. If he were unpredictable….like…like…that’s when it hits me. He is not Dad. He is not a drunk, not selfish, not mean, and not worthless. He is Bryce. Loyal, reliable, bursting with integrity, caring, empathetic, and oh God, so handsome it makes me feel wet every time I think of him. The best part is, I know he cares, and this is a feeling that is entirely new to me.

I have my hand on Mr. Whitney’s arm when the alarms go off. An intern and some other nurses from the station rush in and begin helping me assess his status. He is a DNR, and this means we can only make him comfortable in his passing. It comes soon, stealing in and leaving soundlessly with his soul in its hand. What remains is a shell, an empty container that held life and now will begin to disintegrate. Mr. Whitney is elsewhere, and he begins this next journey alone. This moves me, and even though I am trained to be professional about such things, this time it’s having a huge effect on me.

Life is, indeed, so very fragile.

“
H
ey
, you!” Milly whisper-shouts behind me.

I spin around, and she’s standing there, a huge grin on her pale face.

“You’re late!” I point out the obvious, grinning as I approach her down the hallway. I move to one side as a gurney brings a patient to our floor for admission. “Let me see to my new patient, and I’ll be right down. Go ahead without me.”

She nods and disappears around the corner while I head to the nurses’ station. My heart tugs a little at the new patient: a middle-aged lady is wheeled into Mr. Whitney’s old room. Life is a series of open and closing doors…and for a moment, I’m not sure if I like the idea of being the doorman.

Milly is sitting with her back to the courtyard entrance at our usual table. She has a tote with her, and even from across the cafeteria, I can see it bulging. I grab a few items on the line, pay, and head in her direction.

“What on earth is all that?” I ask.

“You are my maid of honor, remember? I thought it was about time you started acting like one!”

“What do you mean?” I take a bite of my sandwich and begin pulling binders and magazines out of her bag.

“Well, you’re supposed to help me pick things out, you know. We have to talk about the wedding…it doesn’t just happen on its own,” she smirks at me.

“I’ve never been a maid of honor. I’ve got no idea what I am supposed to do,” I point out. “Please don’t tell me you decided on a big, complicated affair?”

Milly’s face falls a bit at this question. “No, not at all. I mean…I wanted a big wedding at first…after all our families is part of the social scene and all, but mother said she thought a huge wedding would be vulgar, given that she’s married to Cam’s dad, and we should keep it small and very private.”

I am more than a little aghast at this: why wouldn’t the senator want her prize fish touted everywhere? Then I realize the truth. I’m not the only one who knows about Milly. But who else? A doctor? An attorney? I will probably never know, but it does add some damper to what should be a beautiful thing in Milly’s life.

I nod in support. What else can I do? She is resolved, however, to make this the most beautiful small wedding.

“We already have our dresses picked out,” I remind her, thinking of the pea-green creation waiting in my closet at home.

“Yes, I know…but there are other things. The cake, the venue, flowers…all that sort of thing.”

I mull this over in my mind. I hate big events, and the engagement party was enough to last me for a lifetime. Nevertheless, this is Milly, and I will need to make the best of it.

“So…how is Bryce?” she asks as I am paging through
Brides
magazine. “Are you seeing him tonight?”

We are now on dangerous ground. I know I will have to talk with her about telling Cam, and there’s no time like the present to get it over with.

“Fine, no, not tonight…Milly?” I broach the topic.

“Yeah?” She is looking at a florist’s catalog.

“We need to talk.”

“I thought that’s what we’re doing,” she says, puzzled.

“About Cam.”

“Cam?” She looks up now and her eyes are huge in her milky white face. “What about Cam?”

I take a deep breath. “Honey, it’s the whole lymphoma thing…”

Milly’s face instantly closes up and she looks down at the table. “What about it?”

“You
have
to tell him, Milly,” I say tentatively.

“Tell him what, Susie? I don’t know anything to tell him,” she is saying in a defensive voice.

I realize she’s in a complete denial about the whole thing. Always has been. She finds it easier not to ever think about it, I know that about her.

“Milly, listen to me. It’s for your own good. Cam is going to be with you for the rest of your life. If there was something about his past that could affect you in the future, wouldn’t you want him to tell you?”

“Of course!”

“Well, then?”

“Mother says there’s nothing…”

“Forget your mother, Milly,” I say in an abrupt tone.

Milly looks at me, tears welling in her eyes. “She wouldn’t lie to me, Susie,” she tries to explain.

“No, no! That’s where you’re wrong, Milly. What if she knows more than she lets on? Cam is your future.
He
is the man in your life, and will be your husband. You have to put him before anyone else, including me. You
must,
and he must put you first as well!” I hold my breath for her reaction.

She is silent and turns back to her catalog. Finally she answers, “Okay.”

I expel my breath in relief. “Thank God!”

She is surprised at my comment but looks at my face, and I can tell she is finally acknowledging that I am right, and she will defy her mother.

“When will you tell him?” I ask.

“Tonight,” she says. “I’m off tonight and we’re going to dinner. I’ll tell him then,” she assures me.

I can’t believe it’s this easy, considering how hard she has fought me on this. I can only surmise that she already was on the verge of telling Cam, all on her own. That’s when I realize…she was waiting for my permission. She can’t do things of this magnitude on her own: she needs someone to support her.

“I’m proud of you, Milly.” I lean over and hug her.

She nods, and I can see she is happy for the approval.

“So, what do I have to help with?” I ask in a cheery voice, and she livens up immediately.

We choose flowers, a cake, and even manage to find a small chapel by making a phone call.

“You’re going to have to tell Cam how many people he’s allowed to have,” I point out. I can tell this isn’t something she relishes at all.

“Well, I was going to talk to you about that,” she says in a tentative voice.

“What do you mean?” I am instantly on alert. My sandwich stops midway to my mouth, and I have a feeling I won’t be needing it any longer.

“Would you do it? He had this idea that our wedding was going to be big, since his family is huge, and his father has all these connections in the government.”

“But why me?”

“Please, Susie?”

“Milly, this is silly. Just tell Cam your mother wants the wedding small and be done with it. Let’s see…we’ve got that little chapel on Stevens Street; it probably won’t hold more than twenty people…so let’s see… you, Cam, Bryce, me, your mother, Cam’s father, Madison… that leaves room for ten or so more—five from your side and five from his. Kind of an odd number, but that’s it,” I finish.

“Cam mentioned he was expecting there would be a thousand guests,” she says quietly, looking at me with pleading eyes.

“What?” I choke on the sandwich, as I thought I might, and stare at her. “A thousand?”

Milly nods and I roll my eyes. “Well, I have to side with Sabrina on this one,” I say, folding my napkin in half as I prepare to load my tray and leave to go back on duty. “Milly, look…this is your wedding. The bride pays. Your mother says small, we make it small, and Cam will just have to live with that. Are you going on a honeymoon?”

“Cam mentioned Hawaii…” she says in a hopeful voice.

“There you go,” I nod and stand up. “Hawaii is nice and you’ll have a wonderful time. The groom pays, so you’ll be going first class. You’ve got nothing to worry about!” I consider the matter closed. “I have to get back upstairs. Now, you tell Cam tonight and don’t back out, you hear? This is one secret you’re going to have to tell him, and I don’t want to hear otherwise,” I say in my best motherly tone.

Milly nods, unconvinced, but I know she will tell him.