Ransomed Dreams (37 page)

“Eliot shoved you out of the way.”

“Eliot? But you . . . He was . . . Oh my gosh.”

“You didn’t know? Eliot never said anything?”

She shook her head.

“He probably just assumed you knew.”

“He thanked you, though.”

“For rescuing you, as in getting you out of there. Tell me, what do you remember?”

“Lying on the sidewalk. You were holding me down, yelling. I heard shouts and cries.” She glanced at her wrist. “My watch was smashed. You pulled me up.”

“It happened so quickly. You were probably down before it registered that someone pushed you. That was Eliot. It was instantaneous. His reflex was to reach out and protect the one he loved.”

Eliot had saved her life. Hers. The one he loved.

Luke said, “You and Reina were at the front. Eliot was at your side, a little behind. Reina was hit before the shot was heard. He threw himself directly behind you and pushed. Even as he was doing that, he was struck.” He stopped talking.

“What happened after that?” She was reliving the scene in her mind, this time from a different angle.

“Then I covered you.”

“Why?”

“Training. The ambassador was down. Others were assigned to him. Next in line was his wife. I was there.”

“But you weren’t security.”

“Comes with the package.”

She saw it now—the layout of the group. Reina was a bit ahead, reaching into her bag for the scissors Eliot would use to cut the fuchsia ribbon from the front door. The storefront was small, not conducive to a major ribbon-stringing. They had laughed about how it had to be tied around the door handle.

“You weren’t next to me.”

He shook his head and turned toward a thick grove of plants. Replaying the scene too or parsing his words?

At last he looked back at her and smiled. “Reflex.”

She heard his unspoken words, the ones he’d used to describe Eliot’s “reflex.”
“His reflex was to reach out and protect the one he loved.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

She stepped into his outstretched arms. For a long moment she lingered in an embrace that would need to last a lifetime.

Chapter 61

Eliot awoke slowly, moved tentatively, assessed the pain level, and saw despair like a cloud billow to the forefront of his mind.

“Blazes.”

He smiled. Was that what Padre Miguel suggested the other day? to get in the face of despair and curse it off?

In a sense, yes.

The priest had come Sunday afternoon to serve him Communion. It was a new development, a weekly occurrence, that somehow Padre Miguel in his inimitable way had inserted into their lives with ease without asking permission. On Sundays he wore his black cassock and collar and appeared quite hot.

“Eliot,” he had said as they sat in the study, “I’m just curious. What do you do first thing when you awaken in the morning?”

“I list everything I can’t do. Most often I begin with not being able to spring from the bed, pull on my running shoes, and take off.” He heard an undertone from Padre Miguel. “Are you tut-tutting me?”

“Apparently hearing is one thing you can still do.” He smiled blissfully, one of the most annoying men who walked the face of the earth.

“Need I remind you that you have never been in my situation?”

“I believe you just did. What do you do when you’re finished with this ‘woe is me, can’t-do’ list?”

“Go back to sleep.”

“I would too. Who could face the day with such a terrible attitude?”

“It’s not attitude. It’s facts.”

“And where do you think attitude comes from?”

“I never thought about it.”

“My, my. For such an intelligent man, you missed the boat on this one.”

Eliot frowned.

“Try this. You have your list of disheartening facts. You also have a list of facts not so disheartening. For example, you have two legs and you can walk. You have food. You have a beautiful wife.” His eyes lit up like they always did whenever he mentioned Sheridan. “You live in God’s backyard. Now, which list do you choose to focus on?” He shrugged. “There’s your attitude. If it’s one of gratitude, you can hardly wait to get on with the day to see what other gifts He has in store for you. Now, might I suggest you give it a try?”

“I think you just did.”

Padre Miguel smiled again and leaned in close. “You might even get out of bed early enough to get your rump down to Mass on time.”

Now, in the quiet of his bedroom, Eliot laughed out loud.

A moment later, the door opened and Sheridan came in. “Hey. Good morning.”

“Good morning, dear.”

“Whoa. ‘Good morning, dear’?” She smiled and sat gingerly on the edge of the bed. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” With his elbow against the mattress, he tried to hoist himself to a sitting position.

“Let me help.”

He fell back against the pillow and looked up at her. “I just wanted to kiss you good morning. Do you mind coming to get it?”

She smiled and lowered her face to his.

“Do you mind giving me my glasses first so I can see you better?”

She sighed dramatically. “
High maintenance
does not begin to describe you.” She handed him the glasses and resumed her position, her face a few inches from his. “Better?”

He straightened the glasses on his nose and smiled.

“Since you’re obviously feeling chipper, I have a complaint to file. You, Eliot Logan Montgomery the Third, broke my arm.”

“Yes, and I already apologized. Didn’t I?”

“You knew and you apologized?”

“I thought so.”

“I don’t remember it.”

“The first time I saw your cast, I apologized. Were we still in Caracas, or had we arrived in Houston? At any rate, it was in a hospital. The first one is hazier than the second, but I distinctly remember your thick white arm next to a thick doctor in a white coat. The sheets were all white too.”

“And you were too drugged to make coherent conversation. Eliot, you saved my life!”

“Well. Yes. But you knew that.”

“No, I didn’t. You pushed me down and saved my life.”

“You didn’t know?”

“Not until Luke told me yesterday. He assumed I knew.”

“Hm. Imagine that. Actually I only accomplished the first part. If he and the others hadn’t done their part . . . I am sorry about the arm.”

“Don’t forget the ribs.”

“Ribs?”

“Two were cracked.”

“Well, I’m sorry about those, too.”

“If I still had the cast on, I’d whack you with it.”

He saw the twinkle in her eyes, but also the dark half-moons, the pronounced fine lines. They hadn’t really spoken since the previous day when he had told Luke good-bye. His last clear thought was a sweet parting with Sheridan as she walked away with Luke.

After that Eliot’s afternoon and evening hours were spent napping and drifting in a fog of mental absenteeism. That state was still Sheridan’s main despair. The fact that they could not dialogue like the old days intensified her loneliness.

Evidently they hadn’t dialogued over the past year and a half even a trace as much as he remembered, or thought he remembered. She hadn’t known who pushed her down? It baffled him.

“My word, Sher, you truly did not know?”

“No. I was down so fast and then Luke was dragging me away. I saw you and Reina.” She winced.

“I’m so sorry.” He smoothed a strand of her hair from her cheek. “It was so awful for you. Have you had nightmares lately? You haven’t mentioned them in a long time. At least not that I can remember.”

“Eliot, you’re my hero.”

“Aw shucks, ma’am. ’Tweren’t nuttin’.” He smiled.

“Thank you, O knight.” She touched his chin. “Seriously, Eliot, you sacrificed yourself for me.”

“You don’t need to say anything.”

“I can’t help but remember what you said about wanting only to protect yourself, your image and career. But when it came down to a matter of life and death . . .” She shrugged.

“I love you.”

“I know. You proved it in the ultimate way. You chose me over your own well-being.” Her brows slid up and down; lines creased her forehead; her lips pursed and smoothed. “I have forgiven you, but as you said, there have been emotional tails.”

He gazed at her and held his breath.

“I haven’t been able to let it go. Now, though, it’s like something is washing over me, like God is flooding it from me. Why would I hold it over you? Why would I want to see you through a lens clouded with mistakes you’ve asked me to forgive? Because it makes me feel better or safer from hurt? Those are emotional tails that I’m cutting off. They have no place in our marriage.”

He breathed again.

“Does that make sense, Eliot?”

“No.” He grinned. “But then forgiveness doesn’t make sense. How you can forgive and forget is a mystery. And I’m fine with mystery.”

She smiled, her expression at last one of peace.

It was an awkward angle, Sheridan leaning sideways over him, he unable to raise his head. But he slid his fingers up through her hair and pulled her closer. Silently, briefly, he thanked God for his beautiful wife who thought he was her knight.

And then he kissed her.

Chapter 62

On the highway to Mazatlán

As requested by Luke and his cohorts, a debriefing was planned for Eliot in Mazatlán.

Sheridan tried not to bemoan the necessary trip. It was an interruption to the plateau they had reached since her discovery of Eliot’s heroic effort in saving her life. On one level, nothing had changed; and yet in an abstract sense, everything had changed.

Eliot’s needs still dictated most of their routine. Pain scale numbers, medications, physical therapy, naps, and work on his manuscript consumed the hours.

But a new sense of peace filled Sheridan’s heart. She rode the lonely, unbearable times more gently, consciously turning her thoughts to the One who tagged her as Eliot’s helpmate. If that was where she belonged, then God was going to have to give her the ability to stay there.

“Sheridan.” Eliot turned to her now from the passenger seat as they drove toward Mazatlán. “I have something to confess.”

Her stomach did a quick double flip. The phrase unsettled her. Had he been more involved with diamond smuggling after all?

Ridiculous.

Eyes dead ahead on the highway, she took a hand off the wheel and pressed it against her stomach. “We should have brought Padre Miguel with us.”

“Maybe.” He exchanged a smile with her. “What do you think the feds would do with our wise man?”

“Shake their heads and ask him how he
knows
.”

He chuckled, a good sign for this trip. It promised that he was determined to make it through the coming difficult days with the agents.

He said, “I think if I say this out loud, it might defuse its hold on me. I’m scared, Sher. I am scared witless.”

“But why? With your service to the country, they’re not going to arrest you for something they can’t prove. And they’re certainly not going to lock you up for talking to Harrison Cole eons ago and getting blackmailed by him.” She glanced at him. “And you’ve already fallen flat on your face, so it can’t be that.”

He chuckled. The sound gained strength, and soon his deep laugh filled the car. “That wasn’t funny,” he declared and laughed some more.

Sheridan giggled with him. “It was, Eliot; it was.”

His fall had happened three days before, on a Sunday. His decision to attend his first church service in Topala had surprised both her and Mercedes. They scurried about, helping him get ready. Sheridan fetched the car, drove him the approximate block and a half down to the church, and then parked the car back at Davy’s. Meanwhile, he waited out front of Iglesia de San José with Mercedes because he wanted to enter the church with his wife.

With the iffiness of the rainy season, tourist numbers had slackened, but there were at least a few busloads present that morning. The visitors had gathered in the square and in front of the church, milling about.

One of them bumped into Eliot’s cane.

Still several yards from him, Sheridan watched in horror as he fell. To fall in public and not be able to get up was his greatest fear.

One cane flipped some feet away; the other wobbled. He went down in slow motion. Mercedes reached out too late. He tumbled to the stone walk, one section of his body at a time, in a sort of roll onto his back.

Sheridan almost laughed.

She reached him, words ready to soothe his mortification, but he burst into laughter. She knelt beside him. “Are you all right?”

“I tried to call out ‘timber.’”

She grinned. “Oh no! There goes the elm tree!”

They both laughed until tears ran down their faces.

Now in the car he smiled again. “I need not fear the embarrassment of falling in public ever again. Been there, done that. Could do it again. No more pride left to hurt.”

She only hoped he wouldn’t hurt his body. “Then what are you afraid of, hon?”

He took a moment to reply. “The city.”

She reached over, squeezed his arm. “No big deal. Been there, done that. Can do it again, right beside you.”

* * *

Mazatlán

“It’s the utter despair that undoes me.” Sheridan looked at the woman beside her.

Annie Wilson swept the street with professional eyes hidden behind designer sunglasses. The woman had been assigned as Sheridan’s babysitter while Eliot was off at some secluded spot answering questions. Sheridan wondered if Luke had any input in suggesting a certain personality type to keep her company, because Annie was a perfect match for her.

When they first met and Sheridan announced she would be avoiding the beach, pool, and trinket shopping, Annie said, “Cool.” The young woman didn’t bat an eye as Sheridan led her through a maze of blocks, far from the tourist hot spots, to an obviously seedy part of the city.

Aside from her toned biceps, the firearm most likely stuffed in her fanny pack, and her fluent Spanish, Annie was a nondescript American. Thirtysomething, short medium brown hair styled in a blunt cut, hazel eyes, and dressed like any tourist in a colorful summer skirt and sleeveless top, she fit in with the crowd.