The Value Of Valor - KJ3 (4 page)

“Death,” Kate whispered the word, anguish written all over her face.

“I’m not ready to give up on her, Barbara. I can’t.”

“Grieving doesn’t mean you’re giving up, honey.”

“Doesn’t it?”

“I don’t think so.”

Kate was quiet for a minute as she struggled with the concept.

Finally, she said, “I’m not going to let him do this.” Her tone was resolute.

Barbara looked at her expectantly.

“I’m going to hold a service for Jay the day after tomorrow.”

“You are?” Barbara was astounded.

Kate nodded, trying to stem a new wave of grief and tears. “To celebrate her
life
.”

“That’s my Kate.”

“I can’t…the idea of that man eulogizing a child he didn’t value—

crying crocodile tears and garnering sympathy over her—just makes me sick to my stomach. The only way to stop him is to beat him to the punch.”

“Are you sure?”

“Mmm hmm.” It was the only sound she could make around the lump in her throat.

The Value of Valor

CHAPTER TWO

he room slowly came into focus. The walls were reddish-tan and T lined with shelves containing jars filled with different substances.

Some appeared to be plants, others rocks and minerals. In one corner, a slightly built, dark-skinned woman was pouring something into a bottle and humming to herself.

“H-” The woman in the bed tried to clear her throat. “H-hello?”

Terri Lightfoot wheeled around, a smile creasing her warm, friendly face. “Ah, you’re awake.”

“I guess.”

The healer approached the bed with a glass of water and a straw. In truth, she was quite relieved. It had been five days since the accident, and with one exception, the patient hadn’t regained consciousness until this moment.

Terri checked the IV and put her hand on a still-swollen cheek.

“Here, let’s raise you up a bit and give you a drink. Not too much, though.”

“Thank you.” The injured woman sipped greedily, although the motion caused her jaw to throb.

“How do you feel?”

“L-like I’ve been hit by a truck.”

Terri laughed. “Very nearly true.”

“Where am I?”

“You’re in my clinic. I’m Terri Lightfoot, the healer for this tribe.”

“Tribe?”

“Yes, you’re on the Navajo reservation near Chinle, Arizona.”

“Oh.” The woman tried to reach up to touch the bandages on her head, but the movement sent a searing pain through her torso.

Terri grasped her hand. “Stay still, child. You’ll injure yourself further.”

“What happened to me?”

Lynn Ames

“You were in a very bad car accident.” Terri considered carefully what she wanted to say. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

The woman seemed to consider. “I…” Her jaw worked for a minute in silence and a lone tear leaked out of her right eye. “I don’t know.”

“Do you remember who else was in the car with you?”

“What?”

“It’s okay. No need to worry about that now. How about your name, can you tell me that?”

The woman tried to shake her head, the agony of the motion causing her to cry out sharply.

“Shh. It’s all right. Everything’s going to be fine.” Terri sat on the edge of the bed and wrapped comforting arms around the woman.

“I’m scared.”

“I know. Shh. It will be fine; you have to trust me. You’re safe here.

Nothing will hurt you.”

“H-hurt me?” She wondered at what she considered an odd choice of words. “Why can’t I remember anything?”

“Sometimes after the brain is injured, it takes time to regain memory.

You took a very nasty blow to the head, and your body needs time to heal itself.”

“What if I never remember?”

“When the time is right, you’ll remember. I know it.” Terri thought about the ring in her pocket but decided she had pushed the woman hard enough for the moment. “I’ll tell you what.”

The eyes the injured woman turned to her were full of sadness and fear.

“We have to call you something. Pick a name you think is pretty.”

After a second’s hesitation, the woman said, “How about Alexa?”

Terri smiled. “Alexa is a beautiful name. I think it suits you.” Before she had finished her sentence, the woman had fallen asleep.

Terri turned Alexa’s ring over in her hand, staring at it. She was still debating whether or not to show it to Alexa in the hope that it would trigger her memory. She didn’t feel qualified to make that judgment.

Terri wished she’d taken a rotation in psychology while in medical school, but she’d been more interested in infectious diseases, deciding it would be of more practical help to her people.

She thought about the one person outside of the reservation she trusted to help her with Alexa’s care. She glanced at the bedside clock: 6:33 a.m. Andrea always was an early riser. She dialed the familiar phone number of one of her best friends from medical school and one of the finest psychologists she knew.

“Andrea Marsden.”

The Value of Valor

“Hello, old friend.”

“Terri!” The voice on the other end was warm, like liquid honey. “It’s awfully early in the day, even for you.”

“I didn’t wake you, did I?”

The woman laughed. “You know better than that. At this hour, though, I doubt you’re calling me just to catch up.”

“Perceptive, as always, Andy. I have a difficult problem, and I need some advice.”

“I’m listening.”

When Terri had filled Andrea in on the few details there were to Alexa’s story, she got down to the heart of the problem. “Should I ask her about the dead woman, the passenger?”

“No. It could be very traumatic.”

“Okay, here’s the second question. When she came to me, she was wearing a diamond wedding band. She was unconscious and her hands had cuts, bruises, and swelling. In cleaning her up, I removed the ring.

I’ve had it ever since.”

“She doesn’t know about it?”

“No. I haven’t shown it to her yet. I guess the question is, should I?

Will it help her regain her memory?”

There was silence on the line for several moments as the psychologist considered the question. “It’s possible. But, Terri, I think it’s more likely that it would serve to frustrate her. It could set her back.”

“How so?”

“She’s suffered traumatic amnesia, as you know. She’s in a dissociative fugue. Usually in a case like this, memory recovery would be triggered by contact with something, or someone, from the past. In this instance, since the event leading to the amnesia had a physical, in addition to the psychological, component as a result of her head injuries, it’s a little more complicated.”

“What do you suggest?”

“I think it would be best if she recovered her memory as naturally as possible. Who she is, where she came from, the ring, and the other woman in the car—it’s inside of her. When her mind and body are ready, assuming they will be, it’ll come back.”

Terri detected a hesitation in her friend’s voice. “What is it, Andy?”

“Have you been paying attention to the news lately?”

“I’ve been trying to, but Alexa’s care has kept me very busy. I miss watching the television, but at least I’ve been able to keep the radio on in my office.”

“Terri, I think there’s a good chance the dead passenger is the press secretary’s lover, Jamison Parker.”

Lynn Ames

“I know, I’ve come to the same conclusion,” Terri answered. “It must have been—all the details fit. Which brings me to my next question.

Should I try to call the press secretary—Katherine Kyle?”

“To what end?” Andrea asked.

“To see if she knows who Alexa is. I haven’t done this yet, because I’ve been afraid to intrude on her grief.”

“I’d be surprised if you could get through to her in the first place,”

Andrea said. “And, psychologically speaking, it’s still important not to force Alexa’s memory. The patient has to be the priority. She’ll come to it in her own time.”

“I hope, for her sake, that time is soon.”

“Kate?” Peter called through the door.

“Yes?” She nervously fumbled with an earring.

“Everybody’s here.”

There was a pause.

“Okay, I’ll be right out.” Kate had managed, with the help of friends in important places, to secure a historic mansion in Saratoga Springs, New York, in which to hold the service. She picked this spot because it was the site of her very first date with Jay.

They had spent the day hiking at Kaaterskill Falls in the Catskills.

Kate wanted to do something special for their first dinner date, so she called in a favor from a friend—the curator of this site. It had been the one-time headquarters of Revolutionary War General Burgoyne during the famous Battle of Saratoga. Kate surprised Jay by taking her to dinner in the intimate private dining room of this house, which was closed to the public. The evening had been magical.

Kate sighed, looking down at the picture in her hands. There was Jay, laughing and smiling, looking elegant in the rust-colored silk pantsuit she had worn that night, showing off the two dozen roses Kate had given her.

“Jay, I can’t say goodbye to you.” A teardrop fell onto the picture. “I just can’t. You might still be out there—it’s not impossible. I won’t give up on you as long as there’s hope. So today is not about an ending, okay?

It’s just a celebration of your life and who you are. I know you’re going to come back to me.” She choked on her tears. “Please come back to me, Jay. I love you so much.”

When Kate walked out into the great room where the service was to be held, she was both dumbfounded and touched. There, assembled before her, was a “Who’s Who” of people who had played a role in her life and Jay’s. In the front row were Peter, Barbara, Trish, President Hyland, and Vander Standislau, the editor in chief of
Time
. Just behind them were colleagues and friends from the media like Wendy Ashton of The Associated Press; Wanda Nelson, host of the nighttime news
The Value of Valor

magazine
America’s Heartbeat
; Gene—Kate’s favorite cameraman from her days at WCAP-TV; and Phil, her news producer. In the next row of seats were the current and former commissioners of the New York State Department of Correctional Services Randy Garston and Brian Sampson.

Alongside Sampson sat Sarah Alexander, Jay’s college roommate and first lover. The list went on and on. Kate suspected there were more than one hundred people in the room.

For a long moment, she simply stood at the podium that had been set up for her. She might have stayed frozen that way had Barbara not caught her eye and given her a reassuring smile and nod.

“Th-the fact that there are so many of you here, on such short notice and so far away from home for most of you—well, it says a lot for the kind of person Jay is.”

There was a low buzz in the room and Kate looked up to find a sea of sympathetic faces. She paused. “As you can imagine, this is very difficult for me. I’m not ready to say goodbye yet.” She struggled to keep her emotions in check. “As a result, what I’m going to ask you all to do today may seem a bit unorthodox.” She smiled weakly. “I hope you’ll bear with me.

“Today isn’t about endings. It’s a celebration of one extraordinary woman’s life. I wish…I wish Jay were here right now to feel all the love for her in this room.” Kate swallowed hard.

“I’d like to start by having those of you who are so inclined say one word you’d use to describe Jay.” Her eyes settled on the president. “Mr.

President, sir, I believe I’d like you to start.”

All eyes turned to the charismatic man in the front row. Charles Hyland rose to his full 6’2” height. “Delightful.”

There were murmurs of assent.

Barbara stood next. “Engaging.”

Peter followed. “Sweet.”

It was Trish’s turn. “Talented.”

Words started to flow in such rapid-fire succession that it became difficult for Kate to keep track of the source for each descriptor.

“Intelligent.”

“Dedicated.”

“Loyal.”

“Witty.”

“Dependable.”

“Vivacious.”

“Tireless.”

“Relentless.”

“Thorough.”

“Friendly.”

Lynn Ames

“Outgoing.”

“Funny.”

“Sneaky.”

That comment caused a ripple of laughter and a round of hearty agreements. When the words had died down and quiet resumed, Kate smiled at the group. “My word for Jay is perfect, although I know she’d argue with me about that.” She looked at the faces around the room. “I see so many of you here who have known Jay as long, or longer, than I have. I think one of the best ways to honor and celebrate someone is to share her stories. I’ll start with the first time I laid eyes on Jay—which is not, ironically, the first time I met her; that didn’t come until later.

“It was a little more than seven years ago, and I was a senior in college. There I was, locked in a tennis duel to the death with my arch nemesis in the final match of my college career. I was about to serve a pivotal point when something on the hillside overlooking the court caught my eye. I looked up, and there she was—this gorgeous girl in a Middlebury lacrosse sweatshirt. She smiled at me. I knew I’d better win the point and the match or I’d feel like a chump.”

The room exploded in laughter.

“Hey, that was a lot of pressure!” Kate waited a beat.

Someone yelled out, “Well? What happened? Did you win the match or not?”

“You bet your sweet bippy I did. Unfortunately, it was another five years before I won the girl. Although, we both agreed we fell in love at first sight that day.”

“Hopeless romantics.”

“Something wrong with that?” Kate shot back in the general direction of the comment.

More laughter. “Not a thing, Kate.”

“Good. Who wants to go next?” Kate was glad that her story seemed to have the intended effect—the group was looser and much less somber.

“I guess I’ll go,” Barbara said, standing up. “The first time I met Jay, she was pulling Kate by the ear into my office. It was the middle of the night, the New York state capitol building had been bombed, Kate had been the only reporter on the air for more hours than seemed humanly possible…” Barbara paused for effect. “And she looked like hell.”