The Best of Times: A Dicken's Inn Novel (29 page)

“He did it?” she asked, feeling the same warm pride.

“He did. But I shouldn’t say anything more.”

“I understand. I’m going to get a flight. I’ll call you back soon. And thank you. Thank you so much!”

Chas had everything arranged in less than an hour, including making arrangements for all of the business at the inn and letting Melva and Melinda know where she was going. They all agreed that it was best for Melva
not
to try to see Jackson in this condition, and Chas reassured them that she would call as soon as she could and tell them everything.

During the drive to the airport, Chas cried intermittently. But there was hope and joy mixed with her tears. She was going to be able to see him. And while she was steeling herself for how bad it might be, she was grateful to be the one that Agent Veese would be willing to help, because he believed that she could help Jackson. And that was all she wanted right now—to help Jackson.

The flight felt far too long, and by the time she landed she had to continually will herself to remain calm. She didn’t want to be a sobbing idiot with Agent Veese. She could save that for being with Jackson. He’d already seen her as a sobbing idiot.

Veese and Ekert found her at the same place as they had before, but this time, the drive from the airport was more calm. A few minutes into it, when nothing had been said, Chas interrupted the silence. “I’m waiting, Agent Veese.”

“I know,” he said. “I’m stalling.” He sighed and turned to look at her over the seat while Ekert drove. “We don’t know why it happened. Apparently the undercover identity he’d assumed in order to get the people we were after got him into trouble. Apparently someone else was real angry with this guy, and they thought that Leeds could give them information, which of course he didn’t have.” Chas nodded and fought for her composure. If she started crying, he was more likely to stop talking. “He was in their custody for three and a half weeks before we found him and were able to get him out. They roughed him up pretty bad,” he said, but he said it gently. “There were no broken bones, and no internal injuries; nothing that won’t heal with time.”

Chas nodded and let out a sigh of relief that couldn’t disguise the little sob that came with it. “That is very good, then.”

“Yes, it’s very good,” Veese said, and Chas realized that knowing nothing had truly let her imagination wander into horrible territory.

“The worst of it now is just how sick he’s been.”

“What do you mean?”

“Apparently he picked up some kind of nasty parasite, and it’s made him really sick. I have to be straight with you and tell you that . . .” He paused and met her eyes. “Do you want me to be straight with you?”

“Yes, of course,” she said, cautioning herself against discounting the horrible territory where her imagination had wandered. “They didn’t feed him much, and what they gave him was wretched. That’s probably what made him sick, and whatever he’s got, it’s bad. He’s been in a lot of pain, so they keep him pretty much sedated, just because he’s utterly miserable otherwise. Between the injuries and the illness, he’s just been a mess. That’s all. But they’re treating both, and he’s showing improvement, and he’s going to be just fine. Nothing permanent.”

“Oh!” Chas said and put both hands over her quivering stomach. There was no stopping the tears that trickled down her face.

“It’s okay, ma’am,” Veese said, facing forward again but passing her a tissue over the seat. “We’ve both had some of that since we dragged him out of that hole.”

“You?” Chas said. “You’re the ones who rescued him?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ekert said. He hadn’t previously said a word.

“He would have done the same for us,” Veese added.

The remainder of the drive allowed Chas time to take in what she’d learned, and to vent her tears silently so that she could hopefully be more calm when she saw Jackson. The only other thing she said was, “Could I have a couple more of those tissues?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Veese said and passed them to her.

At the hospital she took every step with hope and dread. She prayed that she could handle this well, and that her being here could make a difference on Jackson’s behalf—and her own. She knew when they were approaching the right room because a man in a dark suit with an ear wire was sitting outside the door. He came to his feet when he saw Veese and Ekert approaching.

“Any change?” Veese asked him.

“Nothing other than they say his vitals look better today,” the man said.

“Take a break,” Veese said. “I’ll cover for a while.”

“Good, I’m starving,” the agent said and walked away. Ekert sat in the chair he had been occupying, and Veese pushed open the door, hesitating a moment to check Chas’s expression. She nodded firmly and followed Veese into the room. He closed the door behind them.

Chas approached the bedside, holding her breath. She felt immediate relief to see that he didn’t look as bad as she’d expected. Again she had allowed her imagination to run wild. But perhaps that wasn’t all bad when she felt more relieved than shocked. He still looked bad. His face bore evidence of many cuts and bruises, but they were clearly in stages of healing. He looked a little swollen in places, but she suspected that too was improving. The only medical equipment hooked to him was an IV in his left arm, and monitors that showed he was very much alive. She set her purse on the floor and quietly slid a chair across the floor so she could sit and hold his right hand. She felt a subtle flinch in his hand when she took it, but he remained asleep, no doubt aided by the medication.

She was glad to have him unconscious while she cried again, consumed once more with a combination of horror and relief. Veese handed her a box of tissues that had been on the opposite side of the bed. She thanked him, and he made himself comfortable on the other side of the room, discreetly reading a newspaper to give her as much privacy as possible. She sat there for a few minutes, adjusting to the reality of being with Jackson, and the evidence of what he’d been through. She knew that once he recovered physically, he would be treated for PTSD. And his healing on both counts might not go quickly. Once again, she was faced with needing to be patient.

A nurse came in, said hello to Veese, and started checking Jackson’s vital signs while Veese gave her a one-sentence explanation of who Chas was and why she was here.

“Don’t be afraid to talk to him,” the nurse said to Chas, “even while he’s asleep. They say it helps. Although,” she glanced at the clock, “he should be coming out of it soon. We like to bring them around a little between doses, just to see how they’re feeling and responding. I’ll just give you some time with him, and you let me know when he needs something for the pain.”

Chas nodded and thanked her as she left the room. “Once he wakes up,” Veese said, “I’ll give the two of you some privacy. I’m not worried about him divulging any great national secrets when he’s conscious.”

“If he does, I’ll be sure to pass them along and then conveniently forget,” she said, mildly facetious.

He smiled at her and turned the page on the newspaper. “No wonder Leeds likes you.”

“I like him, too,” she said and kissed Jackson’s hand. Recalling the nurse’s advice, she ignored Veese in the room and eased closer so that she could speak in a low voice near his ear. “I’m here, Jackson. I love you. I love you so much. We’re going to get through this . . . together.” He remained as he was, and she impulsively started rambling about the good times they’d had together, the holidays they’d celebrated, the things they’d helped each other through. She knew Veese was in the room, but also knew he couldn’t hear what she was saying while she whispered. She just hoped that Jackson could hear it. She needed him to know that she loved him. She loved him so much.

CHAPTER 17

Jackson felt himself merging into consciousness. It still took him a long moment each time to be assured that he was surrounded by the sounds and sensations of a hospital room in the blessed United States of America. Once he knew that, the rest was just a temporary inconvenience. He’d been assured often enough that the pain and illness were temporary, so he was beginning to believe that was true. And he knew from experience that he didn’t need to be awake long before he’d be given something to help him remain in oblivion while the healing took its course.

He’d been promised that he would soon be able to actually make a phone call, and he was greatly looking forward to that moment. The nurses and agents who came in and out had offered to help him make a call, but he didn’t want to speak to Chas and sound as horrible as he felt. And for reasons he couldn’t explain, he was a little afraid to talk to her. He’d been haunted by her words when they’d last parted, that she was afraid something bad was going to happen. Maybe if he had listened to her . . . He couldn’t go there. He’d told himself a hundred times not to go there. But he couldn’t avoid the regret he felt for the choices he’d made that had led up to this disaster. And the thought of how close he’d come to leaving Chas to face life alone—again—enhanced the chronic nausea he’d been dealing with.

Jackson came more fully awake but found it difficult to open his eyes. That was nothing new. He found some comfort in a vague sense that his dreams had been good, as opposed to what he usually experienced. He couldn’t remember
what
he’d dreamt, but it had left him feeling less alone, less frightened, more prone to believing that this was going to end. Then he moved his hand and became aware that someone was holding it. He squeezed and felt the gesture returned. His heart quickened while he attempted to convince himself that this had to be his imagination.

Chas’s heart sped up when he began to stir. She saw his expression change and knew he was conscious and that his thoughts were deep. She remained quiet and allowed him time to become more awake before she made her presence known. She felt him squeeze her hand, and her heart beat hard and fast.

Jackson turned his head on the pillow and forced his eyes open. It took him a long moment to focus, and another long moment to accept that he wasn’t hallucinating. He felt tears slide over his temples and felt her hand wiping them away. “You’re here,” he said, his voice raspy.

“I am,” she said, and he made a noise of disbelief.

As they made eye contact with an intensity that was familiar, she felt such an enormous combination of sorrow and joy that she couldn’t speak. His eyes reflected her own emotions perfectly. He seemed to understand without a word spoken that the unfathomable joy of being reunited under such circumstances would not be felt without the horror that had preceded it. She finally leaned over and pressed the side of her face to his, whispering near his ear, “It is the best of times; it is the worst of times. . . .”

“Amen,” he muttered and lifted his other hand to the back of her head, holding her close to him with a strength that surprised even him. She looked at him again, and he said, “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“It doesn’t matter.” She touched one side of his face, then the other, as if she could heal the wounds. “I had to see you. I had to. Veese helped me.”

She nodded toward him, and Jackson turned just as Veese put down the paper and came to his feet. “I’ll give you a few minutes alone,” he said and opened the door.

“Veese,” Jackson said.

“Yeah, boss?”

“Thank you.”

“You’d do the same for me,” he said and left the room.

Jackson turned his attention back to Chas. She felt the need to say, “I won’t be able to stay long. They said I could only see you for a few minutes, and my flight leaves in a couple of hours. But I figured a short visit was better than no visit at all.”

“I can’t believe you’re here,” he said. “I never thought I’d see you again.”

She whimpered, unable to hold back her emotion. “I thought you were dead . . . or worse.”

“It
was
worse. I wanted to die. But now . . . now I’m so grateful to be alive.”

“Oh, me too,” she said and couldn’t resist putting her lips to his. “I hope it isn’t catching,” she said, but kissed him again as if it didn’t matter.

“It’s not,” he said and urged her into another kiss. “Oh,” he murmured, “I wish I could get up out of this bed and leave with you now.”

“I wish you could too,” she said. “But it’s okay. When you’re better, I’ll be waiting.”

“Then I’m going to have to hurry and get better,” he said, and she kissed him again. “Is everything okay?” he asked.

“I’m better now,” she said. “Not knowing was the worst. I’m just so . . . grateful.”

“You were praying for me,” he said. “I know. I felt it.”

This provoked fresh tears from Chas. “I
was
praying for you . . . constantly.”

“And you need to know . . . I believe in angels, Chas. I do.”

“What are you saying?”

She saw fresh tears in
his
eyes. “Granny was with me,” he said in a whisper, and Chas took a sharp breath, marveling at both the concept and his conviction. “I don’t know how I know, but I know. I often felt like I wasn’t alone; there was a comforting presence. But more than once I heard her voice . . . in my mind. I didn’t realize it at the time. It was after I came back that I remembered, and I knew it was her. She called me ‘young man.’” He chuckled, and she could tell it hurt. “No one called me that but her.”

“What did she tell you?”

“She told me to hold on, that there was much to live for.”

Chas laughed through a gentle sob. “She’s right about that.”

Jackson could feel the pain coming on more, taking over, and he felt himself having to choose between being with her and being racked with what he knew would become difficult to bear without drugs. He felt compelled to say what he’d wanted to say a thousand times. “I’m so sorry, Chas,” he said as he became increasingly emotional.

“For what?” she asked, and he was surprised. He felt certain she must have been angry with him all this time.

“You didn’t want me to go back. You had a bad feeling. I should have listened.”

She swallowed carefully. “It’s over now, and you’re going to be okay. It doesn’t matter anymore. Nothing matters except that you’re going to get better, and we’re going to be together. Do you hear me?”

He nodded, but had to say, “I’m not the same man, Chas. I feel . . . broken . . . and scared. I don’t know how long it will be before I can even . . .” He couldn’t finish the sentence.

“It doesn’t matter,” she said and kissed him again. “I love you. Whatever may have changed, you’re still you . . . and I love you.”

“I love you too, Chas, but . . .”

She put her fingers over his lips. “You’re the man God told me to marry, Jackson. When you’re ready, you know where to find me.”

He nodded, and she could see that he was too emotional to speak. Then an alarm went off in the room and startled her, but he seemed used to it. “What is it?” she asked.

“I’m fine,” he said. “It’s nothing.” But she sensed he was holding back. Watching him more closely, she could see that he was in pain and trying to be brave.

The same nurse came into the room, turned off the alarm, and said, “Your blood pressure is up again. It happens every time we let the pain meds wear off.”

“Or maybe it happened because this beautiful woman kissed me,” Jackson said, keeping his eyes connected to Chas’s.

“Now, that’s a much better reason to see it go up. But we still need to get it down.”

Jackson turned to see her putting the medication in his IV, then he turned back to Chas, feeling desperate. “I love you,” he said, not caring that the nurse was still in the room. “I’m so glad you came. Keep praying for me.”

“I will,” she promised, and the nurse slipped out. “Promise me you’ll get better every day.”

“I’m trying. I don’t know how long it will be, but don’t give up on me.”

“Never. As soon as you can call me, you do it.”

“I will,” he said, already feeling the headiness taking over. “You’ll call my mom . . . and Melinda?”

“I will. I talk to them nearly every day.”

He nodded, and his eyes got heavy. Chas wanted to shout at him and tell him to stay with her. Instead she pressed her lips to his and felt him respond before she whispered, “I love you too, Jackson. Don’t forget it. Don’t ever forget it.”

A moment later he was asleep, but Chas remained by his side, crying a steady stream of silent tears while she held tightly to his hand. She was aware of Veese coming back into the room, but he just sat down without comment and started to read the paper. She remained where she was, counting her blessings and praying on Jackson’s behalf until Veese said quietly, “I need to get you back to the airport if you’re going to make that flight.”

“Okay,” she said, wiping her eyes, “thank you.” She stood and bent over Jackson, squeezing his hand while she whispered in his ear that she loved him. She pressed her lips to his and allowed Veese to escort her from the hospital. She took several tissues with her.

During the journey home, Chas pushed away every negative aspect of this situation and focused instead on her gratitude. Jackson was going to be okay. She’d been able to see him. He knew that she loved him, and she knew that he loved her. She felt renewed and filled with hope, and with that she could press forward with great anticipation for the day when they could be together again.

Once she was back at the inn, she updated Polly and the others on what had happened, then she called and talked separately to Melinda and Melva, while they indulged in their recent habit of crying with her over the phone.

Chas went to bed early, exhausted from a long day. She marveled that she had flown to Virginia and back in a matter of hours. She woke the next morning determined to stay busy and not watch the phone—or the calendar. It was several days before Jackson called her. The joy she felt just to hear his voice was indescribable. He told her that they were keeping him awake more, but that was just making him more aware of being miserable. Knowing how sick he’d been helped him understand why he still felt so lousy, but it was discouraging. He was being moved to a different part of the hospital where they would continue to monitor his physical condition closely, but the focus would shift to the therapy for PTSD. And he got emotional when he admitted to how much he knew he needed it.

“I’m a wreck, Chas. I’m having nightmares and panic attacks. I feel like I don’t even know who I am.”

“You need to be patient with yourself,” she said. “And remember that I love you. It will get better with time.” Her words reassured him, but Chas felt discouraged herself, wondering how long it might be.

“I don’t know when I can call you,” he said. “They’ll be keeping very close tabs on me, and the rules are ridiculous. I can only say that I’ll call when I can.”

“I know,” she said. “I understand.”

They shared their good-byes and “I love yous,” then he had to go, and Chas cried for half an hour.

Throughout the next few weeks, Chas got only a few more phone calls, and they were brief. She knew that he was also calling his mother with the same brief reports. She was overjoyed to finally hear him call and say, “I’m home now. I’m officially an outpatient. But I hate being alone.”

Chas already had a premeditated answer. “You should come here, Jackson, no strings attached. Just . . . come. I’ll take care of you. I’ll come and get you if you need me to. I’ve already checked into some things. You can do counseling over the phone with your therapist there, or we can find a good therapist in Butte—or both. We can work on it together.”

“That sounds more wonderful than I could ever tell you, and I think we can work up to that, but I need to be here for a while; I don’t know how long. They’ve still got me in therapy—both kinds. I need time. I can’t even think beyond one day at a time right now. I hope you can understand.”

“Of course,” she said, fighting to keep her emotion silent.

“If everything goes well, I’m hoping to be there for Christmas.” Chas couldn’t speak as joy leapt out of her throat, and she had to put a hand over her mouth to keep from squealing in his ear. “Is that a problem?” She didn’t answer. “Chas, if there’s a reason you don’t want me to come for Christmas, then—”

“No,” she said and sniffled. She laughed, then sobbed, then laughed again. “Nothing could make me happier than to have you here for Christmas.” She sniffled. “Do you really mean it?”

“I really do. We’ll just plan on it, okay? It’ll be just like last year.”

She laughed, feeling the hope surge into her, mingling with precious memories. “Ten-dollar limit?”

“No promises there,” he said. “I think our relationship warrants a little more thought and effort than that for something so wondrous as celebrating Christmas together. It’s not about the money, Chas. I just want to get you something for Christmas this year that will let you know how much you mean to me.”

“Amen,” she said.

The next day she sent him a card, but didn’t expect she’d get one in return for a while. He probably wasn’t up to card shopping. But that was okay. She’d just keep sending them. If nothing else, it was a way to let him know that she loved him and she was there for him.

Through the following week Chas heard from Jackson only once more. He told her that he actually hadn’t been home very much. He’d been spending time at the office, not working but more as therapy in being able to be among people who gave him a comfort zone and helped him merge his pre-trauma life with the present. He’d also been spending time at the homes of some of the same people, and everyone had been very kind. The counseling was still going on every day, but he said it was going well, and that physically he was much better. He would be on some medications for the parasitic problem for a long time, but he was now mostly free of the symptoms. His wounds were healing, and he hadn’t taken anything but Tylenol for the pain in several days. Chas was grateful to hear the report. She just missed him desperately. Then she woke up on a snowy morning and realized what day it was. After a good, long cry it took a great deal of willpower to get out of bed.
The Sunday before Thanksgiving
.