The Healer

  “She’ll be settled soon with Dave. You should think about it some more. Go find yourself a small town somewhere and find out if the peaceful life you dream about is out there, or if what you’re really searching for is something spiritual.”

  Stephen sighed. “How many times have we talked about God?”

  “Apparently not enough.”

  “I know who He is, Jen. I just want to live my own life.” He understood the price religion demanded of a man, and he was honest enough to know he didn’t want to pay it. But he knew well how badly she wanted him to say yes. “It’s my choice. That doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate the thought.” Her gaze held his and there was sadness there, and pity, neither of which settled well with him.

  “I’m not giving up on you.”

  He made himself smile. “Which is one of the reasons I love you. You always were the stubborn one in the family. And quite persuasive. Is that it?”

  She dug out a piece of paper she had tucked in the cushions of the couch. She read it, refolded it, and offered it to him. “When I die. Tom doesn’t need to worry about the funeral. I planned it.”

  He took it but scowled. “Don’t get morbid on me.”

  “Stephen.”

  He looked from the note back at her.

  “I’ve watched many people die during my lifetime. This energy— it isn’t natural,” she said softly. “I’m dying. Soon.”

  He wrapped his hand around hers. “It’s also likely adrenaline,” he said gently. “You saved lives today. It’s a high like no other.”

  She studied him in silence and then smiled. “Yes. I can see why you do it.”

  Jen nestled down into the cushions with the puppy. “Get me another ice pack and then let’s play some Scrabble.”

  “Only if medical words aren’t allowed. It’s too easy for you to use the hard letters.” He got up to get the ice pack.

  “Latex is not a hard word.”

  “You and your Xs. You want the lumpy ice pack or the thick one?”

  “Whatever hits the center of my back the best.”

  He got the ice pack and retrieved cold sodas.

  “How’s Rae?”

  “I saw her a couple hours ago making a hospital cafeteria table her temporary office,” Stephen replied. “The girl who died in the cafeteria? She was the oldest in a family of immigrants. Rae’s Spanish has improved in the last year. She’s nearly fluent.”

  “How traumatically is it hitting the students?”

  “She’s got five girls red slipped. Given the number of students, I’m surprised there aren’t more.” He found more pretzels. “I saw card number sixty-eight get passed out to one of the injured students. Her pager was definitely getting a workout. Try this ice pack.”

  Stephen handed it to her and sat back down. He tugged over the table so she could play Scrabble without having to reach too far. He dumped the letters from the board back into the draw bag. “Low letter goes first?”

  “Sure.” Jennifer drew out an A. “I go first.”

  “I hope that doesn’t represent your luck for the night.” They selected letters.

  “Stephen, I want a favor.” She played the word TITAN.

  “On top of your list? This is an interesting evening. What’s the favor?”

  “You were a fireman and it wasn’t enough to make you content, so you became a paramedic. You’re still restless. Go be a carpenter. Go prove to yourself the restlessness won’t go away until you finally listen to the truth.”

  “Run away to find myself?”

  “You’re smart enough to know I’m right.”

  “I’m smart enough to know TITAN to TITANIUM is worth a small fortune in points.” He laid down the three tiles and tallied his score.

  She laughed and played the word CHEATING.

  Stephen looked at her empty rack of letters and at 2 A.M. wouldn’t put it past her to have palmed a letter. She just smiled at him. He played HEXAGON. A brother would let a sister win at only so many things, but Scrabble wasn’t one of them. “Do you want me to call the others?” he asked. All the O’Malleys should be here tonight.

  She squeezed his shoulder. “Your company is just fine.”

  Stephen didn’t know how to take that.

  “I don’t plan to die alone. Other than that, it’s not that scary, Stephen. I’m on earth one moment and walking around heaven the next. I’m sure it will be a captivating enough place that I won’t have more than just a thought or two about the fact it means I just died. You’re here so you can assure the others that my death was peaceful.”

  “Don’t talk like this, Jen.”

  “You’re afraid because you don’t believe.”

  “I’m not the one you should ask for this.”

  “Who better to ask? Lisa? Rachel? Marcus?”

  He looked from his letters over to her.

  “You’ve got the strength to deal with death. You’ve seen that moment of death so many times, when an accident victim stops living. I want you to have one good memory to replace all those horrible ones. I want you to know what it’s like to die peacefully when Jesus is waiting to meet you.”

  Man, she really thinks she is dying. “I thought I had days with you to say good-bye, and now you’re telling me there may not be a tomorrow.”

  “Today, this week, this month,” she answered gently. “It’s soon, Stephen.” She squeezed his chilly hand. “Hand me the remains of Tom’s hamburger, will you? Butterball is hungry.”

  Stephen was relieved to have her change the subject. “Thirsty maybe. That mutt shared my dinner on the drive over here.” If she so much as sneezed wrong tonight, he was going to page the family. She hadn’t told Tom; otherwise the man would be sitting in the chair beside him talking with her. Jen was a doctor, Tom was a doctor, and there was a hospital across the street. In a pinch, Stephen would call 911, but he was the one they would send to respond. “It’s your turn.”

  “Now we’re playing proper names.” She laid down OMALLEY.

  She had boxed him in on the board so he could only play a two letter ME. “I wish Marcus had suggested a different name.”

  Jen switched around her letters, looking for ideas. “Was he the one who first mentioned O’Malley? Rachel and I found one of the earlier lists, but we didn’t find the one with that name.”

  “Remember the St. Patrick’s Day party where Jack made the 7UP vivid green?”

  “How could I forget?” Jen asked. “Jack ate clam chowder later that night and got sick.”

  “It was a midnight meeting in the hallway where we drew short straws to see who had to check on him. Marcus made that statement, ‘O’Malleys take care of their own’ and it stuck.”

  “I thought he said, ‘Men take care of their own’ and you were supposed to take the short straw. Everyone knew it was the toothpick with the red on the end.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  Jennifer laughed. “All these years and you didn’t know? You drew the short straw.”

  “Purely by accident. Jack is not fun when he’s sick.”

  “I know what you mean,” Jen agreed. “I think O’Malley came up at the meeting that next weekend. Maybe you suggested it.”

  “I’ve no idea. It’s your play.”

  “I’m thinking.” Butterball knocked over her rack of letters.

  “Puppies can’t help. I plan to win this one.”

  She played XEROX. “Triple points.” She reached for more letters. “I’m very glad you were there yesterday. It was a relief to look up and see you and Jack heading into the fray.”

  He leaned over and hugged her. “The next crisis, I’ll try to be there even earlier.”

  Twenty-nine

  Rachel had trouble reading her own writing. She unwrapped another cough drop, hoarse from hours talking on the phone with kids. She was updating Nora on what she had learned about the network of friends so the other counselors could sort out the follow-up plans. Rachel had on her short list for this Wednesday morning to v
isit Marissa and Adam and then get some much needed sleep.

  “Lisa’s back,” Nora noted as they finished work.

  Rachel turned. She hadn’t realized her sister was planning to come back to the command center this morning. She glanced back at Nora as her friend got up from the table. “Do you need help with the morning briefing?”

  “I’m ready.”

  “I’ll be over to help with the hotline in a minute.”

  “It’s covered for now,” Nora said. “Protect what remains of your voice.”

  “And eat. You look awful,” Lisa encouraged. Rachel took the ham croissant Lisa offered and watched her sister take a seat on the edge of the table.

  “It’s been a long night.” She had spent it moving from one hospital to the other with Cole, for two students were still on the critical list.

  “Let me make it a more interesting day.”

  “Wait a minute.” Rachel waved over Cole. “I want him to hear the update.”

  “Your new-couple side is showing.”

  “I don’t know how I ever worked a disaster without him. Last night—I’m talking with Greg and Tim’s mom and Clare is flirting with Cole. It wasn’t how I expected that session to go, but Cole making Clare laugh was a delight to see.”

  “Sandy is a nice lady. I met her when they were executing the search warrant.”

  “She’s convinced if she had never divorced, her boys would still be alive. I’m worried about her, but at least she has Clare as a reason to get up every day. Their father Peter is a bigger concern. He’s feeling enormous guilt and facing an indefinite leave at work. No one is going to put him behind the cockpit of a plane with two hundred passengers while he’s facing this.”

  “It’s going to get rougher before it gets better,” Lisa said.

  “I know. The funerals are being scheduled for this weekend. The girl killed in the cafeteria will be buried on Saturday. Greg and Tim will be buried together in a Sunday morning service, and Mark will be laid to rest later in the afternoon.” The boys’ funerals were being kept private to limit the media pressure on the family.

  The counselors were gearing up to be ready for those tough days. The command center was in full operation. Her friends on the National Crisis Team were here. The relationships among the group had been forged through hurricanes, plane crashes, and wildfires. Her friends stopped by to squeeze her shoulder and share wordless sympathy that she’d seen this one up close, and then they settled in to learn the kids, the parents, to handle the media, and assist with the restoration of the crime scene back to a school.

  The two schools would be cleaned up, painted, and reopened for classes on Friday. Rachel had recommended it. Parents and students alike needed to get back into the schools before the memories became bigger than they had to be. The hotline was already lit up with calls from kids who had struggled to cope overnight.

  Cole joined them. He offered Lisa a cup of coffee. “Thanks for coming this way.”

  “I need to walk through the scene again.”

  Rachel studied her sister. “You’ve got news.”

  “Very bad news.”

  What could be worse than what they already had?

  “We recovered two guns from the boys in the cafeteria, both .45s. Tim was killed with a .38.” Lisa let that sink in. “We never found that gun. Someone else was there. And ballistics say the .38 is the same gun used to murder Carol Iles.”

  Rachel walked with Cole up the driveway to Ann’s home. The recovery from the flood was still going on in the more subtle changes. New bushes had been planted along the walkway and new gutters to replace those torn away by the waters had arrived and were being installed. Nathan’s tricycle was out on the driveway and the flag was flying by the doorway. A yellow-ribbon wreath was on the door. Rachel and Cole had taken a chance and just come over. They had a gun missing.

  Jesus, I can’t afford to make a mistake. There were kids making rash decisions to bring guns to school, to use them, and somewhere out there was a missing gun and another kid who had to be an emotional mess right now. She had to get control of this situation. She should have seen the shooting coming; she knew Marissa, and through her Greg, and had met Tim. She had known something about Mark and his history and his parents’ divorce but still she hadn’t realized there was trouble coming within the group. She was desperately afraid she wouldn’t be able to figure out what other students had been involved in this event before another shooting occurred.

  Cole squeezed her hand. “Adam would have said something to his mom if he knew details.”

  “Maybe.” But she hadn’t needed to convince Cole to bring her straight here, and that told her Cole was worried about the possibilities too.

  Cole rang the doorbell. Rather than a scurry of feet inside, which was the norm; Ann came to the door. “Rae, Cole. Hi. Please, come in.”

  Rachel hugged her friend. “How are you this morning?” She knew it wasn’t just Adam’s reaction weighing on her, but the fact that Ann had been working at the dispatch center when the emergency calls had come in about a shooting at the school. Ann didn’t look like she had slept much last night.

  “I was just going to ask you the same question,” Ann said.

  “You get through an event like this one day at a time.”

  “I know the feeling. I found myself baking this morning at five o’clock.”

  Nathan tugged Rachel’s pant leg and held up his arms. She hoisted him up and hugged him. “Hi, sweetie.”

  Nathan offered her a bite of his cookie.

  “Thank you.”

  He grinned at her and shoved the rest of it in his mouth with his fist.

  “You are priceless, you know that.”

  Ann laughed and ruffled her son’s hair. “He’s been helping me.”

  Rachel was grateful Ann had been able to keep her equilibrium. She was going to need it when they talked about the status of what happened. “How’s Adam?”

  “He’s in his room drawing. I think it helped that Stephen came over last night. Adam slept pretty well. Feel free to pop in and say hi. Can I get you two some breakfast?”

  “You’ve been baking bread.”

  Ann smiled at Cole. “Rolls actually. Come on back to the kitchen. They are best eaten hot.”

  Rachel set down Nathan. “Go with your mom. I want to say hi to Adam. And save me one of those cookies,” she told Nathan, hugging him and getting in a tickle, sending the boy into a fit of laughter.

  Rachel walked back to Adam’s room. Whatever he knew, he hadn’t said anything to his mom or Stephen.

  The bedroom had been transformed into the hideout of a little boy. Adam’s comic collection was proudly displayed on the shelves, there were posters of soccer players on the walls, and his schoolbooks were piled beside the desk. Shoes peeked out from beneath the bed and gum wrappers had missed the wastebasket. A shirt had slid off its hanger in the closet and Scrabble game letters had become roadways for Matchbox cars. She tapped softly on the open door. “Hi.”

  He looked up from his drawing. His face looked solemn, old.

  “May I come in?”

  He nodded.

  “What are you drawing?”

  “Just a picture.”

  She looked over his shoulder. “You draw very well.” She rubbed his back. “You like baseball?” He had a baseball set on a cup coaster and was trying to capture what the seams looked like.

  “Cole brought me over the baseball and a glove.”

  “He’s nice that way.” She sat down on the made bed and kicked off her shoes so she could pull up her feet.

  “How’s your friend Marissa?”

  “Doing better. I saw her after she came out of surgery last night. They were able to set her broken leg.”

  “I wanted to call Tim’s mom, but Mom said I should wait.”

  “What would you like to talk to her about?”

  “Tim’s funeral. Will I be able to go?”

  “Yes,” she reassured softly. “I sa
w Sandy last night. She would be glad to talk with and see you, Adam. The police just needed her time last night. She wanted to know if you would come over and help her choose items for Tim’s memorial chest. You know what he loved the most.”

  “Do you think I could contribute one of my comic books?”

  “I’m sure she’d appreciate it.” Rachel rested her chin on her drawn-up knees. “Could we talk about yesterday, Adam?”

  He looked back at his drawing.

  “It’s important.” She understood the pain in those memories. From the black eye in gym class to the painful terror of the shooting, he was overwhelmed. He was retreating. It had begun yesterday when he limited what he told his mom about the events so he wouldn’t have to talk about them. It showed itself today by his solitary occupation and the care in his drawings. Rather than be with his mom and brother in the kitchen baking cookies, he had chosen to be alone. She had learned enough about Adam since the flood to know a few basics of his personality. It wasn’t a bad way to cope. Solitude was a positive for him, as was a tight circle of friends. He had lost his best friend in Tim, and she wasn’t surprised he wanted time on his own to come to terms with it. Adam’s sadness was deep.

  He reluctantly nodded.

  “Where were you when the fire alarm went off?”

  “On my way to meet Tim. I met Greg in the hall, and he stopped me to ask about my eye.”

  “Did you go in and see what had happened to Tim? Were you there?”

  “I just heard about it.”

  The boy wouldn’t meet her eyes. But he sounded tired, resigned, rather than anxious as if he had lied. “You wish you had been there.”

  Adam looked up and nodded. “If I had been, I could have helped Tim.”

  She was grateful he hadn’t been there. The thought of a little boy trying to stop his friend from bleeding to death from a gunshot wound… That reality was hard enough on a doctor accustomed to working on trauma victims. “You were not responsible for Tim’s death,” she said softly.

  “He was my friend and he died alone.” Adam started to cry.

  She reached for the tissue box and offered it to him.

  “I know it hurts. I promise he wasn’t really alone; God was with him.” She waited for him to gain his composure. “I need to ask you something that’s hard. Okay?”