The Healer

  Rachel watched Stephen shift boxes in the back of his truck, helping Ann pack the few belongings she had been able to get out of the house and bring to the shelter. He was giving them a lift to their temporary home. Nathan was standing in the bed of the truck, peering over the side at his brother Adam, who was lobbying to ride in the truck with Stephen.

  Ann paused beside Stephen, crowding his space, her comment making him laugh. Rachel had already seen at least one wink from Stephen to Ann’s boys. Cole was right. Something was going on between Stephen and Ann. If her brother hadn’t already corrected that lapse of a missing dinner invitation, she knew he likely would before he dropped them off.

  Rachel rested her chin on her fist, a rush of emotion leaving an ache of sadness in its wake. She was glad for Stephen, but if he found someone special, she’d be the last of the O’Malleys officially unattached. She didn’t want that distinction.

  “That frown is going to stick.”

  She glanced over. Gage Collier took a seat across from her at the picnic table. He was hanging around because he was a reporter and smelled a story in the flooding, but also because he knew she was here. The last two years had refined their friendship into gold. He would have been celebrating his son’s first birthday this year if his pregnant wife hadn’t died in a fire. It had been a hard couple years, for his wife had been one of her best friends.

  Gage didn’t mean to miss her sadness now and incorrectly assume it was the thousand details of this flood getting her down. He would probably even understand if she explained. “Did you bring a newspaper?” Rachel asked.

  “Hello, Gage. It’s nice to see you, Gage. You’re here early…”

  She heard the gentleness under his teasing. The care she remembered him taking with Tabitha was now being directed toward her. He knew how hard the last few months of Jennifer’s illness had been on her. She smiled back. “Hello, Gage. It’s nice to see you, Gage. I haven’t seen a newspaper. What did you write about this week?”

  “The proposed tollway fare increase. You’re not into politics so you would just read it and ask me, ‘what?’ I did bring you an early mock-up of tomorrow’s comics.”

  “Bless you.”

  He handed over the folder. “You’re so easy to please.”

  She opened it, drew out the pages, and started reading the comics.

  Gage tugged out the notebook that went everywhere with him and flipped to a back page. “I checked your apartment and put the mail on the kitchen counter. Nothing urgent there, but your neighbor asked me to tell you, ‘Kathy said six on the third and bring Crock-Pot potatoes,’ whatever that means.”

  She glanced up. “A birthday party for a five-year-old, want to come?”

  He made a face at her and drew a laugh in response. “Your fern was dying. I probably drowned it.”

  “It’s the thought that counts.”

  “I’m a thoughtful kind of guy.”

  She tugged over his plate and speared his pineapple slice. They had shared breakfast many times over the years. He thought yellow fruit should be banned. He only got pineapple because he knew she liked it.

  “Eat your eggs,” he suggested.

  “They’re cold. I was on my way to reheat them.”

  He pushed his plate over and offered his fork. “Eat. I’ll go get another tray.”

  He left his notepad and crossed over to the serving table. The Red Cross had made arrangements with a local restaurant to set up and serve food on picnic tables outside under the breezeway. It gave parents a chance to relax and not worry if a child dropped something, and it let crews working on the levees come and go. The menu this morning was cereal or fruit, scrambled eggs, toast, and hot blueberry muffins. She’d made the rounds of picnic tables earlier, pouring coffee and asking questions, listening. Breakfast was a good time to stop and talk with people, pass on news of progress, and note new problems that needed to be solved.

  With little warning of the evacuation, most people had been able to get out with only their children, pets, cars, and what they could carry. Rachel had been able to solve the hot shower and toothbrush problems. Prescription refills. Shoes. She was working now on the more complex items: where to go for temporary housing—friends, family, or a hotel—photo IDs so some people could pick up their mail at the post office, temporary checks, replacement credit cards, insurance agent contacts. Small steps but they mattered.

  The loss of little things amplified the sense of having lost control of their lives and was often the point when the stress overwhelmed. A mom would break down in tears because she didn’t have her fingernail file. A dad would lose it when he wanted his change and didn’t have pennies. A child would cry because shoelaces on borrowed tennis shoes were not tied right. Rachel couldn’t restore to people the valuable things they had lost—pictures and keepsakes and memories—but the other items she could help replace. And by solving the small things, a reservoir of trust was built that the bigger obstacles coming could also be solved.

  Gage returned, jelly-smothered toast stacked beside his eggs.

  “Did you know they think this flooding could have been prevented?”

  “Don’t ruin my breakfast.” She looked up from the comics. Gage was predictable: he was either seeking news or passing on news. “You’re serious.”

  “Yes.”

  She glanced around. “Keep your voice down. What did you hear?”

  “When they built the bridge, they narrowed the river to save some money. But because that speeds up the water flow, they were supposed to extend the concrete along the riverbank to the original river width. They took it only half that distance. It was the dirt around the ends of the concrete that gave way and brought down the levee. Who lives in the house nearest the river? There may have been some warning.”

  “Don’t make it worse, Gage. They just lost everything.”

  “It’s a story. It’s breaking. If not by me, it will be someone else. I’m just going to ask a few questions. What did you see that night? That kind of thing.”

  She could steer him or let him go out on his own, but she couldn’t get him off the story. “Mrs. Sands will talk with you. She lives in the brick house with the ivy on the chimney, two houses down from the bridge crossing. Nice lady, in her seventies, still sharp. She has lived in that house for thirty years. The house one closer to the bridge—the owner is out of town. He’s coming home to a mess.”

  “Where can I find Mrs. Sands?”

  “She’s staying with her sister Eva Grant in Mount Prospect. I’ve got her address in my reference book.”

  “You’re sending me an hour away and you’re enjoying this.”

  She just smiled and finished the fruit.

  Gage closed his notebook. “What did you hear about the murder Lisa was working last night?”

  “Just that Jack and Cole took the boat down to help her out with transportation.” She tried not to dwell on what her sisters did for a living. Lisa was a forensic pathologist, Kate a hostage negotiator. The aftereffects of tragedies were hard enough to deal with.

  “It was one of three shootings overnight. Someone shot an off-duty cop as he was leaving a restaurant, and a taxi driver was robbed and killed.”

  “You’re full of good news today.”

  “Which is why I left mentioning them until after you ate breakfast.” Gage got to his feet. “Cassie Ellis sent you a package. It’s in the backseat of the car. Do you want me to get it before I chase down this lead?”

  “Please. Cassie was looking for a rare comic book to be the linchpin of a new collection for Adam. Did she say which one it was?”

  “Just that he should like it.”

  Rachel shoved keys and cash into her pocket on the off chance she’d have time to stop and buy Cole a Hallmark card in return. She picked up the package for Adam and headed toward the levee where she’d last seen the boy. She found Adam with Cole saying good-bye to the firefighters. Cole’s new dog climbed over a mound of sandbags, chasing the smells.

/>   “How fast is it going?”

  Adam scrambled down from his perch on the levee carrying a clipboard. He came to join her and show her. “Cole showed me how to graph the river’s speed based on how many seconds it took for the duck to travel between the poles. It’s slowing down today. See? This was early this morning; this is now.”

  She looked at the careful graphs made on a grid. “Excellent job.” Adam beamed at the praise and she ruffled his hair. He was a bit shy, careful, and eager to get things right. She was going to miss him. “I got you something to take with you.” She held out a hand towel she’d thought to grab from the general resource box. “You’ll want to dry your hands first.”

  After he did so thoroughly, Rachel handed him the sack.

  Adam opened it with care. “Wow.”

  She’d seen Cassie get that same fascinated look on her face when she held a hundred-year-old book. He held the old comic book reverently, careful not to bend the pages as he turned them. “Mom said it was okay?”

  The hope in his voice made her smile. “She was the one who gave me the issue and date.”

  He hugged Rachel, catching her around the waist while holding the comic to the side. “Thanks.”

  She circled his shoulder and hugged him back. “My brother Jack, the fireman who has that smiley face on the back of his fire coat? His girlfriend Cassie owns a bookstore with rare books. She said she’d help you find some more comics so you can rebuild your collection.”

  “I’ve got to go show my mom.”

  “One more thing.” She held out a blue business card. “For you. Since you’re going to stay with friends, I might not see you for a couple days. If you have a question or just want to tell me about your day, your mom said you could call me anytime. All you have to do is punch in the special numbers on the back, and I’ll know it’s you.”

  “I’ve heard about your cards.”

  “You have?” She squeezed his shoulder. “I only give them to special people. If you need anything or if Nathan or your mom need anything, I’ll help. That’s a promise.”

  He carefully put the card in his back pocket.

  “Adam.” He turned at his mom’s call. “Ready to go? We’re packed.”

  Rachel nodded. “Better join them.”

  Adam walked backward two steps, holding the comic book. “I’ll treasure this forever.”

  “You’re very welcome. I’ll see you soon.”

  The boy raced to where his mom was waiting. “Mom, she got me a comic. A rare one.”

  Cole stopped beside her. “Nice of you, Rae.”

  “It might help when he actually sees what he lost. Thanks for letting him come down here and help out.”

  “He’s a good kid. I’ve met some of his friends at the middle school. It will be good for him to get back into his routine.”

  “Anything I need to know about in Adam’s network of friends?” She knew Cole was often in the schools teaching fire safety classes. Arsonists tended to get started early.

  “A couple pranksters, but nothing to worry about.”

  “He’ll take some ribbing about his stuff being underwater and about sleeping on a gym floor for a few days.”

  “Sure. He’ll also be a hero among his real friends because he’s got cool stuff to talk about, not to mention making friends with a rescued dog. This hit him hard, but he’s bouncing back fine.”

  “Did you guys make him an honorary member of Company 81?”

  “Who, us?” Cole smiled at her. He nudged a LifeSaver from the roll he held, offering her the orange one at the end.

  “How are you doing after last night?” She studied his face, looking for the signs of strain around his eyes that she had begun to recognize when he’d had a lot on his mind. Helping Lisa couldn’t have been easy.

  “It was a bloody tragedy. I frankly don’t know how Lisa handles walking into scenes like that.” He shook his head. “Your sister is intense at a crime scene. Trying to collect evidence before the water surged inside made it chaotic.”

  “Did the water ruin any chance of solving the case?”

  “It didn’t help. As much as we got out before the water forced us to abandon the scene—it probably wasn’t enough. But knowing Lisa, she’ll figure it out.”

  “Lisa will take it personally if she can’t. She’ll do her best.” Lisa was known for her ability to think outside the box and find connections in the evidence that could make a difference. “Thanks for not sending the dog to the pound.”

  “You’re not the only one with a soft heart. He needs to stumble into a few soup bones and see a vet.” Cole tossed a dry pair of gloves to a man joining the levee crew. “You were the one who suggested I needed a dog.”

  “You picked an interesting one. That big three-bedroom house all to yourself, a backyard with shade trees—you could probably use more than one. Have you named him yet?”

  He rebuttoned his fire coat, getting ready to rejoin the men resetting the pump lines. “I have to come up with something better than Dog?”

  She laughed. “Yes.”

  One of the pump lines being moved hit the pavement with a sharp crack, and the dog disappeared under the blue pump engine. Cole kneeled to coax him out. “He spooks at sudden noises and darts under the nearest vehicle as if his world was coming apart.”

  “I’ve seen it before. A tornado goes through a farming community and the next storm that comes, the animals will crash through fences to find shelter. The poor thing must have been swept into the water.”

  Cole rose as the dog crept out. “Why don’t you name him?”

  “Me? I don’t know good dog names. I’ve never had one.”

  “Think about it for a few days.”

  “He’ll end up with a name like Spot.”

  The dog barked. Cole laughed and ruffled the mutt’s ears. “Sounds like he approves.”

  “No. You can’t name him Spot.”

  “Naming isn’t easy. Can you imagine Adam from the Bible being asked to name every animal on earth? No wonder we ended up with aardvark. God probably asked Adam how to spell it and Adam replied two a’s.”

  She smiled because it was funny. And she knew she’d find that fact in the Bible when she looked, for Cole was comfortable with the book she was just beginning to learn. “I can come up with a name somewhere between Spot and aardvark. Give me some time to think about it.” Rachel took a step back and slipped her hands in her back pockets. “I’m going to be gone for a few days. Can I take you up on that dinner when I get back?”

  “Going East to see Jennifer?”

  She nodded.

  He searched her face, and she tried to keep the worry under control. “Wish her well,” he said gently. “We’ll have dinner when you get back. You have my number?”

  “Memorized.”

  “Call collect if you want to talk, okay? It won’t be an easy trip.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Do me a favor and take me up on it.”

  The offer helped. “Would you pray for her?” Rachel was a new Christian, and she knew she had so much yet to learn about prayer. She didn’t want anything she might not understand to hinder an answer.

  “You know I will,” Cole said. “Remember, God cares about the small things as well as the large, okay? I know the prayers that Jennifer be healed haven’t been answered so far, but if the big prayers don’t seem to be getting answered, try the small ones. God really is in the midst of this.”

  She rested her hand on his arm. Cole was helping her bear this burden in so many ways. The steady, dependable calm he had about life headed the list. There weren’t words to say thanks. “I’ll call you when I arrive.”

  Rachel had no idea what the temperature was like in Baltimore. Mid-March, turning into spring…she added two summer-weight shirts and a sweater to her bag. Her bedroom was in chaos as she tried to pack. She pulled more tissues from the box, slipped most in the suitcase, and used the last one to blow her nose as she fought tears. She had been with Jen
nifer through chemotherapy and radiation treatments and had stepped in to help with arrangements for Jennifer’s wedding. One remission had come and gone. Her options were shrinking. The idea of seeing Jennifer and having to find something rosy and positive to say… She simply had nothing left to draw from inside, and the last thing Jennifer needed was more sadness. Her brother was on the speaker-phone. “Marcus, I’m bringing the family scrapbooks. What else?”

  She was so grateful her brother was already out East with Jennifer. “Just you, honey. I’ll meet you at the airport.”

  She picked up her tickets to check the flight number and time. “It’s a 9 P.M. flight, but it’ll probably be delayed.”

  “I’ll have a book with me. It’s not a problem.”

  Rachel sank down on the bed, holding the package that had been waiting for her, brought in by Gage with the mail. The return address was from Jennifer. “You can tell Jen I’m obeying her note, but it’s killing me to wait to open it.”

  “It’s for the flight out here.”

  Rachel placed it with her purse. In her job when a crisis erupted and she could do something, her coping skills were pretty good. But when unable to help, her defense mechanism was to freeze. She was doing it now, finding it hard to put one step in front of the next. Marcus was reading her correctly and doing what he could to help her out. It was the second time he’d called this afternoon.

  Lord, Jennifer has to get better. Please. There has to be some way for that to come true.

  Marcus hadn’t called in the entire O’Malley family, and he would have done so if things had changed seriously in the last ten days. Rachel had some hope in that. They were a unique family. All seven of them were orphans. They had met decades earlier at Trevor House and later legally changed their last names. They were a family related not by blood but by choice. The O’Malleys thrived as a group by depending on and being there for one other.

  Rachel transferred what work she had to take with her to her briefcase. She added the composition book she’d been using as her log for the flood so she could update her notes during the plane trip. Six months from now a glance at the book and she’d be able to see a person’s network of friends and neighbors, see in her notes the small things that would matter the most—birthdays and anniversaries—days when this tragedy would really sting.