An Undeclared War (Countdown to Armageddon Book 4) (23 page)

     “Do you know her favorite flower?”

     “That’s easy. White roses.”

     “If you had to describe a color to sum up your relationship, what would that color be?”

     He had to think hard.

     “I think probably orange. I think of orange as warm. And comfortable. And that’s how I felt when I was with her.”

     “You’re doing fine, Scott. One last question. What was the thing she valued most in life? Not people, or you. I’m
looking for her most cherished physical possession.”

     “She had a brooch. A purple… no, a violet one that her grandmother had given her. She used to take it out
and hold it sometimes and just stare at it, remembering visions of her grandmother when she wore it. She loved that thing. Linda placed it in her hands before we buried her.”

     Becky
looked at him with something in her eyes. He couldn’t read it. Sadness, maybe?

     “You did fine, Scott. Now we can get started.”

     “Started? What was all that, if we haven’t started yet?”

     She ignored his
question and placed the brick directly in front of him.

     “Okay, let’s go back to the first question. The dress. I want you to find the color of nail polish that most matches
the color of that dress she wore dancing. And I want you to paint the outer edge of the brick, all the way around, with that color.”

     “What if I can’t find the exact color?”

     She laughed.

     “If you can’t find it in that box, say the word. I’ve got four other boxes full of nail polish. I went across the street one afternoon to the abandoned Walgreen’s. The looters had taken all the food long before that, but for some reason they left behind all the nail polish. I cleaned them all out of it.”

     Then, “Oops. I forgot you’re a cop now. Maybe I shouldn’t have told you that part.”

     “Don’t worry. I’m pretty sure the statute of limitations for nail polish theft is only about five minutes.”

     He found a red that matched Joyce’s dress and began painting the outer rim of the brick.

    
She said, “It dries quickly, but you still have to be careful where you put your hands so you don’t smudge it. When you’re finished with the red, I want you to find a blue to match her eyes. And use it to paint a blue heart in the upper left corner.”

     “I’m not much of an artist.”

     “You don’t have to be. Just do your best and it’ll be fine.

     “I have to go take a couple of sets of vitals. I’ll be back in about twenty minutes or so to check on you.”

     “Okay.”

     Scott had never been to therapy, so he wasn’t sure if this was normal or just weird. He did know, though, that it was nice, clearing his mind of everything else and just reliving the good times he had with Joyce.

     It was also nice that Becky was spending her time and efforts to help him deal with his grief.

     She came back just as he was finishing up the heart.

     “How are you coming?”

     “Good so far. The blue is a perfect match. I can so see her eyes when I look at it.”

     “Great. That’s kinda the point. Can I get you some coffee before you move on to the next step?”

     “No, thanks, I’m getting tired of stale coffee.”

     “Honey, this coffee ain’t stale. This is fresh grown and fresh ground.”

     He just looked at her like her words didn’t register.

     “One of the girls bought some real coffee beans on the internet a few months before the blackout so she could grow her own in a little greenhouse in her back yard. She’s dead now, I’m afraid, but we rescued her bean plants and her coffee lives on. We call it “Stacey Coffee” as a tribute to her.”

     “Well, in that case, I’d love some.”

     “Okay, I’ll get it. I would guess you’re the kind of man who drinks it black?”

     “As black as a pirate’s heart.”

     “Okay. While I’m gone, go ahead and start on the next step. Paint a white rose in the lower left corner, and the violet brooch in the upper right corner. I’ll be right back.”

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     Scott closed his eyes as he sipped his coffee. It was that good.

     “I think this is the best coffee I’ve had in years. Thank you.”

     “You’re welcome. And it is pretty good, isn’t it? Now that you know where it is, maybe you can come back more often and get some.

     “Now then, turn your brick around so I can see how it’s coming.”

     Scott’s artistic abilities left a lot to be desired, but his project was coming along quite nicely.

     “Oh, my. The rose is beautiful.”

     “Thank you. I’m afraid the brooch didn’t come out so well. It looks like a big purple blob.”

     “It doesn’t matter. As long as you can look at that big purple blob and see the brooch it represents, it doesn’t matter what it looks like. And you’re wrong. If I walked in off the street and didn’t have a clue what you were doing, I’d look at that purple blob and I’d say, ‘My goodness. What a beautiful violet brooch you’ve painted.’”

     “Liar.”

     “Yeah, maybe a little.”

     “Seriously, Becky, what’s this all about?”

     “My, my. You are so impatient. As I said, this is about therapy. It’s to help you heal and help you get
on with the process of living again. The painting of the brick is just the first part. You’ll really like what comes next.

     “But first, you have to finish the brick. We only have two things left to do. Then all your questions will be answered.

     “You said your couple color was orange, because it was warm and described how you felt when you were together. I want you to look through the box and find that color orange, or as close to it as you can get. And I want you to paint Joyce’s name in large letters in the center of the brick. Then I want you to find her favorite color and use it to paint one word to describe Joyce in the lower right corner. I need to go check on a couple of patients. Can you remember all that?”

     “Sure.”

     “If you can’t find your colors, remember there are several more boxes of paints in that cabinet over there, okay?”

     “Okay.”

     “Good. I’ll be back in ten or fifteen minutes.”

     When she returned, she found Scott on the radio again, with John, asking him if he could have another half hour of down time.

     “No problem, Charlie Four Six. Things are slow. Take your time.”

     She stood behind him, looking over his shoulder, getting his perspective of the brick
. She rested a hand innocently on his shoulder. She liked the way it felt there, and the warmth of his body. She liked the way he smelled.

     She had no way of knowing, but he was thinking exactly the same things.

     “It looks great, Scott. Now, the next phase of the project. Pick up your brick and bring it. We’re going for a walk.”

     Scott picked up the brick as instructed, careful not to touch the parts that were still wet.

     They walked through the huge hospital until they got to the center of the building, then exited into a small courtyard.

     Most of the courtyard was covered with pavestone, but on one end, a circular section of grass about twenty feet across, brought life to the area. Centered in the grassy circle was a red oak tree, perhaps twenty feet tall. On each side of the tree were wooden park benches.

     But the most prominent feature of the circle was a simple wooden cross, painted pure white and without ornamentation, about halfway between the base of the tree and the edge of the circle.

     Arranged in front of the cross were perhaps a hundred bricks, of uniform size, each one painted in bright colors with the names and treasures of lost loved ones.

     “Place Joyce’s brick with the others, Scott.”

     He did so, for the first time understanding what this exercise was all about.

     Becky pointed to the third row.

    
“Those, right there in that line, are mine. My husband Eddie, my children Lisa and Johnny.

     “I don’t know what became of their bodies. They were hauled away, like so many others, and only God
knows where they wound up. I’ll never have a chance to visit their graves. So this is the next best thing.”

     Scott looked at her and noticed she had tears in her eyes. He wished he could think of something to say.

     “I come here at least once a day, during my coffee break. I talk to them. I tell them how proud I was of them then. How much I miss them now. I pray that they’re doing well and I promise them that we’ll all be together again someday.

     “You’ll think I’m crazy, Scott. Heck, you probably already do. But when I’m here I somehow get the sense they’re here with me.

     “And it’s not just me. The other nurses and doctors whose loved ones are there on those bricks have told me the same thing.

     “Being her
e, even for just a few minutes, gives me peace of mind. It gives me a new perspective, and enables me to go on, even on my darkest days.

     “Coming out here makes me realize it’s okay for me to go on living, even on the days when I feel somehow guilty for surviving when they didn’t.”

     “I’m hoping that coming to this place, whenever you’re close by, will give you the same peace of mind it gives me and the others.

     “I’m going to leave you now, and let you spend a few minutes alone with Joyce. You may see a couple of others standing at the doorway, waiting their turns to come out. Don’t let that bother you. We value individual privacy here. They’ll wait as long as they need to, so take your time. Stop by the nurse’s station on your way out
and say goodbye. I’ll pour you another cup of coffee for the road.”

    
Becky walked away, and Scott went to his knees before the bricks, and the simple cross behind them.

     He didn’t speak aloud to Joyce. Perhaps later on he might feel comfortable doing that. But he wasn’t quite there yet.

     Still, in his mind, where only he could hear the words, he expressed his love for the woman and the sorrow he felt for her passing.

     He admitted the feelings of guilt he had for not being with her in her final moments. And he apologized for not being able to save her.

     Mostly, he relived in his mind some of the good times they’d had together.

    
Becky was right. It was therapeutic. He felt much better as he started to walk away.

     The last thing he told Joyce before he turned to leave was that he loved her, and that he’d be back again.

     And he meant it. He’d make a point to stop in anytime he was in the neighborhood. He appreciated Becky, and her making him go through this exercise. Perhaps because she had been there herself, she seemed to know exactly what he needed.

     Scott found her at the nurse’s station, filling out paperwork, and thanked her for her efforts.

     “I guess nurses heal the hurting in a lot of different ways. Thank you for that.”

     “Yes, we do. But we tend to give special attention to the people we care most about.”

     He hugged her, promised to come back the next day or two, and asked if it would be okay to pick some wildflowers to place on Joyce’s brick next time.

    
“I think she’d like that,” Becky said.

     She watched him walk away.

     She hadn’t wanted it to be this way.

    
She’d loved Scott almost from the beginning. But she never told anyone. She just accepted that Scott belonged to Joyce and that was that. She’d have lived her life alone if the war at the compound hadn’t happened, and accepted that as just the way it was meant to be.

    
Now she wanted to run to him, and scream out her love to him, and make him see that they would be good together.

    
But something told her no. She wouldn’t disrespect his memory of Joyce.

    
She’d give him time, and some space, and maybe eventually he’d see it himself.