Ficlet from Facebook Group #2
He was going to leave, I could tell from the way he turned, but then his brows furrowed and he was facing me again. “I don’t know anyone stronger or more stubborn than your husband, so I truly believe that any conjecture about his demise is categorically unfounded.”
I could only stare at him.
“If he’s at all able, he’ll live so he can continue to glare at us in that way that makes us all feel like total and complete idiots.”
I nodded quickly.
“He has it down to a science.”
“I know. I get the same look on occasion.”
He gave me a quick smile and then he was off my porch, walking back out to the curb where news trucks were now parked.
Inside, I leaned back against the front door and slid down it to the floor, sitting there trying to make sense of all the thoughts rushing through my head.
I didn’t move, I didn’t hear anything, finally folding my arms on my knees and pressing my face there as I cried.
It was stupid, but I tried to picture who I would be without Sam Kage.
What would I look like? Sound like? Could I laugh?
Could I even get up off the floor? What kind of parent would I be, alone?
But my kids were basically grown. Sam had imparted all his lessons; he was just grinding them in at this point.
We were there for support, to answer questions, to give advice, to catch them if they fell.
The people they were, at this point, would stick.
He’d done his job, so that part was good.
If they had to lose him, now was better than when they were toddlers or in elementary school.
But…I had a vision of Sam walking Hannah down the aisle. Not me, never me. That was for Sam to do, tell whoever it was that yes, he was giving him his daughter’s hand, but he would take it back, take all of her back, if anything went wrong.
I had a vision of Sam when Kola became a doctor, standing beside him, Kola in his white coat, the name Kola Kage, MD embroidered there.
I had still never been out of the country, and I wanted to go. My plan was to go to Italy first, and I wanted Sam there, across a table from me, smiling as we gazed out at the Mediterranean.
Mostly, I wanted him home, in bed, next to me, and if I’d known this morning when he left that I might never see him squint at me or say my name or kiss me again, I would have held him tight and never let go.
What had I said when he left? Did I yell out that I loved him? I had kissed and hugged him, because I always did, but had I said the words?
When my phone rang, I saw it was Hannah, and I let it ring a couple times before I picked up.
“Did you get the flowers?” I asked her.
“Who cares?” she whimpered.
“Your father will care,” I assured her. “He always helps you with the candles if he’s home, and he likes to go over the list of ingredients.”
“That’s true,” she murmured, sucking in a breath. “And yeah, I got them. We’re gonna eat with Uncle Dane and Aunt Aja and Rob and Gen.”
“Good.”
“I’ll bring home some for you.”
“Thank you.”
“Pa,” Kola said, at which point I knew I was on speaker. “When can we come home?”
“I’ll call Uncle Dane, and he’ll let you know.”
“Our house is on the news.”
“Oh, that’s not good. Your father was going to mow tomorrow. He’ll be annoyed that he didn’t do it today.”
“I’ll do it tomorrow.”
“He’ll appreciate that.”
He made a noise, like a strangled whine almost.
“Pa.” Hannah spoke gently. “You know Beltane is a fire festival, and it officially starts summer. Dad told me he had a project he wanted to get done, and I told him he should for sure plan it on Beltane. I think he liked that idea.”
“Then you’ll need to remind him.”
“I will.”
“Okay, honey, I’ll talk to you later.”
“I love you.” Her voice was watery, and she sniffled.
“I love you back. Tell your brother too.”
“He knows,” she told me. “So does Dad.”
And I had needed to hear that. How she knew, I didn’t know, but it helped.
Hanging up, I sat there, my dog climbing into my lap, my cat sitting close, eyeing me, unsure as to my motives for sitting at the door.
My phone rang again, and it was a number I didn’t recognize.
“Hello?”
“Jory.” Ian coughed and then cleared his throat. “I need to tell you something.”
“Okay.”
“I debated because I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”
“I don’t understand.”
“So, my boss said to tell you that he loved you, but then he said, ‘Never mind, he knows.’ But I said, ‘It might be nice for me to tell him you were thinking of him,’ and he gave me that look, you know the one, it makes you feel like a dumbass? And he said you know that already.”
I smiled, and the tears started again.
“But I said, ‘I’m gonna tell him,’ and he said, ‘Fine, but it doesn’t mean an end or goodbye,’ so yeah, that’s what he said.”
“Thank you.”
“Just…it doesn’t mean the end, yeah?”
“Yeah,” I agreed.
“Okay.” He hung up.
It was long. Not the longest four hours of my life, but it was close.
For Chicago, forty-five wasn’t cold, but I was a freeze bug, always had been, and so without a sweater, in only jeans, socks, and a T-shirt, I was shivering by the time the phone rang at a quarter past seven.
“Jory,” Chris Becker said, and I nearly threw up with how flat his voice sounded. “The hostage situation is over. Sam subdued Osborne and made the others surrender before Wes breached, which made for a quick and nonviolent resolution.”
“Sure,” I agreed woodenly.
“He’s been airlifted to Northwestern Memorial Hospital, and the attending there, Dr. Dorothy Chen, has been sent all your information, so she will update you on his condition, as will I, as I’m on my way there now. So you know, Ian and Miro are there now as well, waiting on him to arrive.”
“Is Ian all right? I forgot to ask him when he called.”
“Ian was only grazed, so yes, he’ll be fine.”
I was sure Miro had the same initial heart attack I did. “Can I just head over to the hospital now?”
“You can. I can have Eli escort you, but you’ll be sitting in the car until Sam’s in a room, because of Covid.”
“That’s fine. I’ll do that.”
“Okay, get ready. I’ll let Eli know.”
In theory, from my house in Oak Park to Northwestern Memorial Hospital, it should have taken about half an hour, but this was Chicago, on Saturday night, so there was traffic as usual.
I was surprised Eli didn’t try and make conversation, which I really appreciated.
He was on his phone as he sat beside me in the back seat, mask off, texting and talking, the conversations all about Sam.
I suspected the texting concerned him as well.
“I’m fully vaccinated,” he assured me out of the blue, and I turned to look at him. “Your husband made sure we all were as soon as we could be.”
I knew that; Sam told me. Everyone in his building, from him on down to the marshals in the courtrooms, got vaccinated. He was protecting the public, and he took that very seriously.
“Thank you for letting me know.” I was masked, but I appreciated the confirmation. “I’ve only had one dose so far.”
He nodded.
My door was opened, and Ian was there, forcing a smile for me as Eli got out and went around the SUV to see Miro, who was standing a bit behind Ian.
“Are you okay?” I asked him, not sure what arm he’d been shot in, neither visible under the peacoat he had on. It was a strange color blue. Not ugly, just odd. It seemed more a Miro jacket than an Ian one, though I really didn’t know them well enough to make that call.
“I’m fine,” he assured me quickly, so similar to Sam that I felt a twinge in my heart. “The helicopter landed about fifteen minutes ago. He passed out when they rolled him out of Elgin, but that doesn’t mean anything. We’re gonna stay with you and––”
“Don’t do that,” I stated implacably. “Sam wouldn’t want that. Eli’s here. He’ll wait with me, and Chris Becker is here somewhere as well. You were shot. You need to go home and rest, and as soon as we know something, we’ll let you know.”
I glanced behind him at Miro, and watched him exhale. His gaze told me how thankful he was for my words.
“Please,” I insisted.
Ian gave me a head tip, and when he stepped back, Chris Becker was suddenly there, walking up beside the SUV.
“He’s awake, and he’s giving directions to the ER doctor,” he reported with a grimace.
A beat of time passed.
“I’m sorry, what?” Ian asked, rounding on him, sounding as though he couldn’t believe the words that had just come out of Chris Becker’s mouth.
“All I heard before they closed the doors on me was him telling his doctor that he was sure the bullet was lodged in the back of his vest after it went through him, but maybe they should give him an X-ray or something to make sure he was okay inside.”
“What?” Ian groused, turning to Miro and then looking back at Chris.
“One of the orderlies who was in there, a real one, a hostage, said that the chief deputy was moaning, and there was a lot of blood, and when Osborne got down on one knee to check him over and tell him he was going to––” He glanced at me, stopping, waiting.
“I can guess,” I stated, shivering.
“He said he was going to put him out of his misery, and that’s when our boss sat up, boxed Osborne’s ears as hard as he could, grabbed his gun as he screamed, and yelled at the other two guys to drop their weapons just as Wes and the rest of his SOG team breached the room.”
I watched the others absorb that information.
“Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” Ian groaned, sounding absolutely wrung out.
Chris shook his head.
“All that while he was shot and losing blood?” Eli questioned.
“Yeah,” Chris answered, nodding.
“How does he…how?”
“I don’t know” was all Chris said.