Chapter Seventeen #2
“Excellent Jaws reference,” he said, grinning.
“I know my shark movies.”
“Lieutenant?” Dr. Trulo said, gesturing for her to join him.
“Duty calls,” she said.
“Knock ’em dead,” Derek said. “Oh, wait. Bad pun in this crowd.”
Sam laughed, squeezed his arm and headed for Dr. Trulo.
“Me or you?” the doctor asked.
“You. All you.”
“Why did I know you’d say that?” To the group, Dr. Trulo said, “Thank you so much for joining us tonight for this second meeting of our new grief group for victims of violent crime. Lieutenant Holland and I are honored to have each of you here to share in this special community of people who understand the unique grief that comes with losing a loved one to violence. I’d like to begin with a moment of silence for the families suffering this week in Des Moines. ”
Sam bowed her head and contended with the lump that suddenly lodged in her throat. Anytime she thought about what had happened there, she felt unbearably sad. She hoped she’d be able to hold it together when they met with the families.
“Thank you for that,” Dr. Trulo said. “I see some familiar faces from our last meeting and lots of new people. We’re so glad to have you here. Who’d like to begin?”
Danita Jackson raised her hand. Her fifteen-year-old son, Jamal, had been gunned down on a city street during a series of random shootings that were later tied to a disgruntled city employee.
“I just want to say thank you from the bottom of my heart for this amazing group. Since our first meeting, I’ve become close friends with so many people I met here, and it truly helps to share this terrible burden with people who understand what I’m going through.
That’s all I wanted to say. Just thank you. ”
“Thanks, Danita,” Sam said. “We appreciate hearing that.”
Gonzo raised his hand, and Dr. Trulo signaled for him to take the floor.
“I’m Detective Sergeant Tommy Gonzales. My friends call me Gonzo, and all of you should feel free to call me that.
As I told you guys the last time, I lost my partner to murder almost a year ago, and I’ve had a really, really rough year since that night last January when he was killed right in front of me.
I’ve struggled with so many things, but I’m finally getting back on track.
I recently married my love, Christina, who’s been such a rock through all this, and I’m back to work after a few months away to get my head together.
“My biggest challenge now is the trial for the man who killed my partner that starts next week. As the only eyewitness to the senseless killing of an amazing young man, I’m fully aware of what I need to do in order to get justice for my partner.
But the thought of reopening that painful wound is a bit overwhelming, to say the least. Well, that’s all I wanted to say, other than thanks again to Sam and Dr. Trulo for starting this group. It’s going to help a lot of people.”
Sam led a round of applause for her colleague and friend that left him flushed with embarrassment. “I know I speak for everyone in the department when I say how much we admire everything you’ve done and are doing to honor Detective Arnold’s legacy.”
“Thank you,” Gonzo said softly.
“I want to ask my friend Derek Kavanaugh if he’d mind saying a few words as someone who’s eighteen months out from the terrible loss of his wife.
Sorry to put you on the spot, Derek,” Sam said, smiling at him.
“But I think your perspective might be helpful to those of us dealing with more recent losses.”
“Sure,” Derek said. “Although, sometimes it still feels like it happened a week ago, and other times, it feels like years. My wife, Victoria, was murdered in our home, and for a time, our one-year-old daughter was missing. You’ve all heard the story about how presidential candidate Arnie Patterson planted Victoria with one of President Nelson’s aides in a years-long plot to gain intel on Patterson’s biggest rival.
When Victoria refused to cooperate, they eliminated her.
That’s the short part of the story. The longer part is about me coming to terms with some pretty screwed-up facts about our relationship that were later put to rest with a letter from Vic that let me know that the things that mattered between us were as real as it got.
“She protected me at the expense of her life. That’s something I’ll live with every day, but Maeve and I are doing better.
The grief that was like cut glass at the beginning has dulled around the edges some as we get further out from that awful time.
I hate that Maeve won’t remember Victoria.
She was a wonderful mother, and I try to keep her present in our lives as much as I can.
I guess I would tell those of you who are just starting this journey to allow yourself to feel all the things so you can move through it, rather than trying to avoid it.
Not that avoiding it is really an option.
I’m happy to talk to anyone who needs a friend in this process, if you think it would help to talk to someone who’s been at it awhile. ”
“Thank you so much, Derek,” Sam said. “Nick and I have so admired your devotion to Maeve over this last year and a half, and we’re so proud of you.”
“Thank you. That means a lot. My family and friends have been key to my survival of this unimaginable loss.”
When they took a short break a while later, Sam noticed Derek talking to Trey Marchand, who’d lost his six-year-old daughter, Vanessa, in a drive-by shooting.
“You really struck a chord with this idea, Lieutenant,” Dr. Trulo said, sounding like a proud father. Naturally, that thought gave Sam a pang of longing for her own father.
“It’s nice to see some good coming from the madness,” she said, glancing at him. “If it’s okay with you, I’m going to duck out now so I can get home to see the kids before bedtime.”
“Of course. I’ll check in with you tomorrow to update you on the rest of the meeting.”
“Thanks for doing all the work here,” she added. “I think it’s making a difference.”
“It is for sure. Before you go… The first holidays after a major loss can be very difficult. You know where to find me if you need anything.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. You’re the best.” Once upon a time, Sam would’ve resisted any kind of shrinking, but that was before Dr. Trulo saved her sanity and her career after former lieutenant Stahl attacked her.
Now she knew that everyone needed help at various times in their lives.
The secret was being self-aware enough to know when to ask for it.
While the attendees were occupied with each other and the snacks Dr. Trulo must’ve arranged, Sam made her escape and was headed home ten minutes later, with Vernon and Jimmy following her in a black SUV.
She was halfway to Ninth Street when she realized she was going the wrong way.
After making a U-turn at the next intersection, she made her way to Pennsylvania Avenue while wondering when thinking of the White House as “home” would feel normal.
Almost three weeks later, she wasn’t there yet.
Eager to get upstairs to see the kids, Nick was stuck in the Oval Office waiting for Gretchen Henderson to arrive for their meeting.
She’d been in New York City when she received Terry’s call asking her to come in and had caught the first flight she could get back to DC. Thus, Nick was stuck waiting.
Not that he didn’t have plenty to do. Information flowed toward him like rapids in a river, flooding every corner of his conscience with details that needed to be managed with differing levels of urgency—briefings, meetings, phone calls.
It was nonstop for as much as twelve hours a day.
In addition, the media was on him twenty-four seven, picking apart every word he said, everything he did and every action of his administration with a ruthlessness that defied description.
He was trying hard to love it, but by this time of the day, he was ready for some family time.
He’d had a long conversation with his senior adviser and close friend Senator Graham O’Connor earlier.
Talking to him always helped Nick find perspective on the most difficult issues.
It was all Graham’s “fault” that Nick was in this office in the first place.
Nick smiled when he thought about how excited Graham was that he was president.
Graham’s son Terry came in carrying the ever-present briefing book that Nick took “home” with him each evening to prepare for the next day.
“I heard from a contact at State that the inspector general is opening an inquiry into what went down in Iran. Interestingly, the director of the Diplomatic Security Service is demanding a congressional hearing because his agents have a very different story than the one Ruskin is peddling. I also heard on the deep down low that Justice is taking a look at the situation, too.”
“I’d be very happy to see Ruskin held accountable.
” Since Nick had fired former secretary of State Martin Ruskin after the bizarre incident in Iran, Ruskin had been ruthless in his public criticism of the country’s youngest president, who lacked, as Ruskin put it, the “gravitas” to do the job he hadn’t been “elected by anyone” to do.
Not to mention, Ruskin was fond of saying, he didn’t even want the job.
The guy was a windbag, but the cable news shows were eating up his criticism of the new president, who’d had just about enough of the guy.
Terry brought Gretchen into the office shortly after six thirty. “Mr. President, Gretchen Henderson to see you.” Tall with dark hair done in spiral curls that framed a strikingly beautiful face, Gretchen came toward him with a smile and an extended hand.
Nick stood to greet her with a handshake. “Thank you, Terry. Good to see you again, Gretchen.”
“You, too, Mr. President. Sorry to keep you waiting.”
“No problem. I didn’t give you much notice.”