Chapter 10
Clarksville Memorial Hospital, Tennessee
As she helped wheel the bed through the double doors, Olive caught sight of the patient’s father pacing in the hallway.
He wore a black sweater emblazoned with the image of Darth Vader adorned with a candy-cane striped scarf and the words, “I Find Your Lack of Cheer Disturbing” written in typical Star Wars font.
It made her smile. Obviously, his family had come from a Christmas party.
She looked at his son’s sleeping face. He’d come into the ED symptomatic of appendicitis. Unfortunately, his appendix ruptured before they could get him into surgery. She knew the two-hour surgery had felt like a lifetime to those parents.
She handed him over to the recovery team, then returned to the operating room to finalize her notes. Using the access card attached to her scrubs shirt, she swiped it into the system and began clicking through the prompts.
“Lieutenant Duncan,” Grayson barked from the doorway, his nasal voice cutting through her thoughts like a scalpel. “Chart’s a mess—fix it before you clock out. And next time, anticipate my moves. I shouldn’t have to ask for the curette twice.”
Her neck muscles tightened. “That would be ‘Captain,’ doctor. It’s been a long time since Fort Bragg.
” She’d had enough of his mouth today. When she saw him listed as the doctor for the surgery, the temptation to claim her mild headache had grown more severe, and head home on that excuse had nearly affected her professional judgement.
He’d asked her out in North Carolina five years ago and had taken great offense at her reminder to him that he had a wife.
When he started working here in Clarksville, she actually began contemplating finding a different job.
She glanced at him. The years hadn’t been kind to him. He was tall, thin, balding, and his skin had a faint yellow cast. She watched as his cheeks turned red. “Nevertheless.”
“I’d be happy to review the video of the surgery with you so you can explain to me how having the curette in hand before you even knew you needed it is a violation of any written rule.
But I will require my rep to be with me during any such post-mortem.
I assume for the sake of transparency, you would not object.
” She turned her back to him and finished typing, then logged out.
It should have surprised her that he still stood there, his eyes narrowed, as if trying to decide what to say. “Was there something else, Doctor?”
“Duncan, you will not like even one single minute of crossing me,” he said.
She smiled and pulled her surgical cap off her head. “Doctor Grayson, I’m not trying to cross you. I’m simply standing up to a bully.” She walked forward until she had to look up at him. “You see, unlike your, shall we say, unfortunate wife, I’m not afraid of you.”
His eyes narrowed, and a muscle ticked in his jaw, but he finally spun on a heel and marched away. Olive considered the stark contradiction that humanity could produce men with the character and moral fiber of Doctor Grayson and, at the same time, men like Jerry McBride.
“Girl, that was something,” Audra Green said from behind her.
Olive looked over her shoulder. “Someone has to say something. The Army might have forced a retirement to get rid of him, but I doubt this hospital will do anything. They’re short-staffed, and he’s cheap.”
“I heard Becky made an official complaint.”
“Yeah. Expect a lot of those.”
“Better watch your back.”
Olive scoffed and said, “He can’t hurt me.” She tossed her cap into the laundry bin next to the door. “In our current culture, having cameras on everything we do is all the transparency I need.” She waved her badge at the door sensor, and the door swung open. “I’m headed to lunch.”
She went the back way to the cafeteria. At three forty-five on Christmas Eve, few people worked in the clinics and offices, though it had been moderately busy earlier in the day. Her phone dinged, and she saw an incoming message from her mom. Instead of texting back, she just called her.
“Merry Christmas Eve,” she said. She grabbed a tray and walked over to the salad bar. “How’s Alabama?”
“Busy. Your Aunt Hilda got in this morning.”
“I’m so glad.”
“What are you working tomorrow?”
“Seven to seven.” Olive scooped green peas on top of her lettuce. “I can video call when I get off. We can open presents.”
“Sounds perfect. Love you.”
“Love you, too,” she said, then slid the phone back into her scrubs pocket and finished making her salad. Impulsively, she grabbed a slice of red velvet cake to go with it. Christmas Eve only happened once a year, after all.
She sat down at the table and just took a moment. She closed her eyes and let everything relax. After a silent prayer, she picked up her fork and looked around.
Tasteful decorations adorned the space without excess. Traditional images covered the windows, and giant ornaments hung from the ceilings. A large tree stood in the corner, covered in handmade ornaments made by patients in the children’s wing.
The father in the Darth Vader sweater appeared in the dining area, holding his wife’s hand. She wore a sweater with a llama and a menorah that had the words, “Happy Lamannukah” on it. It made Olive chuckle.
The worry that had etched their faces hours ago had gone. Now they just looked tired. Olive suspected this Christmas/Hanukkah season would go down in the books, and the family would reference this near tragedy many times in the years ahead.
As she had done at every meal break for the last couple of weeks, she swiped on her phone and pulled up the photos of Jerry and her at the Christmas light festival.
She stared at his smiling face, wishing he sat in front of her right now so she’d know he was okay.
The idea that if something bad happened to him and she’d never even know it increased her stress.
She’d spent time reading through every text, every email, remembering every conversation. Every day, she felt her feelings for him growing deeper and deeper.
Had she occupied his thoughts the way he had occupied hers? Did the time apart make him realize they shouldn’t be together, or did it make a longing for her grow the same way she longed to see him again?
She swiped back to his face and enlarged the picture, studying his eyes, thinking back to the way his kiss felt, the way his arms had pulled her close. “Please God,” she whispered, praying for his safety and security.
After she finished her salad, opened the plastic wrap covering the cake. The first forkful yielded a velvety crumb, its tangy cream cheese frosting blooming sweet and cool on her tongue, erasing the bitterness of working with Grayson.
She washed the bite of cake down with a sip of coffee, the brew perfectly mingling with the flavors of the cake. With eyes closed, she savored the experience.
After finishing her meal, she still had fifteen minutes left of her break, so she pushed the tray away and leaned back in her chair, stretching her legs out. Her phone dinged and vibrated again.
Assuming it was her sister making some plan or another in the family chat, she almost didn’t check it in the midst of her melancholy mood. But, when she glanced at her phone, the name threw her. Jerry? Her heart skipped a beat. She sat up straight and quickly unlocked it.
Jerry: Be home for Christmas. See you soon.
She blinked, reading it twice. Her lips suddenly tingled, bringing back that kiss, his warm mouth, his strong shoulders. A grin spread on her face, silly and wide, chasing off the earlier shadows.
She typed back, fingers trembling with joy.
Olive: Can’t wait. Merry Christmas, soldier.
She whispered a silent, “Thank you,” to God, a short prayer filled with so much more than those two words. Thank you for keeping him safe. Thank you for bringing him home. Thank you for having me be on his contact list.
Campbell Army Airfield, Fort Campbell, KY
Soon after the wheels of the C-17 hit the tarmac, they began unloading their cargo.
Everyone moved with practiced efficiency.
Jerry swung his duffel bag over his shoulder and grabbed the handle of his rifle case that housed his beloved M110A1, and followed Fisher down the plane’s rear cargo ramp.
The cold Kentucky night air greeted them, and Jerry took a deep breath, thankful for the safe return home.
The arms room NCO met them at the armory. “Merry Christmas, gentlemen,” he said, clicking on his laptop. “Any surprises?”
Major Norton set his weapon on the table in the center of the room. “Everything’s accounted for. We’ll be back next week to clean. Just get them racked and logged in, and you get back to Christmas evening with your family.”
“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”
Ibrahim, an 18F or Operations and Intelligence NCO, dropped his duffel on the ground outside the weapons locker and handed his M4 to the sergeant taking inventory while reciting the last four digits of the weapon’s serial number. He gave Norton a glance and offered, “I can stay.”
Norton looked at him as he accepted the weapon from the armory sergeant and confirmed the serial number. “You have a new baby and a pregnant wife, Honest Abe. Holidays aside, much as I appreciate the offer to take up the Christmas slack, go on home.”
Ibrahim rubbed his black beard and smiled with white teeth. “Yes, sir.”
Before he could turn, their Group Commander, Colonel Longstreet Beauregard Jenkins, callsign LBJ, came through the door.
He wore jeans, winter boots, and a tan sweater.
Jerry didn’t think he’d ever seen the Colonel out of uniform before.
He almost hadn’t recognized him. “Welcome home, Coppertop,” he greeted Norton using his official callsign.
“I read the brief you sent en route. Well done, men. The brass are mighty proud of you boys.”
Norton received a weapon and verified the serial number as he nodded toward the Colonel. “Yes, sir. No hitches.”