Chapter 34

Egan Fletcher had been in the Yokosuka Naval Hospital for three days after being transferred from the hospital facility aboard Bon Homme Richard. The surgical staff on the Richard could have removed the bullets from his chest, even though they had not done so. The flight from the jungle to the Nalon Vet and the crash landing in the Pacific had added to the toll the bullets had taken on his chest. By the time James had pulled Egan free of the wreck, he had lost consciousness. It was all James and Dah Vee could do to keep him afloat and hoist him into the bobbing medivac sled lowered by Richard’s helicopter. By the time the doctors had examined him, their main concern was to stop the bleeding and replenish lost blood. He had presented with symptoms of shock and had been unconscious. Fearing a head injury, the chief medical officer had ordered a CT scan but had found no significant cranial damage, though Captain Fletcher did have a concussion. The staff had decided to postpone surgery until after he had been stabilized. He had spent two days on the Richard. He had then been transported to the Naval Hospital, where the bullets had been removed, followed by a recovery period.

Altogether, he had been hospitalized for almost seven days, a new record for Hurricane Fletcher. He was not good at bed rest. However, each time he moved, the pain reminded him why he was still there. As he adjusted the automatic hospital bed to a more upright position, he noticed a small bouquet of roses on the bedside table. He did not remember seeing them the last time he was awake. He had been losing track of time, coming in and out of consciousness for a few days. But he thought he was over it. Now, he just felt dreadful. He was sure about the flowers, though.

A young orderly came bustling into the room. “Good morning, sir,” he chirped.

“Good morning,” Egan said. He knew this would be what he called the health drill. It was similar to the sanity drill. When an elderly person was asked who the President was or what day of the week it was, they had better come up with the correct answer—the sanity drill. When an orderly or nurse said, “Good morning,” say “Good morning” back. No matter what. Even if you do not know what they are talking about at first - the health drill. If you want to get out of the hospital, pass the health drill. “Fine,” Egan said, without being asked a question.

“Captain Fletcher,” the orderly said, “I think you’re still a little groggy.” The orderly tended to his duties, refilling the water pitcher and straightening the covers. Egan had been thrashing a little.

Egan struggled to clear his head and again looked at the bouquet. It was then he noticed a book on the stand next to the flowers. “What’s this?” he asked as he picked up Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.

“Your book, sir,” the orderly answered.

“Ah…good,” Egan said thoughtfully. “I can still read.”

The orderly must have realized he just stated the obvious. “Sorry, sir. The tall lady has been reading it to you.” He pointed to the flowers. “I’m sure those are from your wife, too.”

“My tall wife?”

“I’m sorry, sir. I assumed she was your wife. She told me she was Native American when I asked about her tan. She’s nice, and if you don’t mind me saying so, beautiful, sir. You’re a lucky man.”

“I’m a lucky man,” Egan said. His head was definitely clearing, but he had no idea what the man was talking about. He decided to wait. He would see what his mind told him once the fog had lifted entirely.

The orderly started to leave. “Oh, one more thing,” Egan said.

“Yes, sir.”

“Is there a toothbrush somewhere?”

“Sir, the lady brought a kit bag for you. I believe it’s in the closet.” The orderly opened the door of the closet to check. “Yes, right here.” He set the small leather zippered bag on Egan’s bed within his reach. “I will have your nurse stop by. Anything else, sir?”

“No, thank you.” The orderly left.

“Nice kid,” Egan said to no one. He struggled out of bed and into the bathroom. He was a tough guy, so he was not up to asking for help with a shower. Instead, he managed to shave and brush his teeth. He noticed a marked improvement in how he felt. Maybe that’s all that’s wrong with me now, he thought. I just need cleaning up.

With his left arm in a sling and his chest bandaged, he used only his right hand and managed to wash his hair before feeling nauseated from the pain in his chest. He hobbled back to his bed. Lying down seemed to ease the pain.

“Mornin’, Captain,” a familiar voice said as a knock came on the open door. “Permission to come aboard, sir?”

“Granted.” It was the first time Egan could remember seeing Petty Officer Pearce since the impromptu dinner and evening they had spent together in Seoul. It seemed like a very, very long time had passed, although he did recall the long and passionate goodnight kisses they shared that night.

Pearce hugged him gently. She seemed happy to see him awake and looking well. “You’ve been a sick cowboy,” she said. “We’ve been worried.” She looked as if she might cry. “Don’t ruin the moment by makin’ a scene,” she reminded herself out loud.

At that moment, a nurse entered the room. “Excuse me, sir. But we need to get you ready for President Ross’s visit.”

“President Ross?”

“Yes,” the nurse said. “We discussed it yesterday.”

“Oh…yeah, right.” Egan smiled and then adjusted his bed to a more comfortable position. “Refresh my memory, sailor.”

“Sir,” the nurse patiently replied, “President Ross will be here in one hour to visit with you and Petty Officer Lawrence. And to present the two of you with your Purple Heart medals.”

“That’s right.” This was the first he had heard of it. “I’m up to speed now. Thanks.” Egan then rolled his head to the side of the bed on which Pearce sat. “How’s Andrew doing?”

“I just left his room. Had a nice chat with him and his parents. He is doing great!”

A thankful smile came to Egan’s lips. Picking up the book, he said, “Where did this come from?”

“It’s Faydra’s book, Captain,” Pearce explained.

His eyes searched the room as if he were looking for Faydra. Egan leaned slightly over the side of his bed, pretending to look under it. “Is she here?”

“No, sir, she returned to Bremerton several days ago.”

“I see,” he said. “I’ve enjoyed hearing Alice’s adventures, JP.” He was lying. Still, he did not want to run the risk of hurting her feelings. “You know,” Egan said, “we didn’t finish it.” He handed the book to her.

“Not now, sir. The President is comin’,” Pearce insisted.

“I want you to read. The President will just have to wait.”

Pearce took the book from him. With a small amount of bravery in her voice, she said, “Sir, I don’t think so. You really need to meet with President Ross.” She paused. “So, you were a naval aviator like my father.”

She was clumsy, but she was brilliant. Pearce picked the one topic other than his son that was near and dear to Egan’s heart: flying. “Go ahead,” he encouraged, “tell me about your father.”

“Well,” Pearce was radiant, “I don’t know if you know this, but my father was a Navy pilot.” She scooted her chair closer to the bed. “He flew Shadowhawks during the Persian Gulf War aboard the U.S.S. Theodore Roosevelt. He was a squadron commander. After he retired…” Suddenly, she seemed to hit a painful block. “Afterward…it was a while…well…a lot happened.” She was struggling.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to explain. Maybe another time.”

“It’s just hard to put into words. My dad is such a great man. He taught me about aerobatics—about life, really.”

Egan wanted to see where she was headed. “Really?”

“Oh, yes. Y’all probably noticed,” JP said, bringing her fingertips of her right hand up to the long scar on her cheek, “or maybe ya didn’t, but I was in a car wreck when I was little. I was thrown through the windshield of the car. I got filleted by the jagged glass.”

Egan carefully studied her face. “I see some lipstick, some eyeshadow, two bright and sensitive blue eyes, a little blush in the cheeks…. can’t tell if it’s cosmetic or natural.” He winced as he leaned toward her and lightly touched her scarred cheek with his fingers. “What scar?” he said. “I see a wonderful woman.”

Pearce cupped his left hand in hers and gently kissed his hand. “After that, I was afraid to even ride in a car,” she said as she continued to hold his hand. “I was that way for years. Then one day, my dad said he should take me flyin’.”

Her eyes looked distant, but there was no pain in her expression. At first, Egan could not read it; the look seemed out of place. Finally, he realized what it was: tenderness.

“He had a Stearman he bought, salvaged, and restored,” Pearce continued. “He and his plane were inseparable. He taught me a lot about aerobatics. He said I’d be safer if I knew how to get out of any situation, recover from any attitude.” She looked a little embarrassed. “Listen to me go.”

“I asked. Remember?” Egan reminded her.

“Well, one thing he told me, time and again, was how to get out of an inadvertent spin,” Pearce went on. “He said that’s one thing I needed to know how to do. It’s how people die doin’ aerobatics. They get into a spin they didn’t plan. They react instinctively and yank back the stick, unwittingly holdin’ the plane in the spin all the way to the ground. Dad said, ‘Remember two things: let go of the stick and push the rudder opposite of the spin.’ Can you imagine? To pull out, y’all have to let go and push in the opposite direction?”

“Seems paradoxical, doesn’t it?”

“That’s just how it seemed to me. It’s how I knew it to be true,” Pearce said. “I thought about it a lot. I wanted to do it right if it ever happened to me. Then, one night I was lyin’ in bed and realizin’ I was in a spin. I’d been livin’ in fear, not acceptin’ the changes that occurred in my life. My mother was dead, two mothers I mean, and I’d been badly injured in a car wreck. I knew what I had to do to recover was to let go and push in the opposite direction. Before long, my entire outlook changed. Afterwards, I guess I came out of my shell.” She looked at Egan’s face. “I love flyin’. In a way, it saved my life.”

Egan was listening intently.

“I’m pretty out of my shell now, don’t ya think?” Pearce laughed self-consciously. She appeared embarrassed.

Egan realized his life, too, had been in an inadvertent spin since the death of his wife. Pearce had sensed it in him and had found a way to express it to him in terms he could understand. She was indeed an elegant woman.

The orderly came through the doorway. “The arrangements are all finished,” he said. “I just checked in on Petty Officer Lawrence. It’s good to see him back to his old self.” The orderly was beaming with excitement.

“The President will be here soon, Egan,” Pearce said. “Is there anythin’ y’all need me to do?”

“No, thanks. But I would like to get dressed.”

“Egan, do ya think you’re up to it?” JP asked, her brow wrinkled with concern.

“Sweetheart,” he smiled at her, “this is probably the only time in my life I’m going to meet the President, and I’m going to do it with my pants on.”

Both Pearce and the orderly laughed. The orderly opened the closet once more. “Your son brought this by yesterday,” he said, producing Egan’s uniform.

“Kristian is here?”

“Yes. The Navy flew him in from Seattle the moment we learned of your condition. We discussed it yesterday too, sir.”

“I must have missed a good day yesterday,” Egan said. “This is good news. Where is he?”

“He’s comin’ over with President Ross,” Pearce said.

“Have you met Kristian?” Egan asked her.

“Yes, sir. He and I have done a lot of prayin’ together these past few days,” Pearce replied.

“Praying for me?”

“Well, sir…actually,” she drew closer to him and whispered, “Kristian and I split a lottery ticket. We was prayin’ we’d become millionaires.”

Egan clutched his chest and roared with laughter. He felt an uncomfortable pain in his chest, but the pain was well worth the humor. He regained his composure, wiped the tears from his eyes with the fingers on his good hand, and said, “Now, if you…” he caught himself, “if y’all would excuse me, Miss Pearce…I need to get my pants on. The President is coming.”