Chương 8
“One number?” Rebecca asked.
“The admitting team followed standard procedure.”
“My address is on public tax records. My nursing license is searchable. My father received care in the same county where I live.”
The representative straightened a stack of forms. “Hospitals must balance patient privacy with family notification.”
“He told you he had no family, so everyone stopped looking.”
“We cannot force a competent patient to identify contacts.”
“Was he competent?”
The representative hesitated.
Rebecca noticed.
“So you don’t know.”
“His capacity varied.”
“And while it varied, you accepted the answer that required the least work.”
Denise watched the woman’s face. It was the same expression Mr. Leland had worn when he said the issue was not wages.
General Hale leaned forward.
“Rebecca, I should have found you before the flag was given.”
“You should have answered his call.”
“Yes.”
“Don’t agree with me because you think agreement is punishment.”
“I don’t.”
“You do. He did it too. He would stand there and say, ‘You’re right, Becca,’ as if admitting it meant he didn’t have to change.”
Hale’s face tightened.
“What was in the voicemail?” Chloe asked.
No one answered.
“You said you listened yesterday.”
Hale looked toward Rebecca.
She said, “Play it.”
“It was private.”
“He called you about me.”
“I don’t know that.”
“Play it.”
Hale removed his phone. His thumb moved across the screen, then stopped.
“There are reporters outside,” Denise said. “Before you play anything, nobody records this room.”
The legal representative placed her phone on the table. Denise did the same. Rebecca turned hers off. Hale looked toward the one-way conference window, stood, and closed the blinds.
Then he pressed play.
At first there was only breathing.
Mr. Arthur’s voice sounded thinner than Chloe remembered, but the dry irritation remained.
Marcus. It’s Arthur. Don’t start saluting the phone.
A pause followed, long enough that someone listening might have assumed the message had ended.
I need a number. Rebecca’s. Mine’s no good. Or maybe hers isn’t. Hard to tell who disconnected what after a while.
Another breath.
I saw that thing about you getting another star. Congratulations, I suppose. Try not to become furniture.
The message crackled.
Call me back. Don’t send anybody. Just call.
It ended.
Hale locked the phone.
Rebecca stared at him.
“You had my number.”
“Yes.”
“Did you give it to him?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I was in Germany. I listened to the first few seconds during a meeting and planned to call later.”
“You heard his voice.”
“Yes.”
“You heard him ask for me.”
“I didn’t reach that part until yesterday.”
“You didn’t listen.”
“No.”
The room remained still.
Chloe thought about Mr. Arthur asking the time every few minutes. She thought about the general telling her he stayed awake because he knew she would come.
“Did you really know he waited for me?” she asked.
Hale looked at her.
“Nurse Alvarez told me.”
“Before you said it?”
“Yes.”
“Did she say he stayed awake because he knew?”
“She said he asked for you.”
“That isn’t the same.”
“No.”
“So you made it sound better.”
Hale did not defend himself.
Chloe pushed her chair back.
Denise touched her wrist. “Where are you going?”
“Bathroom.”
“I’ll come.”
“I know where it is.”
Denise looked ready to insist, then let go.
Chloe left the conference room with her backpack over one shoulder.
The hallway outside the administrative wing was quiet. At the far end, two security guards stood near a set of glass doors. Beyond them, camera operators and reporters crowded the sidewalk.
A woman with a microphone saw Chloe.
The reporter moved toward the door.
One of the guards blocked her.
“Chloe!” the woman called through the glass. “Did Colonel Reed tell you why he chose you?”
Chloe froze.
Another reporter lifted a camera.
The guard turned. “Keep moving, kid.”
The reporter called again. “How does it feel to inherit an American hero’s flag?”
Chloe walked faster.
In the restroom, she locked herself inside a stall and sat on the closed toilet.
She did not cry.
She took out Mr. Arthur’s letter.
The flag is not a prize.
Her hands had begun to shake. She pressed the paper against her knees.
A toilet flushed in the next stall. Someone opened the door, washed her hands, and left without noticing Chloe’s shoes beneath the partition.
Chloe read the letter again.
Ask Hale about Rebecca Lane. He will try to speak like a general. Make him speak like Marcus.
Mr. Arthur had known General Hale would come.
He had known Hale had Rebecca’s number.
He had known Chloe might ask questions adults did not want to answer.
The thought did not make her feel chosen. It made her feel used.
She folded the letter and pushed it into her backpack.
When she returned, voices were raised inside the conference room.
“You cannot involve a ten-year-old in repairing what you were too afraid to repair yourself,” Denise was saying.
Rebecca answered, “I did not ask him to.”
“He gave her the flag and left instructions.”
“He left one sentence.”
“He knew what it would do.”
“You think he planned a national spectacle from a hospital bed?”
“I think dying people can still be selfish.”
Chloe opened the door.
Everyone stopped.
She looked at Rebecca. “Did you come for him?”
Rebecca’s face lost some of its anger. “I came because he died.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Rebecca glanced at the canvas tote beneath Denise’s chair.
“I came because I wanted to see what he left behind.”
“The flag?”
“Yes.”
“Me?”
Rebecca’s eyes filled, though her voice did not change.
“Yes.”
Chloe sat down.
Denise rested a hand on her shoulder.
Chloe looked at General Hale. “Speak like Marcus.”
The general flinched slightly.
“Why didn’t you call him back?”
“I was busy.”
“That’s the general answer.”
May you like
He removed his jacket. The movement surprised everyone. He draped it over the back of his chair, medals and ribbons facing inward.
Without the jacket, he wore a plain white shirt with dark suspenders. A small brown stain marked one cuff.
