It seemed hours passed before any additional information was released, and then the names of the injured were read. Neither Jeff nor Rush were listed. Lindy didn’t know whether to be happy or terrified. The only choices that remained were that both men had somehow magically escaped the explosion or were among those listed as dead.
Steve was at Lindy’s side as much as possible, doing what he could. One look at her brother told Lindy he suspected the worst. As much as she could, Lindy tried to be positive. If Rush had died in the explosion, she reasoned, she would have felt it. Deep within her heart, she would have felt a part of herself die. She wouldn’t be this calm, this accepting.
People milled around everywhere. Wives, children, parents. Rather than sit and worry, Lindy mingled with the others, talking, praying and crying – sometimes all three at once.
It was when she turned to find Steve at her side that she knew word had finally come through. She looked up to the brother she had always loved, the brother who had shielded her from whatever pain he could, and Lindy smiled. She realized at the time how odd that was.
Her brother slipped his arm around her shoulder and his jaw jutted out in a gesture of grief and pain.
"Rush is listed as missing."
Chapter Thirteen
"What do you mean missing?" Lindy asked. "Rush couldn’t have just disappeared." It astonished her how calm she felt, how controlled, as though they were discussing something as mundane as the tide tables or what to fix for dinner.
"Lindy, I think you should prepare yourself for the worst."
"That would be silly," she said, turning back to the little boy she’d been talking to and purposely ignoring her brother, "Rush is fine. I know he is. There’s been some screwup and he’s going to be furious when he learns the way the navy has everyone so worried about him."
"Lindy…." Steve hesitated, and his brow creased in thick folds of concern and regret. "I hope to God you’re right."
"Of course I am."
Steve left her then and Lindy sank into an empty chair. Her hands shook so badly that she clenched them together in her lap, her long nails cutting crescents of pain into her palms. Soon her arms were shaking, then her legs, until her whole body felt as if it were consumed by uncontrollable spasms.
Susan took the chair beside Lindy and wrapped her own sweater around Lindy’s shoulders. Susan held it there until some of the intense cold she was experiencing seeped away and a steady warmth invaded her limbs.
Lindy tried to smile, failed, and whispered one word. "Jeff?"
"He’s fine."
Lindy nodded once. "Good."
"They’ll find him, Lindy," Susan said, her voice thick with conviction, although she was struggling with her own fears. "I know they will. Jeff won’t let anyone rest until they do."
"I know." Lindy remembered how Susan had once told her that she didn’t worry so much about Jeff at sea because she always knew Rush would be there to watch out for her husband. The truth of what Susan was telling her now was the only slender thread Lindy had to hang on to. Jeff would turn hell upside down until he learned what had happened to Rush.
Soon the other wives joined Lindy, scooting their chairs and forming a protective circle around her. No one did much talking. No one tried to build her up with false hopes. No one suggested she try to eat or get some sleep. Or leave.
That night cots were brought into the information center for those who wished to stay. Lindy insisted the other wives go back to their families, but each one in turn refused. They were special sisters, bonded together in ways that were thicker than blood.
"No one’s leaving until we find out what happened to Rush," Susan said, speaking for them all.
The others managed to sleep that night in the cots provided. Lindy tried, but couldn’t. Every time she closed her eyes that same terrible scene flashed through her mind, and she was convinced she could hear Rush cry out in torment. As the hours slowly, methodically ticked away, Lindy sat and stared into space. In the darkest part of the night, surrounded by silence, she tried to prepare herself to accept Rush’s death, but every time she entertained the notion, such piercing pain stabbed through her that she shoved the thought from her mind. This interminable waiting was the worst nightmare of her life.
Food was brought in the following morning and the others ate, but Lindy knew it would be impossible for her to hold anything down.
Susan handed her a glass of orange juice. "You didn’t eat anything yesterday. Try this," she said softly, insistently. "You’re going to need your strength."
Lindy wanted to argue with her friend but hadn’t the fortitude. "Okay."
Another eternity passed, a lifetime – hours that felt like years, minutes that dragged like weeks, seconds that could have been days. And still they waited.
"He’s dead," Lindy sobbed to the others late that afternoon, although just saying the words aloud nearly crippled her. "I know it. I can feel it in my heart. He’s gone."
"You don’t know it," Susan argued, and her own eyes shone brightly with unshed tears. Her hands trembled and she laced her fingers together as though offering a silent prayer.
"Don’t even say it," Sissy cried, her face streaked with moisture.
Joanna gripped Lindy’s fingers with her own and knelt in front of her, her gaze holding Lindy’s. "He’s alive until we know otherwise. Hold tight to that, Lindy. It’s all we’ve got."
Lindy nodded, her eyes so blurred with tears that when she looked up to find her brother standing over her, she couldn’t read his expression. A powerful magnetic force drove her to her feet.
"Tell me," she whispered urgently. "Tell me."
"He’s alive."
Lindy didn’t hear anything more than that before she broke down and started to weep, covering her face with her hands, her shoulders heaving with the depth of her relief. But these tears were ones of joy. A sheer release from the endless unknown. She tossed her arms around her brother’s neck and he gripped her waist and swung her around. Susan and the others were jumping up and down, hugging each other, laughing and crying as well.
When everyone had settled back down, Steve gave them the rest of the information. "They found Rush buried under a pile of rubble; he’s lost a lot of blood and in addition to internal injuries, his arm has been severely cut. He’s being flown to Tripler Army Hospital in Hawaii for microsurgery. Apparently the nerves in his left arm were severed. He’s unconscious, but alive."
"I’m going to him," Lindy said with raw determination, as though she expected an argument. Nothing would stop her. She wouldn’t believe Rush was going to live until she saw him herself. Touched him. Kissed him. Loved him.
Steve nodded. "I already made arrangements for you to fly out today."
A pumpkin and a picture of a witch decorating the wall across the room from him were the first things Rush noticed when he opened his eyes. His mouth was as dry as Arizona in August and his head throbbed unmercifully. A hospital, he determined, but he hadn’t any idea where.
Carefully and with a great deal of effort, he rolled his head to one side and stared at the raised rail of the bed. He blinked, sure he was imagining the vision that was before him.
"Lindy?"
The apparition didn’t move. Her fingers were gripping the steel railing and her forehead was pressed against the back of her hands. She looked as though she were sleeping.
Rush tried to reach out and touch her, gently wake her, but he couldn’t lift his arm. Even the effort sent a sharp shooting pain through his shoulder. He must have groaned because Lindy jerked her head up, her eyes wide with concern. When she saw he was awake, she sighed and grinned. Rush swore he’d never seen a more beautiful smile in his life. The pain that stabbed through him with every breath was gone. The ache in his head vanished as the look in his wife’s eyes immersed him in an unspeakable joy that transcended everything else.
"You’re real," he murmured. He refused to believe that she was a figment of his imagination. His head remained fuzzy and his vision blurred, but Lindy was real. He’d stake his life on that.
She nodded and her hand brushed lightly over his face, lovingly caressing his jaw. "And you’re alive. Oh, Rush, I nearly lost you."
She bit into her bottom lip and Rush knew she was struggling not to cry. He wished he could have spared her all worry and doubt.
"Where am I…? How long?"
"You’re in a hospital in Hawaii. Two days now."
He frowned. "That long?" Now that his eyesight was clearing, he could see the dark smudges under Lindy’s eyes. She was as pale as death, as though recovering from a bad bout of flu. And much thinner than he remembered. Too thin. "You look terrible."
She laughed, and the sweet, lilting sound wrapped itself around his heart, squeezing emotion from him. Dear God, he loved Lindy. So much of the accident remained clouded in his mind. All he could remember was hearing a horrendous noise and seeing a ball of fire come hurling toward him. Everything had happened so fast that there had barely been time to do anything more than react. All he knew was that he didn’t want to die. He wanted to go home to Lindy. His Lindy. His love.
The next thing he remembered was pain. Terrible pain. More acute than anything he’d ever experienced. He knew he was close to dying, knew he might not make it, and still all he could think about was Lindy. Dying would have stopped the agony; slipping into the dark swirling void of death would have been welcome if only it would end the torment, but Rush chose the pain because he knew it would lead him back to Lindy.
"Have you looked in a mirror lately?" she asked, her lips twitching with a teasing smile. "You’re not exactly ready to be cast as Prince Charming yourself."
"You’ve been sick?" he pressed, his tongue faltering over the words. It was a struggle to keep awake, the pull back to unconsciousness greater with each second.
"No, just worried. It took them nearly forty hours to find you after the accident and until then you were listed as missing."
"OhGod, Lindy, I’m…sorry."
"I’m fine now that I know you’re going to be all right." Again her fingers touched his face, smoothing the hair from his brow, lingering as though she needed the reassurance that he was real.
"How many… dead?"
"Seven. Three on the flight deck and four on the bridge."
Rush’s jaw tightened. "Who?"
Lindy recited the names and each one fell upon his chest like a boulder dropped from the ceiling, "…good men," he said after a moment, and was shocked at how fragile his voice sounded.
"More than twenty suffered serious injuries."
Rush felt himself drifting off; he resisted, but the pull of the tide was too powerful for him to fight. "How bad…"
"The burn victims are the worst."
He nodded and that was the last he remembered.
When he woke again the room was pitch-dark. He felt a straw at his mouth and he sucked greedily. "What time is it?"