Brave (8 page)

Dakota

I
made a mushroom, ham and pineapple pizza and Alissa loved it. That
made me happy, too. Once our bellies were full, I went to the attic
and started pulling down boxes, laughing as Alissa dived into them
like they were her Christmas presents.

That
made me think about Christmas and the fact that she had no gift and
there was no way to get her a gift. I would have to think about what
I could do for her that would be suitable to exchange on Christmas
Day. Even though I hardly knew her, we had built something in the
short time we had known each other. I wanted to do something that
would have meaning for her.

“Everything’s
in here, Dakota. It looks like your family did an awesome job of
decorating every Christmas.” She rummaged around some more then
started pulling stuff out of the box. “Would it be too much to
ask you to go and cut me some evergreen boughs?”

I
shook my head. After the mysterious magic she’d worked on me,
it wasn’t an imposition at all. “I’ll be right
back.”

I
found a suitable tree and started cutting the branches, trying not to
think about her constantly. But it was like trying to stop my breath
or make the sky fall. Impossible. After I had what I thought should
be enough, even from a woman’s perspective, I returned to the
cabin.

She’d
already transformed the living room with jolly Santa figures, some
stuffed, some made out of porcelain, and the collection of snowmen
that my sister, Eden, liked to assemble all grouped together in a
snowman party. Pine cone trees and wall hangings depicting winter
scenes were placed here and there. It was definitely looking like
Christmas.

For
me, the days seemed to roll into one another and the holidays
just…passed without notice. Just another day, but as I watched
her hobble around and make delighted decisions about where to place
the festive pieces she took out of my family’s boxes, all of a
sudden I cared about spending Christmas with this remarkable woman.

When
she spied me and the boughs, she hurried over. “Those are
beautiful.” She took them from my arms and started to place
them around the room, the smell of evergreen pungent in the air. I
breathed deep, and discovered then that I missed my family with a
twisting pain to my heart. They hadn’t given up on me, but they
had left me alone as I had requested. I knew it hurt them, and that
barrier I had kept hard over my heart cracked a little.

I
went over to a wooden box on one of the built-in bookcases and pulled
it down. “Alissa, come here for a minute and sit down.”

“You’re
pulling me away from…Oh, you have pictures,” she said,
taking the open box out of my hands.

She
sat down on the sofa and pulled out the stack of photos. “Your
sisters are so beautiful. What are their names?”

“Eden,
Reagan and Phoenix.”

“Pretty.
I always wanted a sister. You look so happy.”

I
looked at myself from last year and swallowed hard. “I was
happy.”

“This
is wonderful. You got a stethoscope from your mom?”

“I’m
a nurse.” I blurted it like it was a big secret, like the label
didn’t fit me anymore. I could tell that she was pleased that I
opened up.

“What
kind of nurse?” She set the box down on the coffee table.

“Certified
Registered Nurse Anesthetist, a CRNA.”

“What
is that, exactly?”

She
turned toward me, casually placing her hand on my forearm, her
fingers brushing my skin. I wet my lips. This was getting into
dangerous territory for me, but Alissa wanted to know. It was time
for me to finally tell someone.

“I
have my Master of Nursing and had to go through more schooling. I
just got my license…” My breath hitched and her hand
soothed along my arm. “…last year before I…”

“It’s
okay, Dakota. I want to know everything about you. Don’t hold
back.”

“I
don’t know how much…”

“We’ll
start with this, okay?”

I
nodded. “I can practice in a lot of
settings, either public or private. Large academic medical centers,
small community hospitals, outpatient surgery centers, pain clinics,
or physician's offices, either working with anesthesiologists or
other CRNAs, or in independent practice. Some CRNAs work with the
military, the VA, and public health.”

“You
could go into independent practice?”

“Yes,
if I chose to do that, but I prefer working in a hospital. I like the
people and the urgency of the job.” But now it was like a
half-remembered dream, and it hurt to think about it.

“It
may seem like a stupid question, but what do you do, exactly?”

“I
stick people with needles to dull their pain, and am certified in all
the techniques including general, epidural, spinal, peripheral nerve
block, sedation, or local.”

She
grimaced. “I’m not a big fan of needles.”

“I
use a numbing agent, so you barely feel it. And I’m good at
it.”

“I
bet you are,” she said. “Did you work with the military?”

I
looked away, my heart rate increasing. “No.”

“When
did you graduate?” My heart skipped a beat.

“Last
May.”

“What
did you do after that?”

I
closed my eyes. “I had already applied to Doctors Without
Borders. I wanted to do that before I actually started working.”

“And
did you get in?”

“Yes,”
My mouth went dry, the memory a good one. “I felt proud to be
able to do something as courageous as my father and grandfather.”

“Right,
your grandfather was in the Korean War.”

“Yes,
and my father fought in the Gulf.”

“But
you weren’t interested in the military?”

“No,
I wanted to heal, not do violence. It was the vow I took.” My
vision started to go gray and my chest heaved. “They didn’t
really understand. And when I came back they told me to buck up and
be a man. As if what had happened to me was trivial and I shouldn’t
have deep feelings about it. I might be a man, but what I was feeling
was real, and bottling it up only hurt more.” I was starting to
sweat.

Her
hand on my arm tightened. “No, stay with me.”

My
throat contracted. “I want to tell you everything, Alissa. I
do. But the flashbacks, they’re unpredictable. I don’t
know when…I’m afraid…I’ll hurt you.”

“You
would never hurt me.”

I
shuddered with the remembered rage, the remembered lust for murder
that had taken over me and I wasn’t so sure…lost in that
nightmare with the demons…I wasn’t so sure.

“So
Doctors Without Borders? That’s pretty impressive.”

“It
was only a six-week assignment. CRNAs are too much in demand for us
to be away for more than that. I already had five job offers.”

“How
long were you there?”

I
closed my eyes. The grayness always made me feel woozy. I fought it,
but the memory was so powerful.

“Don’t
let it control you, Dakota. I know how powerful a memory can be.”

I
groaned softly, the terror clutching at me. My breathing sped up. If
I could just tell someone, it might help. “Two days. I was only
there for two days before they came.”

Someone
ran past the couch screaming and I lost my focus on her face. Then
another ran past, but that man didn’t get far, shot in the
back.

I
took gasping breaths. “I was still in my scrubs,” I
managed, and I felt the grip of her hand on mine, or was that the
woman in front of me pleading in a language I didn’t
understand? I looked back at Dr. Sanchez, but he was operating, Elsa
standing beside him like nothing was happening.

“We
were operating on a patient.” The woman simply fell away from
me, her chest blossoming in an explosion of blood. “Armed men
moved through the camp, indiscriminately killing anyone in their
path. I backed up as they converged on the tent. I moved toward Elsa
as she looked up and saw them. They knocked Dr. Sanchez aside. He was
shouting something in French, and I was standing in front of Elsa.
Then he walked in. The man with the scars. And he smirked.”

“Dakota,
you’re hyperventilating.” Her hands were on my shoulders
shaking me.

“I
lashed out when they came for her, knowing what they wanted. ‘Run,
Elsa!’ I screamed. They had me in a chokehold, making me watch
as they caught her and dragged her back, kicking and screaming. Dr.
Sanchez tried to stop them, but they beat him to the ground.”
My throat closed up. “I can’t breathe,” I said. “I
can’t breathe.”

My
head was shoved down, but I fought. I didn’t know if it was a
rebel or Alissa trying to help. I had to fight anyway, because they
were after Elsa.

Then
her arms were around me, holding me. Was it Elsa? Who was it?

I
moaned with the agony of a memory so vivid it seemed as real as the
day it happened. I stood and dropped to my knees.

Then
her mouth was on mine and I turned into her kiss like a man drowning
and needing the lifeline to reality. “Alissa,” I
whispered against her mouth. She kissed me again, her mouth sliding
along my lips, as if savoring the way my mouth felt against hers. It
was the most sensual feeling I’ve ever experienced, and
everything in me stilled. The demons faded away into the darkness,
because the light inside of me was shining too bright for them.

My
body was hot. A light feather-touch moved up and down my back and
over my shoulder. There was something wet beneath my cheek.

The
sensations crystallized into a thought.
Alissa
.
I mumbled her name again like a plea. I pulled away. So beautiful. I
put my hands on either side of her face and felt the wetness again.

“You’re
crying,” I muttered.

She
looked at me and I wondered if there was another blue in the world
like the blue of her eyes.

“I’m
here. I’m here,” she whispered and she kissed me again. I
thought I could die now with the sweetness of her taste on my tongue.
Fresh tears welled up and made silver swim with the blue, like
lapping waves.

I
pulled away from her, taking a bit of distance. The ugliness of my
flashback remained like a bad taste in my mouth. How could she even
want to touch me? “I told you as much as I could. Was it awful?
Was it too much?”

“No
it wasn’t too much. I’m so sorry, Dakota. I’m so,
so sorry.”

The
flashback faded completely, and there she was, solid and real, and
not an illusion. Alissa helped to leach some of the poison from that
day, her mouth, her tears and the gentle feel of her arms. I had to
move back away from her before I did anything stupid.

“You
are so brave.”

I
shook my head, my voice harsh. “I’m not a hero, Alissa.
Far from it.”

“You
keep saying that, but I want you to teach me.”

“Teach
you what?”

“How
to be brave.”

“Why
do you need to be brave?”

“I
need to be. I can’t say. I need you to trust me about that. Can
you?”

I
closed my eyes. “Yes, I can trust you. I find myself at a
complete loss about how you came to be here right when I desperately
needed you.”

“Sometimes
things just happen and can’t be explained. Maybe we needed each
other, and the universe recognized that, and arranged for us to crash
into each other.”

She
smiled. At me. And I thought of a way I could make her Christmas that
much better. “How would you like a tree?”

The
sheer elation on her face twisted me into a pretzel of painful
pleasure.

“Oh,
God, yes! That would be wonderful. Can you do it in a middle of a
blizzard?”

“I
can produce strawberries. I can surely get you a tree. There’s
a place not far from here with evergreens that are totally suitable
for a Christmas tree. And, look. There’s a break in the storm.
We can go now, if you want. I have a sled in the shed, and a
handy-dandy ax.”

She
started to get up from the floor, and I surged forward to help her
up.

“That
sounds so wonderful. I haven’t ever helped chop down a real
Christmas tree.”

“You
didn’t have a real tree at home?”

“Oh,
we did,” she said wryly, “but the house, the tree, and
the grounds were always decorated by someone named Rodolfo or
Edward.”

“Oh,
I see.”

“Yes,
God forbid we didn’t have all the latest trappings.”

“I
have popcorn and cranberries. Want to make a garland for the tree?”

She
looked at me. Her expression said that she thought that was the
sweetest thing I had ever said.

“Yes.
I can’t think of anything better. But, what are you doing with
cranberries?”

“Cranberry
sauce,” I said. “Don’t you like it?”

“I
do. Were you going to make yourself a Christmas dinner?”

“I
was.” I had thought about it when I picked up supplies, but
only now realized that I hadn’t really decided if I would or
not. “Something simple. I have a ham, and both sweet and white
potatoes, rolls, the whole damn thing. I didn’t know I would be
sharing it with you.”

“And
you say you’re no hero.”

We
bundled up and she gripped her walking stick as I first checked to be
sure her ankle brace was firm, and then instructed her on how to
maneuver in snow shoes. It was actually easy on her ankle, less
movement. “It’s more of a shuffling gait than actually
picking up your feet.”

“I’ll
manage,” she said as we headed out. After walking for about
fifteen minutes, we came upon a copse of evergreens. Alissa’s
gasp of delight when she saw them traveled through me like a golden
light.

“Beautiful.
Almost too beautiful to cut down.”

“I
can say an Indian prayer for the tree, if you want. Receiving
something from the earth as a gift.”

“What
kind of prayer?”

“A
Lakota prayer.”

“You’re
Lakota?”