Chapter 38
“Hello?” I looked around. This didn’t look like a hospital room, more like a hotel. No call button, but my wheelchair was close by the bed. I sat up and winced. My whole body ached. Or at least the parts I could feel. “Anybody there?”
The door opened and Jake, Mitchell and a cop I recognized came in. Jake carried a tray loaded with food, lunch stuff. He set it down on the table next to the bed, opened the blinds and pushed me up on the pillows. They were dressed in suits and formal uniform, complete with white gloves.
“How do you feel?”
I looked at the Sarge. “I’m sorry about Really? He gave his life to save the hostages.”
“I know. He save mine, too. I’m Sergeant Jeff Bilberry.”
“He didn’t tell me your name.”
“He and the perps were the only casualty, Dantan. You saved twenty-four lives.”
“Are you hungry?”
“No. I just want to sleep.”
“You slept for three days, Danny. Any longer and we would have to put you on exhibit as Rip Van Winkle.”
“Who?”
“Never mind. You can Google it. Doctor’s orders. Eat, bathe. Dress. You have some people that want to thank you,” Jake announced.
“No. Leave me alone.” In the end it was easier just to do what he wanted. I ate a sandwich. It tasted good enough that I took another, fried soft shelled crab on sourdough with romaine hearts and spicy cocktail sauce. He helped me into the shower chair and made sure he scrubbed my hair, cleaned under my nails and was squeaky clean. Helped dress me. I widened my eyes at the new fancy blue silk suit, at the aqua shirt with French cuffs that matched my blue eye exactly. The tie was a sedate blue and pink stripe. He adjusted my slacks making sure the requisite inch above my heels were correct. The shoes were nice, hand sewn lace up cordovans in shiny, buttery soft black leather. He held my feet up so I could see them. Rolled me over to the mirror and showed me a young man that didn’t match the picture I saw in my head. This one was tall with broad shoulders, a lean aristocratic face topped by dark blonde and brown hair, dark eyebrows and eyes that didn’t match. A face you would look at twice and think, intriguing, classically handsome yet more than just pretty. The hair was a lot shorter than I remembered. I touched my collar and felt where a razor had trimmed my neck.
“You were out,” he grinned. “No fuss, no muss, no fighting or arguing about it.”
“I look…nice.” I looked at him. “Is this in regards to Friday at 8 PM?” I sneaked a peek at his mind, but his thoughts were tightly closed.
“No, no, no,” he shook his finger at me. “No peeking. Felice taught us how to shut you out.”
“No fair, Jake,” I complained and Sergeant Bilberry took my chair and wheeled me out of the room. It was a hotel, the Watergate and we went down the elevator to the lobby where a mass of reporters waited and peppered us with questions.
“Where are we going? I asked in a whisper afraid of all these bodies and strangers.
“To a Memorial service for Officer Really?.” I was quiet as we rode in a limo towards the White House.
Mitchell said only one thing to me, “Dantan, this isn’t for you, it’s for Sergeant Bilberry, so behave yourself, and be gracious.”
I nodded, and when we drove through the gates up to the Reception area, goggled at the crowd that was there. Reporters, my Dad, resplendent in a new suit, the President, First Lady and Felice in a gown like a confectionery’s dream. This looked more like a dress ball than a Memorial.
Jake pulled out my chair, opened it and allowed me the dignity of hauling myself out, waiting patiently for me to get settled. I let them push me inside, stunned when the rows of smartly uniformed guards saluted me. Dad stepped next to me, grinning like a fool as we rolled up the red carpet towards the Reception room were President Rickover waited. There were chairs lined up in rows, filled with reporters and senators, congressmen and police.
“Dad,” I mumbled, my hands tight in my lap.
“Relax, Danny, it’ll be okay,” he promised. Now, the others dropped back behind us and dad took hold of my chair handles to push me the rest of the way. We stopped in front of President Rickover. He held the box out, opened it and began speaking.
“It is my great honor and privilege,” he announced to the snapping of flashes, “to present this Presidential Medal of Freedom with Distinction to Dantan Townsley De Rosier for an especially meritorious contribution to the security and national interest of the United States in a public and private endeavor, one of which was saving my life from an assassin’s bullet.”
He pinned the blue-and-white ribbon with gold eagle, red, white and blue star to my lapel, shook my hand and gave me a hug. Felice stepped forward and kissed me on the lips, closing my sagging mouth, letting the next person step close. I recognized him as the Chief of DC Metro police, and he whispered, “I can’t top that pretty bauble, sir, but we have one for you, too.
“On behalf of the Washington Metro Police Department, for his invaluable aid, Dantan Townsley De Rosier, we award you the Police Badge of Honor for Bravery under Fire. Even though a civilian. We also honor here today, the memory of Really?, Sergeant Bilberry’s mount, who gave his life in performance of his duties.”
He handed me a closed case, and a small medal he pinned to my left chest under the PMOF, shook my hand and the Sergeant’s.
Felice laughed lightly, and said to Dad, “I think he’s speechless. He looks cute with his mouth open, doesn’t he?”
President Rickover raised his voice over the yelling reporters. “One more announcement, my daughter has informed me that she is engaged. To Senator Michael Patrick De Rosier’s son, Dantan Townsley De Rosier. God help us, a Democrat!”
Amid the laughter, I heard Felice say, “Get out of that one, Downtown. You’re mine for the rest of our lives, just like the vows say, in sickness and health, till death do us part.