Found at Sea - By Anne Marie Duquette Page 0,78
decompression stops instead of three... Can’t tell until we release her from the chamber and get an MRI.”
That meant nothing to Tanya. She felt like throwing herself against the porthole hatch of the barometric chamber and sobbing wildly. Instead, she forced herself to listen to the doctor and Jordan, who’d been labeled “the boyfriend.”
“Where’s the next of kin?”
“Her sister’s in another hospital. Parents are out of state. Tanya here is her niece—and she’s a minor.”
“She’ll have to sign the treatment papers, then. You can witness. Oh, we do have chaplains here. Or we can call her own, if you prefer.”
Jordan and the doctor both looked at Tanya.
“Get her a chaplain,” Tanya said, not taking her eyes off Aurora.
The doctor picked up the phone and dialed the chaplain’s office, requesting the Protestant chaplain for a nondenominational prayer service. “Someone’s on the way.”
She placed her hand kindly on Tanya’s shoulder. The gesture gave Tanya no comfort, but she allowed it nonetheless.
“The technician will stay and monitor the chamber,” the doctor said, gesturing toward a corpsman sitting at the chamber controls. “I’ll be back to check on your aunt later.”
Jordan took the doctor’s place by Tanya’s side. They both stood in silent vigil.
“This is all my fault,” Tanya finally said, her voice hoarse. “First my mom, now Rory.”
“Hey, I’m the one who ordered the helicopter to hover over the drop site—and that caused the wreckage to fall.”
“It’s still all my fault.”
Jordan draped an arm around the teen’s shoulders and pulled her close. “Think good thoughts, Tanya. Aurora needs them.”
Tanya’s hands splayed wide. She went to touch the clear glass of the chamber’s porthole near her aunt’s face, but the uniformed technician shook his head. “Stay behind the yellow safety line, please.”
Abruptly, Tanya drew back. “Do you think she’s in pain?”
“No, not now.”
“What about earlier? How bad was it earlier?”
Jordan shrugged, his arms still around her. “A broken ankle will hurt, Tanya.”
“I’m not talking about her ankle. I’m talking about the bends. I know about diving, Jordan. I’ve dived myself. How bad was it?”
Jordan said nothing, but the expression on his face gave Tanya her answer. Bad. Very bad.
She didn’t know what she would’ve done if the chaplain—another woman—hadn’t walked in. Older and shorter, she, too, wore a naval uniform, but one of the rank insignias on her collar points was replaced with a tiny gold cross.
“I’m Chaplain Myers,” she began in a soft voice. “And you must be Miss Atwell. Can I call you Tanya?”
“Call me whatever you want, Preacher. Just please pray for my aunt.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
“I’M GOING TO TALK with the chaplain, okay, Jordan?” Tanya asked.
Jordan nodded, his attention on Aurora. Tanya accompanied Chaplain Myers toward the clergy offices attached to the hospital chapel.
“I never saw a woman preacher before,” Tanya said as the two of them stepped into an empty elevator. “At least, not one in a military uniform.”
“Oh, there’re a few of us around.”
“What do I call you?” Tanya asked. Her parents attended church off and on, but Tanya rarely went with them. In fact, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d bothered.
“You can call me Chaplain or Lieutenant. Or if you want, my first name is Jill.”
Tanya hesitated, then decided she should go with the formal approach. “Well...Chaplain...do you have cops here at the hospital?”
“We have military police.” The elevator doors whooshed open at the crowded ground-floor level. Chaplain Jill didn’t speak until they were walking along the sidewalk and had privacy again. “Why do you ask?”
Tanya took a deep breath. “I need to turn myself in,” she blurted out. “But I don’t know what to say when I do. I don’t want to get other people in trouble, but I don’t want to lie anymore, either. I thought maybe...” Tanya stopped on the sidewalk and with her foot smashed a half-crumpled palm frond that had fallen from above.
“You could talk to me first.”
Tanya nodded.
“That’s what I’m here for.”
She lifted her head and stared at the military uniform. “Do you have to tell the military police everything I say?”
“Counseling sessions are kept confidential. Unless you plan on blowing up the White House or kidnapping our admiral.” She smiled as she spoke.
Tanya didn’t smile back.
Jill nudged the palm frond into the gutter. “Come on,” she said kindly. “We’ll go to my office to talk.”
* * *
BY THE TIME Tanya finished her story, even Jill was shocked. She’d counseled sailors and marines, men and women whose jobs often encompassed tragic consequences. Yet this girl had—on her own—practically created an international incident