The gentleman nods, smiles some more, and this time I could swear he does wink at me. Will have to check the footage later. Looking forward to it already.

“I saw you visited Arlington this morning,” the senator says, affecting a more serious expression. “A moving ceremony, I must say.”

He pauses, and here I brace for him calling me on my hypocrisy: that I let the PR spinsters talk me into going there so I could ham it up for the public. Give them a powerful optic. Imprint them with an image they would soon not forget, whatever dirt may air and/or whichever pointed question I may fumble on during this hearing.

Instead, he says, “That was an emotional experience for you, wasn’t it? It touched you deeply.”

For the next few seconds, I’m back in front of that square monument, and I’m remembering all the gore and explosions that came to mind while I stood there. I’m stuffing my head into Dan’s chest, eyes squeezed together, willing for all them images to fly away.

All that wants to come up again now. My body wants to give way like it did at Arlington. But while it was fitting and proper to break down there, I won’t allow it here. I won’t give this condescending stuffed suit the satisfaction.

I take one deep breath, and let it out with, “I suffer from PTSD.”

The room goes quiet, the way the world goes quiet right after a bomb blast. Except this time I don’t even hear the ringing in my ears.

I bet someone’s said those words in a room like this, in this very building. I bet a tableful of veterans have said it in some obscure hearing seeking better care and more support for those who come back from wars funded, if not approved in this very building, with the invisible wound no one really knows how to suture.

I must say that for all the mental vitriol I’ve casted in the senator’s direction, the way his face shifts now smacks of real concern.

“Is there anything we can do to make you more comfortable?”

I take another deep breath, and let it out with, “I need my dog.”

Somewhere in the next few seconds, the lady from California speaks up, rather loudly. They try to shush her, but she’s a pitbull, that one. Thereafter, the gavel falls, and a short recess follows.

I turn to Candice expecting to get her letter of resignation. But she’s smiling at me. She reaches over, grabs the neatly typed statement, and crumples it up.

“Keep it up,” she says. “Right down the middle.”

 

 

To be continued…

 

 

Now available! 

Thank you for reading this installment of Wounded Honor. Leading up to and following it’s release on April 21, I will be sharing preview samples for my readers. Keep checking in, and don’t forget to join my Reader’s Club if you haven’t already to stay up to date on future announcements and giveaways.