Page 119 of Trained

“And you don’t have to be the one reporting on those lawsuits,” Dr. Davis adds. “There are other reporters out there.”

“When they no longer need me to cover the story, I’ll stop,” I say.

“As long as that’s your choice, Kate.”

I shake my head.

“It’s my duty. I think you know what that’s like.”

Dr. Davis nods.

“Yes, I do.”

—

“Are you ready?” John asks.

“Doesn’t really matter,” I say.

“Of course it matters,” says Brendan. “You don’t have to go out there if you don’t want to. They’ll understand.”

They mean well. They don’t know what it’s like to have to face something so mundane and find it so challenging. It’s been six months. It’s time to get my life back.

“Everyone’s here. I need to do this,” I say. “Let’s go.”

John gets out of the cab first, checks up and down the street, then motions for me to follow. He and Brendan stay at my side as we head into The Tap, a dark and musty neighborhood dive bar in the Village.

I go in first; when I do, the conversations inside stop. Everyone turns to me.

They applaud.

John rented the entire bar for a private party. All of LPN’s reporters and several members of the editorial board have gathered, ostensibly in my honor. If this were an office event attended by hundreds, I’d write it off as employees claiming some free drinks. However, I think those present are serious. The way they’re looking at me now, the way they’re clapping — slow and somber, the way one might applaud the spouse of a fallen soldier — it feels real. I nod to them, a hand over my heart.

After a protracted period of applause, they quiet down, going silent and watching me, waiting.

They expect me to speak. I hadn’t planned on giving a speech. It’s not that I’m nervous; I’ve gone through too much to let that be an issue. But what can I possibly say that encompasses everything I’ve felt and experienced?

“I know there are people who thought the worst of me,” I begin. “And there are some who never quite believed what they saw on TV. I don’t care about which side you fell on before. You’ve all been here for me these past six months without judgment. You’ve helped me take my life back, and you’ve accepted me. I can’t thank you all enough for that. I’m sure that if he were here, my father would want to thank you as well — and that he would be very proud of all of you. I know together we’re going to continue to do great work.”

They applaud again. When it dies down, John brings me a beer. I reach for it, then pull back.

“Did you want something else?” he asks. “I can get you whatever you like.”

“No, it’s fine,” I say, taking the glass. “Thank you.”

“It’s okay, Kate. We all know you’re not really an alcoholic. No one’s going to think you’re falling off the wagon.”

I sigh. It’s one thing to have people know the truth; getting over the lie I had to live won’t be as easy.

Sips of pale beer go down light and smooth. I don’t care what John says; I’m not going to chug or anything. Even if I didn’t care how it would look, I think those days are past. I can control myself now, and if I did want to drink to excess, I’d rather it not be in front of my colleagues.

“You know Walter would be proud,” says John, sitting down with me in a booth. “He never could have done what you’ve done.”

“Thanks,” I mumble.

That’s not really saying a lot; he wouldn’t have been in my situation. They would have just killed him and been done with it. Unless…

“John, be honest with me: if a young Jamison Hardt had tried to recruit my father as a Master, to gain a foothold in the media, do you think it would have worked?”

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