Hope in the Shadows of War

by Tom Reilly

  “Yes, that one right there in the third row,” he said, pointing to the ring.

  “Oh, that’s a beautiful selection.”

  “Yes, it is. We were in here a few months ago, and she liked this one. How do you work the sizing of rings?” Timothy asked.

  “We have a few of these in common sizes. Do you have any idea?”

  “Yes, I think she wears a six. The man who helped us when we were here took her measurement, as a matter of fact, and I seem to remember that,” Timothy said.

  “Yes, that’s a common practice. We do that routinely so the man will know the lady’s ring size. Most men remember it. But not to worry. If you need to have it resized, we can do that adjustment on the spot.”

  “How much?”

  “The total weight is one carat, and in this setting, the price is nine hundred seventy-five. Do you plan to finance this or pay cash?” The clerk closed like a street vendor.

  “I’ll pay cash,” Timothy said.

  “In that case, I am prepared to give you a twenty-five-dollar discount if you buy today. It’s our way of making sure the holidays are a little brighter for you and Cheryl.”

  “Good. What about a wedding band to go with this?” Timothy asked.

  “I would wait on this, and let Cheryl pick out the one she wants. She may not want a band with the marquise setting. Many brides don’t. Besides, you will have to select your band, and the bride customarily pays for that herself,” the clerk said.

  “Really?”

  “Oh yes, there’s a protocol to engagement rings. Have you talked to her father yet?” the clerk asked.

  “Yes, we talked over a couple of beers last summer, and he said I had his blessing whenever I decided to pop the question. No pressure. I’m a student, and he knows my situation.”

  “That’s wonderful. Have you picked out a spot to ask her?”

  “Yes. I’m not waiting for Christmas. I’m going to take her to dinner tonight to ask her. It’s a special place for us,” Timothy said.

  “That’s sweet. Romantic. You know, women love that sort of thing,” the clerk said.

  “Yeah, I know. Guys don’t mind it either,” Timothy said.

  “I’ll write this up for you.”

  Timothy spent the next few minutes pacing the store, anticipating his plans for the evening. He and Cheryl already planned to go out, so she wouldn’t suspect anything. He knew exactly what he wanted to say and where he wanted to say it. He hoped he knew what she would say.

  “Okay, I need to get some personal information on you and Cheryl to finish the paperwork,” the clerk said.

  They spent the next few minutes filling in the blanks on the sales receipt and reviewing the documentation of authenticity.

  “Remember, if Cheryl wants to bring this in for resizing, you guys can come in any time, and please ask for me. I can help with your wedding band, too. My name is Connie, and I would be thrilled to help you, and meet Cheryl.”

  Connie—of course.

  Timothy smiled at the irony of a woman named Connie helping him buy a ring for Cheryl. He paid for the ring and left the store with a bag full of hope.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  TIMOTHY ARRIVED A few minutes early at Cheryl’s house for their date and eager to start the rest of his life. He rang the bell and Cheryl answered.

  “For me?” she said as he handed her a dozen roses.

  “For you.”

  “They’re beautiful. Thank you.”

  Cheryl leaned forward and kissed Timothy.

  “Boy, tonight keeps getting more special. Going to Mantia’s twice in the same month and now flowers? A girl could get used to this. You’re going to spoil me.”

  “This girl deserves some spoiling.”

  “You’re sweet. I’m going to find something to put these in.”

  Cheryl left the living room, and Timothy looked around. Cheryl’s father was reading his newspaper, and her mom was needlepointing.

  “Evening,” Timothy said.

  “Good evening, Timothy. The flowers are beautiful,” her mom said.

  “Yes, it looks like you’re trying to steal my little girl’s heart,” her father said with a smile.

  “I’m trying,” Timothy said.

  “I understand you kids are going to Mantia’s tonight?” her mother said.

  “Yes, kind of our special place.”

  “That’s nice, dear. You kids deserve a night like that.” Her mom went back to needlepointing.

  Cheryl’s father took off his reading glasses and placed his paper on his lap. He looked at Timothy and flashed him a slight grin. Timothy responded with a grin and nod.

  “Here, how do these look?” Cheryl said as she returned with the roses in a vase.

  “They look perfect.”

  “They’re lovely, dear,” her mom said.

  Her father grunted his approval.

  “We’re out of here, Mom, Dad,” Cheryl said.

  They walked arm in arm to the car. Timothy opened the door for Cheryl and went around to the driver’s seat.

  “This is so wonderful that Scoot fixed your car,” Cheryl said. “He is such a good friend.”

  “That he is,” Timothy said.

  “Gosh, with the car and the TA position, do you feel things are beginning to turn for you?”

  “For us,” he corrected.

  “Yes, for us,” she smiled.

  They drove in a few moments of silence. Cheryl noticed he did not take the usual route to Mantia’s.

  “Are we taking the long way to Mantia’s?”

  “Sure. There is more than one way to get there, you know.”

  Cheryl laughed. Timothy liked the sound of her laughter. He liked the sound of his own laughter. It sure beat the crying he’d heard lately. He stopped the car at the pavilion in Chambers Park. He shut off the engine and looked at Cheryl. She stared back at him, puzzled.

  “Why are we stopping here?”

  “You remember this place, don’t you?”

  “Yes. We met at the summer concert series here. Ebony was playing,” she said.

  “Yes, Ebony was playing that night. Let’s walk up to the pavilion.”

  “Tim, what’s going on?”

  “Come with me. Trust me.”

  They held hands on their walk to the pavilion. The air felt cool and crisp but not stinging cold. Neither said anything. When they reached the pavilion, Timothy turned to Cheryl and took her hands in his.

  “This is the exact spot where we met. This was the first time I looked into your eyes. This is the place where my life changed for the good. This is where I fell in love, the moment I met you. That’s why this spot is special to me.”

  “Timothy.” She hung onto her next words.

  “Cheryl, you’re the brightest star in my sky. You’re my true north, my soul mate.”

  “Tim—” She stopped.

  “When I think of my future, the only thing that seems certain is that you must be in it. There’s no future in my life without you. There’s nothing ahead of me more important than what’s in front of me.”

  Her eyes welled.

  “You’ve stayed with me when most people would walk away. I’m damaged goods, but you never made me feel that way. You made me want to believe I was worth something. You have always made me feel like my world was coming together, not breaking apart. I tried pushing you away, but you refused to leave. You knew you had to stay. I knew you had to stay. We’re standing at the doorstep of destiny. I look forward and only see you. You have seen my past. You know where I am today. But when I look at you, all I see is my future, and that future is you.”

  Cheryl smiled, her tears of joy now spilling.

  “Yes. Yes. Oh God, yes,” she said, unable to contain the words.

  “Will you marry me?” Timothy asked.

  “Of course. We’re supposed to be together. It has always been that way and will always be that way.”

  They kissed and embraced, holding onto each other a
nd the moment. Timothy pulled back and looked into Cheryl’s eyes. He saw the light in her soul. He showed her the light in his soul. Then, he took out the ring and asked for her hand.

  “Please, give me your hand.”

  She extended her hand, he slipped on the engagement ring, and it fit as if it were made for her. She looked up, surprised.

  “You remembered. How did you do this? How could you afford to—” she said.

  “Not now. We have a dinner table waiting for us. I have a lot to tell you, so I think we need to crack open a bottle of wine and drink to the future.”

  “To our future,” Cheryl said.

  “Yes, our future,” he said.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  THE CHINESE CALLED 1978 the Year of the Horse—a year of energy, health, and easy disposition. For Timothy Patrick O’Rourke and his wife, Cheryl, 1978 was a very good year.

  Much had happened to them in the past five years. He finished his graduate work in English, and they were expecting their first child. The memories of the war were finding a space to rest in his mind.

  “Mail’s here,” Cheryl said.

  “Anything for me?” Timothy asked.

  “Yes. It looks like a letter from a publishing house—Cahners. It’s a big envelope.”

  “That sounds promising. Let me see it. Yep, that’s the one I’ve been waiting for.”

  Timothy stared at the envelope in a Zen-like trance, taking in every aspect of the experience. He ran his fingers along the outer edges and weighed it in his palms.

  “Open it. Open it.” Cheryl’s excitement bubbled.

  “It’s heavier than all of the rejections I’ve gotten. It’s kind of like getting the acceptance packet to graduate school. You know it’s more than a thanks-anyway letter.”

  “C’mon, open it,” she said.

  He sliced open the envelope with a pencil he had been using. He carefully removed the contents, a packet of pages, and saw the word he hoped for. Contract.

  “They want my manuscript!”

  “Oh my God, that’s wonderful, Timothy.” Cheryl put her arms around him and held on. “What did they say?”

  “They like it. It’s exactly the kind of thing they publish, but it does need a little work.”

  “You expected that, right?”

  “Sure, but the key word is a little.” He continued to read. “My God, they’re offering me a five thousand dollar advance against royalties.” At this, Timothy threw the papers in the air, and they floated around Timothy and Cheryl as they hugged and hollered.

  “This calls for a celebration,” she said.

  “Absolutely,” he said. “Mantia’s, right?”

  “Where else?”

  “Get your jacket. Let’s go. We have a stop to make on the way.”

  “Where?”

  “Le Rive Gauche. I have to tell Louie.”

  “Can’t you tell him when you go in to work tomorrow?”

  “No, this can’t wait.”

  “Let’s go,” said Cheryl.

  They drove to the bookstore, joking, laughing, and enjoying the moment. They opened the door, and the bell announced their arrival. Louie looked up from the book he was studying with a magnifying glass, The Battle of Adversus. His vision had deteriorated over the past five years Timothy worked for him. He squinted at the couple.

  “Timothy. Cheryl. It’s good to see you. How’s that baby doing?”

  “Kicking, as usual. He’s as impatient as his daddy,” Cheryl said.

  “Come on now,” Timothy said. The smile on his face stretched from ear to ear.

  “So what’s the occasion? Why the visit? You don’t work until tomorrow,” Louie said.

  “I got a letter today from Cahners Publishing. They want my book,” Timothy beamed.

  “Congratulations. I told you it would sell. It makes sense they would buy it. It’s in their wheelhouse.”

  “You were right telling me to send a query to them,” Timothy said.

  “Well, I do know a little about this business.”

  “A lot. Don’t sell yourself short. And, they offered me a generous advance. I’m hoping it’s enough to buy something back from you,” Timothy said.

  Louis smiled. “You want the Hemingway book, right?”

  “Yes,” Timothy said.

  “I’m not surprised. You look at it every month,” Louie said.

  “It reminds me of our friend, Hoffen.”

  “I understand. Why don’t we do this? I will let you hang on to it as long as you safeguard it in somewhere special in your home. Protect it. Guard it. Treasure it. That’s all I ask.”

  “I’m not sure what you’re saying,” Timothy said.

  “I’m saying it’s my gift to you and your lovely wife. You will need that advance for the baby. Besides, my eyesight is so bad these days I have trouble reading the signature anymore. I know you will treasure it as much as I do.”

  Timothy stood silent and then darted to Louie and gave him a hug.

  “Let me go back and get this for you,” Louie said. He turned and walked to the back room of the shop.

  Timothy glanced at the book Louie had been reading and smiled. He remembered Hoffen talked about it once. Louie returned.

  “Here you go. Enjoy.”

  “Thank you, Louie. I didn’t expect this.”

  “I know. You’re the only person other than me who values this book as much as I do. It’s fitting you should have it. I don’t need the money. Besides, if you develop a taste for these old, rare volumes, maybe you will get in on this side of the book business,” Louie said.

  “Uh, maybe. I guess. I don’t know what to say.”

  “Say yes. Enjoy this. Enjoy your lives. Write good stuff. Entertain people. Make them think. Challenge them. And mostly, give them a little hope. The battle for hope never ends. The world needs more hope merchants. And that’s you,” Louie said.

  Timothy clutched the book in one hand and Cheryl’s hand in the other. They left through the door with the bell, and Louie went back to reading with his magnifying glass.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  As always, I must begin by thanking my partner and wife, Charlotte Reilly. She was there from the start, witnessing and participating in my journey home from Vietnam. She contributed significantly to this book with her patience, understanding, and editorial eye. Thanks to Linda Huizenga, who has read my writings for the past couple of decades and lent her expertise. Thanks to John Koehler at Koehler Publishing, who believed in and committed to this project. I especially want to thank Joe Coccaro and Hannah Woodlan for their editorial expertise. Additionally, I would like to thank Kellie Emery for her cover design which captures this story perfectly.