by C. G. Cooper
And so that was it. The choice was final, and there wasn’t a thing Cpl. Nix, meritoriously promoted or not, medal or not, could do about it.
“Is there anything I can do to stay, sir?”
“Not a damn thing, Marine. And as of this very second, you will not go outside the wire. Understood?”
And just like that, Cpl. Nix never raised a weapon in battle again.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
“There are many more stories we’ll never hear, stories our friends took to the tavern in the sky. We’ll hear them again, some of us sooner than others.” Franks turned back to Elmore. “Thank you for coming, Nix. Thank you for letting us say, thank you. You saved one hundred and seventy-four men that day and who knows how many men, women, and children on the other days. By our crude estimates, your actions not only saved the lives of one hundred and seventy-four men, but you allowed us to grow to more than five hundred with our wives and children and our children’s children. I hope you understand that we are part of your legacy. It can never be undone. And even though the generations that come after us might not know your name, Elmore Thaddeus Nix, that name will be forever etched on their being.”
There was a raucous round of clapping, men and women taking to their feet. All for him. The man who had lost it all. Twice.
An hour before, he might’ve run. He’d thought about excusing himself to go to the bathroom and then slipping out the back door to safety.
Now, something else grabbed him, pulled him to his feet even as the others took their seats again. There hadn’t been a request for him to speak. Franks knew better. They all knew better. It had been what felt like eons since Vietnam, but he was still Elmore Nix – a man of few words.
Franks stepped down from his perch whispered in Elmore’s ear, “You don’t have to, you know.”
“I want to.”
An all-encompassing smile took over the face of the indomitable Sgt. Franks. “It’s yours for as long as you like.” He waved to the stage, and Elmore found himself taking sure steps to the spotlight.
Chapter Forty
“My Eve would’ve liked this,” he said, his smile coming naturally. “She would’ve liked all of you. You see, I never told her about Vietnam. Not a single story, if you can believe that. I always thought it was bad form for a Marine to talk about his experiences to civilians. My wife didn’t marry a killer. And so, how could I tell her that I had killed? Oh, she was a smart cookie, don’t get me wrong. She knew what Marines did in times of war. But I always felt that she wouldn’t look at me the same way if I had actually told her about it. Only a fellow Marine or soldier can understand that, and so I have no trouble telling any of you this. But I came home feeling terrible, and not necessarily for what I’d had to do. I always felt like I left before my time was up, like I cheated somehow. Some general shows up and gives me the golden ticket home. I’m babbling here, I guess, and I apologize.
“The other reason I shut up about my experiences was because I was selfish. I wanted to keep you all to myself. Because, you see, you were part of the first great chapter of my life. You were there. My life was yours and yours mine. Other than a marriage, I don’t know if there’s a deeper connection than the one between men, and now women as well, fighting in a war a million miles from home.” His gaze scanned the crowd. Tears. Nods of reassurance. Snifflings into a napkins. “War is hell because of death. No one wants to die. I didn’t. You didn’t either. But in that uncertainty, something funny happens. It happened to me. I went from boy to man. I gained an understanding of myself that I never could’ve received anywhere else. It was the best school, the best stepping stone…”
He shook his head. Where was he going with his babble?
“I haven’t given much time to God lately. That’s on me. I’m angry, and I might be for some time. That’s okay. He’ll be there when I’m ready. I truly believe that. It was my wife, Eve, who taught me of God’s love. I only wish I told her about you.”
The tears were coming now. God, how he missed her. He wanted to walk from table to table with her holding onto his arm, taking time to introduce her to every face, every name. Tell her the stories. Let her glow in what might possibly be his best accomplishment, the jewel of his early years.
Eve, give me the strength…
“Ah, I don’t know what the hell I’m saying. The last thing I want to do is waste your time.”
“Waste it all you want!” Sachowski crowed, raising his cocktail glass in the air.
There were murmurs of approval. Cheers to continue.
But he didn’t know if he could. His vision was going fuzzy now from tears.
“I’m grateful for the invitation, for this time with you. I promise…” Lord, it was getting hot up here. “I won’t be a stranger. I…”
What was I saying? And did I just think that or did I say it?
They were blurs now, shimmering and dark around the edges.
Why was the crowd rushing toward him like the tide?
Chapter Forty-One
The beep and whir were there again. He knew the sound before he opened his eyes.
My, he’d had a wonderful dream. Eve had been right there in Vietnam with him. It was after the war, what it probably looked like now – fresh and lush with all manner of deep green. But they were young again. They’d taken a boat, a small dingy from some unseen ship. His old Marines buddies were there to greet them, introducing themselves one by one to his wife. And like she’d always done, she gave them that special part of her, the way she made everyone feel like the most important person in the room at that point in time. She’d stop time for you.
He wanted to go back. He tried to push the new sounds away.
“Elmore Thaddeus Nix,” came the whisper.
He couldn’t ignore that as much as he wanted to. The voice sounded thin and scared. He had to go to it.
“Sam?” he was just able to croak as he blinked back to the present.
“I’m here,” she said.
“Let me guess, I passed out again. Should’ve had more water.”
Sam sniffed. How long had she been crying? Why had he put her through this again? This was nothing for a teenager to see.
“You weren’t dehydrated. It was the tumor.”
The damned word sent a chill through his body.
“The tumor,” he echoed.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I did.”
“You didn’t tell me how bad it was.”
“I can’t believe the doctors told you. I’m gonna have a word with them.” He slipped his legs out from the sheets, meaning to give his old friend the doc a good tongue-lashing.
Sam held him down. “Chill out. They didn’t tell me. I heard them talking.”
So stupid, he thought. It reminded him of those medical shows Eve liked to watch. She’d also talk about how naive it was for hospital staff to talk in a hallway or in a place they were bound to be overheard.
“Sam, don’t worry about it. I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine.” There was anger in her tone. “Mr. Franks came with the ambulance. They wouldn’t let me. I didn’t know if…” She broke away, her face scrunching into childlike sadness.
She thought I died.
He reached out with his IV-tethered hand and grasped hers.
“I’m here, Sam. I’m going to be okay.”
She shook her head over and over again, finally looking up through bloodshot eyes and streaming tears. “How can you say that? You knew and you didn’t tell me. And you didn’t do a thing.”
“Sam, it’s more complicated…”
“You want to die, is that it? You don’t care anymore. You lost your wife so now you think that killing yourself is the way to see her again.”
He wanted to tell her it wasn’t true, but how could he lie? He wanted to be with his Eve more than anything. He wanted to hold her, smother her in his embrace, smell her hair, touch the curve of her back, and inhale her loveliness. Even on her de
ath bed, she’d been his angel.
But he couldn’t go yet. He couldn’t leave Sam to face her pain alone. How could he? He wasn’t that cruel.
Then again. He had been that cruel. He’d turned a blind eye. He’d turned his back once before.
“Call the doctor, Sam.”
Sam looked at him, a fair helping of suspicion there, like he was going to ask for a vial of strychnine. “Why?”
He tried to force a smile, but it hurt. “I’m going to do it.”
“Do what?”
“I’m going to get better.”
Chapter Forty-Two
The oncologist was thorough, with enough empathy to show that she cared, but just enough standoffishness to show that she’d done this hundreds if not thousands of times – and to prove that emotion would not get in the way of the task at hand.
“So, we start tomorrow, Mr. Nix.”
Elmore nodded and patted Sam’s leg. It was unorthodox to have non-kin with you, but nobody batted an eye. Sam wouldn’t let him go alone.
“Is there anything else we should know?” Sam asked, very much playing the motherly roll. She’d even found a pad of paper and hadn’t stopped jotting down notes.
“Your granddaughter’s on top of this,” the doctor said.
“She got all the brains in the family,” Elmore said.
“Good to know. Well then, to be clear, we’ve lost time.”
“It’s okay,” Sam said, not looking up. “He’ll be fine.”
The doctor knew better than to correct a teenager, but she and Elmore shared a look. Elmore understood. His chances weren’t the best. At least he had a chance and he meant to take that chance, if not for himself, then for Sam.
“Okay then. I’ll see you after your first round of therapy.”
There were handshakes all around. No hugs.
No doctor hugs a man headed for the slab.
They got lunch at McDonald’s even though Sam protested.
“You should be eating healthy – salads, maybe some pasta.”
“I want a burger, fries, and a shake.” There was no stopping this one. Sam acquiesced and ordered a couple of burgers for herself.
When they got to his house, it was nearing dusk. He realized she hadn’t left his side for three day, not even for a change of clothing.
“Sam, I’m stupid for not asking earlier, but does your mom know where you’ve been?”
No hesitation. “Of course.”
They pulled into the garage, the old door squeaking its ancient hello.
“Why don’t I give you a ride home?”
“I’m fine. I like walking.” She was quick to answer. Too quick.
“Sam, it’s almost dark. Why don’t…” his hand was already going to shift the car into reverse. She reached up and grabbed it.
“I said I’m fine.”
No sense arguing. If there was anything he knew about Sam, it was that arguing tended to get him to one place: right where she wanted.
“Okay.”
She surprised him then. “Maybe you’re right. Is it okay if I stay in the guest room?”
Morning came after Elmore’s third trip to the bathroom. He was still purging the excess fluids they’d pumped into him at the hospital. Even over the toilet flushing, he still heard the banging at the front door, followed by the incessant ringing of the doorbell.
He shuffled down the hall, catching Sam’s head peaking blearily out of the guest room.
“Everything okay?” she asked, her hair matted to one side of her head.
“Just fine. Go back to bed.”
It wasn’t seven o’clock yet. Who in the world could it be?
He opened the door mid-knock, causing the woman who’d been doing the pounding to hop back in surprise, arm still extended.
She was wearing what looked like week-old makeup, caked on the eyes and rosy on the cheeks. It was the weathered look of someone who’d worked a hundred too many graveyard shifts, with the wary eyes of a kicked cat.
“May I help you?” Elmore asked, thinking for sure that she had the wrong house. He searched her face for some recognition that he knew her.
“You’ve got my daughter.” Her words slashed out like a whip.
“I’m sorry?”
“My daughter, Samantha. I know she’s here.”
A cell phone came out like a pistol, poised and ready. “I’ve got the cops on speed dial, you old perv. I don’t know who the hell you are, but you’re going to give me my damn daughter.”
“Ma’am, if you’d like—”
“What I’d like is for you to get my daughter and leave her the hell alone.”
The phone was raised higher now, as if he needed the added threat.
He was stuck between a bewildered state of shock and mild anger.
“I’ll be right back. Can I get you a cup of—?”
“Just get my daughter.” Sam’s mother placed her foot inside the door, just to make sure he wouldn’t lock her out.
He made his way down the hall, wondering how he was going to wake Sam up, tell her what was happening. But there she was, her backpack in hand, brushing away the strands of hair from her face.
“It’s my mom, isn’t it?”
“It is.”
She looked down at her feet, then back up at Elmore. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be sorry, Sam, but I thought she—”
“She’s not well.”
He held back any further judgment on the woman’s appearance. “At least she knew where to find you.”
“She tracked me.” Sam fished out her phone. It took a long moment for his non-tech brain to register. You could track phones now. That wasn’t just a domain for the CIA or the FBI anymore. Mothers and father could track the whereabouts of their family members.
But Sam had said she couldn’t afford the bill and that the phone didn’t work in the traditional sense. That’s what she’d said.
“I should go.”
He stepped in her way, wanting to protect her for some reason. His senses were up now. Something about the mother. Something about the way Sam seemed to crumble and bend toward the woman in the doorway. This wasn’t the confident girl he’d come to know. This was someone else, a girl who’d been put in her place.
“Maybe we should have some breakfast. I can invite your mom in. I can make pancakes.”
“She doesn’t eat breakfast,” Sam said.
And that was that.
He escorted her to the door, making the transfer without a word.
“Talk to my daughter again and you’re going to jail.”
Little did she know that he had nothing left to lose, of course, except Sam.
Chapter Forty-Three
One day. Two days. Three.
Still no Sam.
Elmore had no way of getting in touch with her, not having her address or number. He tried going about his day avoiding any thought of her. The efforts were in vain. His thoughts were always with Sam.
On the third day, a visit from Sgt. Franks broke up the monotony of constant concern. They sat in the kitchen and threw small talk over cups of black coffee.
“What brings you around?”
“I was in the neighborhood,” said Franks.
“Is that so?”
The old soldier smiled. “Alright, I’m checking up on you. Shoot me.”
“I don’t need a babysitter.”
“Are you going to treatment?”
“I’ve got an appointment tomorrow,” Elmore said, pouring a second cup for his old friend.
“Sam in school?”
“Yep,” said Elmore, taking a noisy slurp from his mug.
“Nice girl. I sure like her. What grade she in again?”
“Sophomore.”
“She coming by later?”
What was with the grilling? “Don’t know.”
“Huh.” Franks sipped his coffee in deep thought, then said, “You know, you were so popular that the guys want to have anoth
er dinner, planned post haste.”
“Yeah, well, they may have to wait a bit for that.”
“Uh huh. Oh, you’ll like this,” said Franks. “That night at the banquet, I had to stop and put on my glasses in order to read my speech. I heard some murmurs in the crowd – jokes at my expense. I didn’t care, of course. Anyway, afterward, I thought about it. It reminded me of a story I’d heard once about George Washington. Would you like to hear it?”
“Sure.”
“Well, at the tail end of the war, the old man had to address a session of Congress. He took out his speech and paused to put on his glasses. ‘Gentlemen,’ he said, ‘you will permit me to put on my spectacles, for, I have grown not only gray, but almost blind in the service of my country.’ It was a very subtle way of reminding people of how long he’d served, and without pay, mind you.”
Elmore smiled at this.
“Not bad, eh?”
“It’s a good one.”
“We’re all older now, Nix. We served and we have that behind us. It’s something to hold onto. Meaning. That’s all. There’s nothing deeper in it than that.”
Elmore let that thought sink in as the two men sipped in relative silence.
The day of his first treatment came. Afternoon and still no Sam.
After a brief spell of procrastination in the car, his leaden legs took him through the parking lot and into the building. It took a couple wrong turns before he found the right office. And there, standing in front of the waiting room door, was Sam.
“You’re early,” she said by way of greeting.
He had the overwhelming urge to hug her. “I am,” he said instead.
Then they slipped into their old routine as if nothing had happened. No mom pounding on the door. No cancer. Just them.
The sticks and tubes weren’t bad. Sam stayed with him the whole time, jabbering on about this school project and that schoolyard rumor. She was trying to distract him. He was glad for it. If someone had put a gun to his head, he might’ve admitted that he was afraid. Terrified. He managed to hide it well. He always did. He had when the doctor told Eve and him about Eve’s diagnosis. He had when well-wishers came to her wake.