As he walked around the back of the house and onto the deck, Kevin opened the sliding door and poked his head out. He held a cup of coffee and wore the flannel pajamas and slippers that Nick imagined were common for men of his age and economic status. “You didn’t have to do this,” he said.
“You’re old. Didn’t want you to have a heart attack.”
Levi’s dad laughed. “Well, when you’re done, come inside. Charlotte wants to show you something.”
Levi’s parents hunched over the island bar. “Come here,” Charlotte said. “Look at this.”
They were looking at a mahogany frame. Levi’s Silver Star citation was framed in the top, and replica Silver Star and Purple Heart medals sat centered in the bottom half of the frame. The deep forest green of the felt background made the blue, red, and purple of the ribbons pop in contrast.
He had read the narrative many times before, yet he still found himself amazed as if reading it for the first time. He had no recollection of the blast and no recollection of the subsequent firefight. The last thing he recalled was driving down Boa, squinting against the setting sun. Different images returned to him from time to time—a bloody arm on his chest, smoke obscuring the sky—but these seemed distant and surreal. These images were no more than something he had seen in a movie once. His real battle had been his recovery.
Charlotte put her hand on Nick’s elbow. “Well,” she said. “What do you think? We’re going to give it to him when he gets home.”
Nick traced his finger around the edge of the frame. “I think it looks great.” For a moment, he felt a twinge of guilt at being the cause of such mayhem, but he quickly pushed the thought away. Whether he failed to spot the bomb or not, he wasn’t the one who had planted it. What’s done is done, he thought.
He excused himself, and he drove back to La Crosse. He cleaned himself up and took Eris to church before they took Uncle Thomas out for steak and eggs as they did every Sunday.
Nick’s mind wandered all morning. Levi’s homecoming was no small news. Plenty of people in Oma’s Pub had been peppering him with questions all week. In the afterglow of the presidential inauguration, all the common-sense Democrats in the small village of Bangor, Wisconsin, viewed Levi’s return as proof-positive that they had voted correctly and the wars were ending. The Republicans viewed his return as evidence of a mass exodus of heroes from the military now that the Commander-in-Chief was so antimilitary and soft on defense. Charlotte had spread the word all over town, and she had passed out invitations to everyone at Saint Paul’s Lutheran Church, but Nick wasn’t even sure Levi would show up at the airport. He’d sent a postcard from Manhattan with a flight number, and Nick hadn’t heard a thing since.
Nick’s Uncle Thomas chewed on toast and talked with his mouth full. “So where’d you go?” he asked.
Nick looked up from his eggs, which he had been moving around on his plate. “Huh?”
“Got that thousand-yard stare again.” He sipped his coffee. “So where’d you go?”
“Nowhere.”
“Suit yourself.”
The anxiety only grew through the afternoon. It peaked as he drove alone to the airport. He scanned the faces of the masses as they walked down the ramp from the secure area. He thought he spotted a man that might be Levi walking behind a group of people near the tail end of the herd. He had a difficult time being certain because the man was a ways off, but the slight slump of the shoulders, the way he slightly bobbed with each step in what could be mistaken for a cocky swagger, and the way he held his head down as if he had no idea what was going on around him were all unmistakably Levi. The long, flared sideburns that Nick remembered from high school already crept toward Levi’s jaw, and the rest of his hair wasn’t far behind.
Levi had been carrying a messenger bag loosely on one shoulder. When he saw Nick, he threw the bag toward his back and started pushing through the other travelers with their rolling suitcase-sized carry-ons and the casual lumber of cattle.
“Let me through,” he yelled. “That’s my brother up there.”
Nick’s dread melted away with Levi’s smile, and he couldn’t help but laugh as Levi cut around an old man in khakis, loafers, and a Packers sweatshirt. He did an actual spin move around a little girl in a red dress decorated with candy canes.
Nick tried to brace himself to keep from being crushed, but Levi wrapped him up. He pinned both of Nick’s arms against his sides. He picked him up, bending his legs to bounce. Each bounce punctuated his speech: “It is. So so. Good. To see you.” He dropped Nick and stepped back. He looked Nick up and down. He winced. “Oh man. Sorry, dude. I didn’t hurt you, did I?”
Nick laughed. “I’m not a porcelain doll, ya douche.”
Levi reached out and touched the tight wrinkled skin that spread up the left side of Nick’s neck and ear. “Does it hurt?”
Nick tilted his head, pulling his face from Levi’s touch. “Did the army close all the chow halls? You must have lost like thirty pounds.”
Levi flexed his bicep and kissed it. “And I could still kick your ass.”
“You wish.”
They looked at each other in silence, the stupid smiles of old friends unsure of what to say to each other. Nick knew that it was Levi in front of him, but his eyes had grown more intense. His cheeks had hollowed out, enhancing the lines in his smile, which seemed almost manic. Despite the broad grin that spread across his thin face, there was an incongruity in the way his thick eyebrows pulled together and in the way his forehead wrinkled.
Nick bit his lip while they waited for luggage. He still had to broach the subject of the party. “So, I know you said no ticker tape parades, but your parents insisted on a party.”
Levi shrugged. “Cool.”
“I mean, they kind of invited everyone in town to their house for a coming home party.”
Levi took a few steps and picked up a black hockey bag moving along the conveyor belt. “They kind of did or they did?”
“Well, they did. They’re all waiting there now. They wanted it to be a surprise, and I’m not supposed to tell you, but I know I wouldn’t want a bunch of people jumping out and yelling at me. I’ll tell you that for free.” Nick put his hands in his pockets and looked expectantly at Levi, who was digging in the hockey bag. “You know, or we could just like, blow it off or whatever.”
After finding what he was looking for, Levi picked up the bag and slung it over his shoulder. He took a long pull from the flask he had taken from the bag. “Ah, what the hell. Let’s go party.” He handed the flask to Nick. “Here. Drink and be merry.”
Nick took a sip of the straight liquor—vodka from the bottom shelf—and he smiled with relief. “Okay then. Your chariot awaits.”
In the parking lot, Nick opened the hatch to Eris’s blue Volvo. Levi whistled and dropped his bags in the back of vehicle. “Fancy,” he said. “The old bar and grill must be doing pretty well. Living large, eh?”
“It’s Eris’s actually.” Nick patted the top of the car. “She wanted something all-wheel drive for the snow. My truck was a mess, so I stole this for the afternoon.”
“So how is she? Eris.”
Nick didn’t know how to explain things. The question felt loaded. It seemed like the kind of question whose answer required context and history. It seemed like the kind of question that needed its own chapters so he simply said, “She’s good. She works at a bank now.”
Levi smiled as he stared out the window of the car, looking at—or past—the virginal snow on the pastures and the barren stalks of the cornfields. The all-volunteer village council had commissioned a Kinko’s to create a big banner that said, “Welcome Home Staff Sergeant Levi Hartwig, Silver Star Winner and Our Hometown Hero!” They tied it to the splintered wooden sign that boasted Bangor as the home of the Lady Cardinals, High School State Basketball Champions of 1995. After coming up from Interstate 90, they drove up Highway 162 under a canopy of naked maples. They bumped over the railroad tracks, past the Log Ca
bin Tavern, and around the blind turn into Bangor where Levi saw the sign that welcomed him.
“Are you kidding me? What the hell is that?” Levi looked at Nick with a perplexed smile.
After stealing a glance at Levi to gauge his reaction, Nick turned back to the road. “President Obama may as well have ended the wars already. Bangor has her hero back, and hope is in the air.”
Levi turned back to the window, shaking his head. He rubbed his hand across the back of his head, through the hair that was already long enough to reach his collar.
Instead of pulling into the packed driveway, they joined the two rows of cars on the frozen front lawn. They stepped out, each with a foot in the car and a foot ankle deep in the cold snow.
“Well,” Nick said. “Ready to do this?”
Levi pulled the flask from his back pocket and drank. He kept his eyes on the house as if it might reach out and grab him if he looked away. “Why the hell not?” he said, as much to himself as to Nick. He took one more swig before tossing the empty flask on the passenger seat of the car.
They stomped through the snow toward the house. When Levi reached the sidewalk, he paused and looked up at the tattered blue star flag that hung there. He untied the rope and let the flag down, catching it before it hit the ground. He rolled it up in a ball and walked it over to the trashcan, where he dropped it without ceremony.
His mother opened the screen door first. She lumbered down the stairs and shuffled along the sidewalk. Tears streamed down her face and she held out her hands. Levi stood still on the sidewalk, waiting for her to reach him. She put her hands on his cheeks and said, “My baby. Oh, my baby’s home.”
Levi hugged her back. He lifted his chin and set it on top of her head. He patted her back. “It’s okay, Mom.” His dad waited at the bottom of the stairs, hands behind his back with an air of self-confident patience. Levi brought his eyes up. His dad met them, smiled, and nodded. “Okay, Mom,” Levi said. “I need to say hello to Dad too.”
She let him go and put both hands on his cheeks again. He raised his eyebrows. She patted his right cheek. “Okay,” she said, wiping a tear away. “Okay.”
Levi kissed her forehead and walked up to his dad, who hugged him tightly. His father closed his eyes and exhaled. Nick could see the weight lift from his shoulders as they embraced. He rubbed Levi’s back. “Welcome home, Son.”
Levi’s sister, brother, and brother-in-law all waited at the top of the stairs and one by one they came down to greet him. Levi hugged and kissed Elizabeth. “Good to see you, Sis.” She couldn’t speak because she was crying like her mother, mascara-filled tears drawing black lines in the thick foundation on her face.
Levi rolled his eyes and pointed at his sister as he shook hands with her husband, Chris.
“Welcome back, Bro.”
Then Levi moved in to hug his brother, Paul, who stuck out his hand for a formal handshake. Levi recovered by grabbing Paul’s hand to pull him in for a one-armed hug. “Long time no see,” he told him.
“No kidding,” said Paul.
“So, couldn’t hack it in DC? Working for the old man now?”
“Something like that. You know we still have an opening at Hartwig and Sons.”
Levi pulled away. “It’s probably time he renamed it Hartwig and Son.”
“I’ve been telling him that for years.” Paul reached his hand up and tousled his little brother’s hair. “You sure do look older.”
“Go figure.”
Having completed all his formal greetings, Levi stood at the bottom of the stairs and crossed his arms. His family stood around him shivering and smiling. “Geez,” Levi said looking around at them. “Take a picture.”
“Right,” said his dad. “No sense in standing out here freezing your tuchis off.” He spread his arms out as if to gather his family under his wings. He gestured for everyone to walk up the stairs. “In, in,” he said. “We’ve killed the fattened calf and we’ve prepared a feast in your honor. Please, inside.”
Nick fell in next to Paul, behind the rest of the family. Paul put his arm around Nick’s shoulder. He wore a cruel smile as if he were doling out congratulations after losing a hard-fought game. “Must be nice,” he muttered to Nick. “I didn’t get a party like this when I got back from DC.”
Nick patted him on the back in consolation. “Who needs a party when you inherit the family business and get your name on the door of a law firm?”
Paul frowned and nodded, as if thinking of that for the first time. “Touché,” he said. “Touché.”
3.4 IF I HAD KNOWN, I COULD HAVE BEEN A BIT MORE SENSITIVE
She recognized many, but she knew none. Eris tried her best to give polite smiles to the many guests at the party, and she graciously uttered her thanks when she accepted her drink from Mrs. Hartwig, but she was all too happy to find herself alone in the back den where she could look up and down the bookshelves without having to make small talk.
Levi had already barreled through the house giving bear hugs, patting backs, shaking hands. He disappeared out the back door only moments before entering the front.
Nick came up behind Eris and put his hand on her shoulder. She turned, holding the stem of a wineglass in her right hand near her chest. She traced the edge of the glass’s circular bottom with her left index finger. Nick put his hand on her waist and kissed her cheek. He turned so he stood next to her and faced the same direction. In a low voice he asked, “Whatchya got in there?”
She ran her eyes over the crowd. “Champagne. It’s a celebration.” She took a sip and went back to tracing the bottom of the glass.
Nick reached to grab it. She turned her body to protect it and she sent an elbow into his stomach, but with playfulness and not malice. “Oh relax, Dad. It’s ginger ale.”
He grunted. “Was that really necessary?” He grabbed his stomach.
Annoyed now, she hissed at him. “Like it would make a difference. You’d still hover around like a little hawk.” She then threw her voice into her nose, “Whatchya doin? Whatchya drinking? Ginger ale? Lemme taste it.” She rolled her eyes. “Four hundred and twelve days, Nick. Four hundred and twelve days sober. But you probably know that better than I do, don’t you, Nick, because whenever I start to forget that I had a problem, you have to remind me, right?”
He looked surprised. “I wasn’t trying to—”
“Listen. As many problems as I’ve had, I’m in control. Remember our wedding? With my mother there? I was sober there, remember?”
“I was sober too.”
“Not the point. If I could make it through that outrageous and depressing display of drunkenness bordering on debauchery, I can make it through this.” She noticed but could not help that her voice rose as she spoke.
A woman Eris didn’t know bent down in front of them to grab a slice of summer sausage and cheese from the plate on the coffee table. She looked over her shoulder at them as she stood up, and she gave a patronizing smile as she lingered. “Excuse me,” she said. She walked to the other side of the room, tossing one more glance at the couple fighting in the corner.
Nick crossed his arms and lowered his voice, trying to get Eris to do the same. “How many times do you have to bring up the wedding? I’m sorry. I should have thought about it more. I should have thought about your mom. I’m sorry. The Hartwigs are sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Okay? Need me to say it for the rest of our lives together? I’m sorry.”
He leaned in. He tried to kiss her. She pushed him away.
“Not the point.” She turned to him. “The point is, you can take the kid gloves off any day now and try a little thing called trust.” She lifted the wineglass to her lips and sipped, pretending she was in control.
As if by instinct, Nick leaned down to her glass to smell it.
“Are you kidding me?” She spun on her heel and stormed away two steps, though she had nowhere to go. She turned around to face him. “Seriously?”
He reached out. “I didn’t—
”
“Unbelievable.” She huffed and turned to the window.
And then he was there in her vision again, but she could not see him clearly. The husband she saw on the back deck—gregarious, laughing, and gesturing to other guests with a beer bottle—was not the husband that she knew. The Nick she saw through the window was the man she recognized from the bar, from the backyard barbecues, from the coffee hour after church, from the chance encounters in the grocery store. This was not the Nick she knew from home, from the kitchen table, from the bedroom. That Nick was quiet, pensive, suspicious. The husband of the home lived almost entirely within himself. Even their arguments were punctuated by brutal and agonizing silences. She did not know if he didn’t speak because of his great anger or because of his great indifference.
She also recognized Levi, but barely. He was no longer a little boy, although he still had no substance to his frame. When she first walked to the window, he lay supine in the snow, waving his arms and legs to make an angel in the snow. A little girl she did not know jumped on top of him and kneed him between the legs. He sat up and picked her up in the process. His movements were decisive—explosive—and she flew up and out of his hands as he threw her into the snow. Another girl made a tiny snowman by herself. She watched patiently, waiting for her turn with crazy Uncle Levi.
A boy of about ten—Eris remembered it was Levi’s nephew, his sister’s child—jumped on his back. He wrapped his arms around Levi’s neck. Levi stood up and roared. The boy lost his grip and fell in the snow. In retaliation, he packed a snowball and threw it, hitting his uncle in the face. Levi brought the two young girls to himself and spread his arms around them. He gently folded up the stocking cap of the older girl and he whispered in her ear before rolling her cap back down. He patted her head. The girls spread out, and they all pelted the young boy with snowballs. He squealed so loudly Eris could hear it through the window, and he ran across the yard in retreat. Levi and the girls chased after him. The boy ran behind a tree and Levi stooped to pack a snowball. He waited a beat, and as soon as the boy stuck his head around the tree, he was met with a frozen splash to his face.
A Hard and Heavy Thing Page 22