Decoration for Valor

by Joe Cassilly

  “When I see you come toward me with that ‘ain’t I just the cutest thing’ look on your face, I know something’s up.”

  Cathy’s older son took over the effort. “Sir, we were supposed to go to an amusement park tonight,” he said, avoiding his mother’s frown. “If we could go, we could get pizza on the way.”

  My daughter joined in, “And I could ask Francie and I wouldn’t be out too late and you guys could catch up on old (she emphasized “old”) times and …”

  I interrupted, “You better stop for a breath.”

  I looked at Cathy; she was glaring at both sons. The younger one responded with, “I didn’t say anything.”

  “You three wait over there,” I gestured. When they had moved out of earshot, I asked, “Did my invitation mess things up?”

  “I think I ruined a couple of hot dates by telling them they had to come, but I’m not happy about them weaseling out.”

  “We probably couldn’t have talked in front of them anyhow. Should we let them go?” She nodded. “By the way, is my daughter safe with them?” I asked in jest.

  She returned the smile. “As safe as I was with you.”

  “Oh, now I feel better,” I said sarcastically. I pushed across the room. I handed my daughter a twenty-dollar bill. “Young lady, I want you back in this hotel by midnight, and I don’t mean a second later. Is that understood, gentlemen?”

  “Yes, sir,” they answered in unison.

  “Because, I will come looking for her,” I added for emphasis.

  “Daddy, you’re embarrassing me.” While the boys went to say good-bye to their mother, she kissed me and pulled on a jacket that I hadn’t noticed she had brought from the room.

  The bar was filling with generations of Rangers so we moved to a quiet table in the corner of the restaurant. I looked at her and wondered about all the years. Each of us was waiting for the other to start. I launched in.

  “What happened to you in Vietnam? I mean, about spring of the next year, I get a letter back with post office rubber stamps all over it. I could see that it had been forwarded through hospitals in Vietnam, Japan, and the States before they lost track of you. I was scared to death to write your parents and ask what happened. All I could think was that I was the guy who assured your mother that nothing would happen to you.”

  She reached across the table and patted my hand. “I was in the O.R. for like this forever shift and all of the sudden in the middle of this surgery, I had this terrible stomach pain. At first, I thought it was food poisoning, but I couldn’t leave this doctor while he was fishing metal out of this guy. Anyway, I passed out and they found I had a ruptured appendix. I almost did die. I ran a fever for weeks. What happened to you ? When I got better, I wrote to you in Tucson, but my letter came back.”

  “I moved after my first year. The VA helped me buy a house up in the foothills.”

  “How are your parents?” she asked. “I tried to write you at their house.”

  “My dad died during my junior year in Arizona. My mom rented their house out. She went for a trip to Paris and ended up with a teaching job there. She gave the house to my aunt Ann.”

  “And what happened to you? Did you become a teacher?”

  “No. When I got to college, I felt out of place. I couldn’t relate to kids whose most harrowing experience was having a zit for the senior prom. Then, some anti-war professor went off on a lot of crap and I raised my hand and said ‘fuck you’ and rolled out. I got a job as an emergency services dispatcher on the midnight shift and took mostly evening classes with older students.” The waiter brought our salads.

  “I had to take psych classes. When they started teaching about shock and prolonged stress and the after effects, parts of my life started making sense. I could see it too with the cops and firemen I worked with. So I changed majors to psychology. When I went for my Master’s, I had to do an internship, so I worked at the veterans’ hospital. I realized those guys were going through the same shit. I got a job there and went for my doctorate.”

  She arched her eyebrows, “You mean you’re Dr. Jake Scott?”

  “Yeah, but most people can’t tell me from the patients. How about you, career Army,”

  “Yes.”

  “I guess Vietnam didn’t chase you out.”

  “No.” Her look was far away for a second. “But you were right. I could never have imagined.” I thought for a second she might cry, but she drew a deep breath and took a sip of her drink. The waiter cleared the plates and brought the entrees. I sat studying her. More Rangers came to our table. I introduced her and said that she had been stationed in Vietnam.

  “Thanks, Colonel,” said one of the men and he handed her a Ranger crest. All the others thanked her in their turn.

  When they left, she asked, “How did Kara happen?”

  “Well when I started at the VA hospital, I met her mother, Lisa. Lisa’s father was a long-term patient there and I would see her in passing. One day when I was leaving, I found her crying in the parking lot. Turns out some Air Force guy had shipped out, leaving her seventeen and pregnant. I started helping her out and was there when Kara was born. Then, we realized that I could get an allotment from the VA for her and Kara if we were married, so we got married. Not much romance. Someone once told me you have to know who you are before you get married, guess I didn’t know who the hell I was.

  Cathy inquired, “I guess you weren’t interested in Suzie?”

  Her question hurt me. “I loved her very much. After my dad’s funeral, I drove through Chicago looking for her. I found her parents’ house; there was a for sale sign in the front yard. The neighbor told me that they had moved to California and that their daughter was in the Peace Corps. I didn’t know her dad’s name and I didn’t know where to look.”

  “How long have you been divorced?

  “‘Bout two years. Turns out my ex had been writing this Air Force guy for years and, one day, he shows up. When I came home from work, she and Kara were gone, no note, no nothing. Kara was twelve then.” The waiter cleared our plates and I ordered more drinks. The drinks were making it easier to talk.

  “I went crazy after that. I didn’t give a damn about Lisa—our marriage was dead for years—but Kara was the only child I would ever have. I quit my job at the hospital. I took off for weeks looking for them. I got another dispatcher job. I started drinking. I was planning ways to kill myself. One night, I was sitting in the dark house with a revolver in my lap when there was a knock at the door. Kara had run away from her mother.”

  “Didn’t her mother come after her?”

  “Yeah. My ex said I was a cripple and could not take care of Kara. Kara dropped the bombshell. She said Mommy’s boyfriend was coming on to Kara and if the judge made her go back, she would run away where she couldn’t be found. So I got custody. Her mother lives in Reno, so we don’t see her too often.”

  She reached over and took my hand. “So how are you doing?”

  “Well, everything seems to happen for a reason. When I went back into counseling, I worked with teenagers in private practice, doing court evaluations and teaching. This reunion is the best medicine for some of my symptoms. You?”

  “Mostly, I stay busy with three boys.”

  “Three?”

  “Two sons and a husband, he was a chopper pilot in Nam. Now, he designs and installs computer systems in airports.” The waiter brought the drinks and the check. I swirled the brandy into a small whirlpool and bit my lip. “Go ahead,” she said with a twinkle in her eyes, “ask me.”

  “Do you know where Suzie is?”

  “She’s in San Diego.”

  I felt a shiver. “What happened to her?”

  “Well, you already know she went in the Peace Corps, to Africa, then back here, then back to Africa. She was still trying to find herself.” She sipped the brandy. “I saw her a few years ago at a nursing administrators conference. She moved to San Diego to care for her mother, who had cancer. Her mom lived about eleven
years. When she died, Suzie stayed on to look after her dad.”

  “Did she get,” I said, halting, “married?” Cathy shook her head. “Did she ask about me?”

  “Somehow she knew that you were married.”

  “Knew I was married? I wonder how.”

  “Maybe she tried to look you up.” All of a sudden, an avalanche rumbled through my brain. Suzie found out I was married and did not try to get in touch with me. I was still sitting there with my mouth open and thoughts bumping into the side of my skull when Cathy fighting a yawn brought me back.

  “Long day, huh?”

  “That and I was out celebrating last night—one year since I got the bird.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “I should have brought my own car and let the boys bring theirs.”

  “I’ll run you home. I got a rental car with hand controls.” We drove through the dark Columbus streets. The cool summer air blew her hair. She directed me to a nice two-story house in the suburbs. “Wait here,” she said as she opened the door, “I’ll be right back.” In a few minutes, she was back, handing me a piece of paper. “It’s my address. This time, don’t lose it.”

  “This time, don’t get shipped out in the middle of the night.”

  “You will let me know what happens,” she directed.

  “Whaddya mean, what happens?”

  She unfolded the paper and put it back in my hands. I turned on the interior light. There were two addresses; the second was in San Diego. “You’re going to find her, aren’t you?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Maybe hell! You let me know.” She opened the door and started to get out. Then she said softly, “Oh, what the hell.” She leaned back. I took her in my arms and we kissed. She closed the car door. “Don’t chicken out,” she said through the open window.

  When I got back to the hotel, I sat in the bar with another brandy and a cigar. I was watching the front door. I pulled out the piece of paper and read it again. Suzie Donovan. There was writing on the back. A phone number, not a Columbus area code. Kara and Francie came walking into the lobby at midnight. I followed them onto the elevator.

  § § § § § §

  It was July Fourth weekend. Cathy had to work that Saturday, but it was so boring. She had brought her address book to work hoping to catch up on some letters. She opened it. Should she? She dialed. “Hello,” said the voice at the other end.

  “Suzie, it’s Cathy.”

  “Hey! Everything okay?”

  “I saw him.”

  “Jake?”

  Cathy could hear excitement in her voice. “Yeah, he was here at Benning for a reunion.”

  “How is he?”

  “He looks great. And by the way, he’s divorced.”

  There was a pause at the other end. “Did he ask about me?”

  48

  No More Goodbyes

  The room was full of brilliant moonlight. The green light of the numbers on the alarm clock lit the edge of my bed. I watched 2:59 become 3:00. I had been back from Benning for almost eight weeks and every night had been like this. I would be awake for two or three hours.

  Kara had started classes at the University in mid-August. When we got back, there was registration and moving her into a dorm. Tonight was the first night she had been home since school started. I sat up and threw off the blankets. I reached toward the foot of the bed and grabbed a pair of shorts and pulled them on. I got in the wheelchair and rolled to a desk. I flipped on a lamp. I opened the drawer and pulled out a photo album. I opened the cover. Inside was a yellowing photo, one that Mrs. Hochberg had taken. I turned it over and read the back. “Love always, Suzie.”

  I hadn’t called. I kept finding excuses. I did not want a polite dismissal. I guess I had spent so long not telling my father I loved him because I did not want rejection. I had conditioned myself to avoid the possibility.

  I pushed across the room to a rowing machine. I lowered my self from the chair to the seat of the machine. I dragged my legs into position and put my feet under the straps on the footrests. I pressed my palms against the handles and began pulling and pushing as hard as I could—back and forth, back and forth. The years had changed me. My neck and shoulders were bigger. I had more control over the muscles in my back, which enabled me to lift my lower body more easily. My hands had not gotten any stronger. I still used two hands to pull up zippers and hold pens when my hand grew tired. I occasionally used my teeth to pick up awkward objects that I could not control with my hands.

  After about fifteen minutes of rowing, the hall light went on. Kara came shuffling in my room, rubbing her eyes. “Daddy,” she said with exasperation, “what are you doing?”

  “I’m sorry; I just couldn’t sleep.”

  “What is it? You’ve been prowling around ever since we came back from your reunion. I’ve even seen you sitting outside in the dark.”

  “I guess the reunion triggered a lot of old thoughts and feelings. I’ll quit rowing and read so you can go back to sleep.” I got off the machine and pushed to a drafting table that faced through a sliding door looking up to the mountains. There was a watercolor pinned to it that I was working on. Next to it was that slip of paper. I stared at the phone number. I had started to dial it a number of times, but I never finished.

  “This is crazy,” I muttered. I looked back at the clock. Two more hours and the sun would pour over those mountains. I pushed to my daughter’s bedroom and knocked on the door and then opened it a crack. “Kara, are you asleep?”

  “No” was the groggy answer from beneath the blankets.

  “I am going for a drive and I won’t be back until Tuesday or Wednesday. Would you take care of the house and feed the cat?”

  “Where are you going?”

  “San Diego.”

  “When?”

  “As soon as I can get dressed and packed.”

  “In the middle of the night!?”

  “Might as well, can’t sleep.”

  She grunted. “Uh-huh.” Then, I heard her sleeping breathing.

  By four o’clock, I had filled a knapsack with jeans, T-shirts, a razor, toothbrush, and catheter. I rolled out to the garage to a big customized Ford van, which I only used for long trips. Beside it was the blue Pontiac, shined to a high gloss. One thing about Tucson, it was a great place for old cars.

  I opened a panel on the side of the van, put in a key, and pressed a button. The side doors opened and an electric lift folded out and descended. I backed my chair onto it and was raised so I could roll into the van. I maneuvered my chair and got into the driver’s seat. I started the engine and flipped a switch that folded the lift and closed the door. Just then, the door to the house opened and Kara came out with a cup of coffee. I rolled down the window. She handed the cup to me. “Thanks, sweetie.”

  “I hope you find who you are looking for.”

  Her remark took me by surprise, since I had not said anything to her about Suzie, but I should have known. “And don’t fall asleep driving,” she added. She stood on tiptoe and gave me a peck on the cheek and then shuffled back into the house. I drove through dark streets going west until I reached the interstate. Outside, a huge moon ran along in front of me. I ran the van up to eighty and set the cruise control. I fished up a headset and turned on the radio. Then, I sipped coffee. I adjusted the steering wheel and the seat and sipped more coffee. It would be about an eight-hour trip.

  Why hadn’t I just phoned her or written her? No, I had to make my best effort. Suppose she doesn’t want to see you? It was such a long drive. “You idiot,” I assessed myself. The sun had oozed over the hills to the east, spreading light and heat over the tops of the saguaro cacti and working its way down onto the shorter plants and onto the flatlands and into the ravines. I was grateful to be heading west; otherwise, the sun would be blinding me for hours. By the time I hit the town of Gila Bend, I was ready for breakfast.

  The waitress surveyed the damage I had done to a plate of biscuits with sausage
gravy, scrambled eggs, and home fries, with juice and coffee. “Is there anything else you want?” she asked.

  “Listen, I have to go to the bathroom. If I’m not back in fifteen minutes, send someone to open the door and let me out,” I said. She gave me a strange look. I rolled in. Things had changed a lot in twenty years, but people were still devising frustration for cripples. There was a huge stall with a door I could not close except by leaning backwards out of the chair and sliding my hand underneath it. There was a little knob that I could not grab with my crippled fingers.

  When I went to the sink, I rolled my knees under it, but the paper towel dispenser was five feet up the wall. I had learned to pull the towels out before my hands got wet. I reached above my head, caught the towels between my palms, and pulled a couple down. I was getting the hang of life.

  Back behind the wheel, I started thinking of my marriage of fifteen years. I had driven my ex-wife crazy with Vietnam. There were photos and stories. There was spending every Memorial Day and Veteran’s Day at commemorative ceremonies or visiting cemeteries that interfered with her plans. She could not understand what it had done to me or meant to me. I struggled to find value in my sacrifice.

  I pulled into a truck stop to get gas. The lift lowered and I rolled onto it. The Arizona heat got to me quickly and I hurried to get back into the air-conditioned van. The gas pumps were on a concrete island and I could not get close enough to reach the pumps. A trucker who was filling up beside me gave me a hand and I demonstrated the lift. “I’m gonna need one a them in a couple years,” the trucker said. “I’m getting to old to climb up inta dem semis.”

  Sitting behind the wheel, I felt sorry for my ex-wife. I remembered one of our strained discussions. “When I married you, I didn’t know I was marrying that,” she said, pointing to the wheelchair. “Our friends don’t invite us to their houses because they can’t figure out how to get you in. Nobody asks us to go on trips or to dances ’cause you’re just gonna sit there. I like to dance, but I haven’t been asked since I married you. Guys would ask me, but they see you sitting there and they don’t. That wheelchair is as much a pain in my ass as it is a pain in your ass.” I did not know what to say in response. She was right.