Lindsey unwrapped the next. It was a wind-up snow globe with two angels dancing. There was a Valentine’s Day card attached. Tears welled in her eyes, and she looked at him for an explanation.
“It’s for your birthday and Christmas and Valentine’s Day—” David explained, “for all the days I should have celebrated with you but missed because I was overseas, or trying to find my way back home to you.” He paused to fight back the growing lump in his throat. “It’s for all the nights we should have been holding hands instead of searching for each other.”
Lindsey wrapped her arms around David and began to cry. “I love you so much,” she whimpered.
“I know. Me too,” he said. “I love you so much that it actually hurts to be near you sometimes.”
She sighed. “I know. I feel the exact same way.” She smiled, mischievously. “And I’m really looking forward to working on that list with you.”
David kissed her. “I hope it takes us forever,” he whispered.
¤ ¤ ¤ ¤
Lindsey returned home to find her father sitting in his recliner, half-asleep. She studied his face. No sign of flashbacks, she thought, and took a seat on the arm of the recliner.
He opened his eyes wide and looked at her. “Oh, hey kid,” he said yawning.
“Dad, I’ve been seeing this guy who I want you to meet.”
Denis sat up straighter, fully awake now. “Who is he?” he asked.
“His name’s David McClain,” she said. “I’ve been seeing him long enough that I think it’s time you meet him.”
“That serious, huh?”
She grinned.
“What does he do for work?”
She paused. “He’s working at The Rocking Horse Pub for now because he just…” She stopped.
“Just what?” Denis grunted, betraying a hint of disapproval in two words.
“Because he just got out of the service,” she blurted, coming to David’s defense.
“Service? What branch?”
“Army,” she said, unsure whether she should have disclosed it.
“Did he serve overseas?” Denis asked tentatively.
It took a few moments, but she finally nodded. “He was a ranger in Afghanistan. He…”
Denis actually gasped. “Oh Linds, no.”
“But he’s a good man, Pop,” she countered.
“So am I,” he muttered, shaking his head, “Or was anyway.”
She hugged him. “You still are, Pop. You just have things that…”
“If he was a ranger, then he’s seen action,” he interrupted, “which means he’ll have things to deal with too.” His eyes filled. “The price is heavy, sweetheart. You know that.”
“I know.”
“I know you do. And you can’t imagine how sorry I am about that.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” she said.
“Is he worth the risk, this David McClain?” he interrupted again.
Lindsey smiled wide. “Oh yeah.”
Denis stared at her and finally nodded. “Well, if I’ve learned anything, there’s nothing that can sway the heart when it knows what it wants,” he said. “Just keep your wits about you, Lindsey…please.”
She hugged him again. “I will, Dad. Don’t you worry.”
¤ ¤ ¤ ¤
David and Lindsey never wasted a minute. Late Saturday morning, they took a leisurely walk in the park and talked. In the afternoon, they took a long ride and talked. That night, after David had cooked and served Lindsey dinner, they headed to an outdoor café that played live acoustic music—and they talked. Before the band’s last set, David grabbed Lindsey’s hand. “Let’s go for a walk.”
As they strolled along, they sneaked swigs of wine from a paper bag like love-drunk adolescents and continued their amazing descent into love.
“I am so drawn to you when I look into your eyes,” Lindsey told him, reaching for his hand. “And I feel such an uncontrollable passion for you.”
He kissed both her hands.
“When I’m near you, it’s my heart that controls me, not my mind,” she said. “I’ve seen more than everything in your eyes, and it kind of freaks me out. In case you haven’t noticed, I don’t spend too much time looking into your eyes when we talk. I just can’t.”
He peered hard into her eyes and smiled. They walked in silence for a long while. That was the thing—conversation wasn’t necessary between them. Even in the silence, Lindsey reminded David of who he was before Afghanistan. Everything I learned as a child is everything I’ve ever needed to know: don’t fight, use your manners, share, be kind to others.
At the end of the night, David pointed up at the North Star. “There you are,” he said. “Whether I was on patrol or on a rooftop, you were always there with me, Linds.”
“I’m still here,” she said, hugging his arm, “and I’m never going anywhere.”
“Me either,” he said.
“I know.”
He stopped and faced her. “Do you?” he asked.
“I do.”
¤ ¤ ¤ ¤
In the weeks that followed, David met Lindsey’s family over a casual dinner party. They spent all the time they could at North Beach. They shared picnics, flew kites, and played in the water like children. At the summer carnival, they visited a fortune-teller together and teased each other about the woman’s vague predictions.
“The gypsy woman said I was on the right path to finding my soul mate,” he said, and grinned. “I hope I find her soon.”
Lindsey slapped his arm. “Well, she told me that I’ve already found what I was looking for.”
David’s healing was a slow-moving process and, even with all the positive progress, Lindsey sensed that he was still screaming inside but wouldn’t let it out—a need to confess that clawed at his soul. She grabbed his hand. “Please, David, never second-guess how I might take something you say or do. I know where your heart is, and that’s all I need to know.” She smiled brilliantly. “Once you know someone’s heart, really know it, the rest is an easy read. And you and I already have that part covered.” She peered into his eyes. “I don’t want you to worry about saying anything to me, and I want you to feel free with me.” She tilted her head sideways and squeezed her grip. “I won’t break, you know.”
He nodded.
“You can even tell me what happened over there,” she said. “In fact, I think you should.”
He smiled at her but shook his head.
“There’s no need to keep any of it from me or bottle it up. Let’s get it out now and deal with it, so we can put it behind us, together.”
His eyes filled, and he shook his head again.
“One night, and I’ll never forget it,” she said, “my dad took me to George’s Hot Dogs for a late dinner. As usual, he was drunk and the place was packed. No sooner did we sit down to eat when a guy got thrown through the screen door, his enemy right behind him to finish the pummeling. Plastered, my dad looked across the table at me and screamed, ‘Girl, don’t tell me you’re afraid?’
“I didn’t say a word, but my eyes begged him to be quiet.
“My father then stood up and pointed around. ‘Don’t you ever be afraid of people like these,’ he screeched, and all eyes were on him. ‘They’re all drunks,’ he yelled.
“I begged him to stop, but he didn’t listen.”
David held her tight.
“And then I watched my father get the worst beating you could ever imagine,” she said and began to release old unshed tears.
“I’m sorry, babe,” David whispered.
“But I wasn’t,” Lindsey said, “and that’s the point.” Tears cascaded down her face, while the rest played out in sniffles. “I was happy it happened. I was happy that someone bigger and stronger than my father could punish him like that.” As her eyes filled, she shook her head in shame. In David’s lap, her body trembled over the terrible memory.
After a while, he whispered, “It’s funny how the invisible scars run the deepe
st, isn’t it?” He shook his head. “Trust me, I understand.” He hugged her tight.
“You can share with me, too, you know,” she said, composing herself. “You can tell me anything and I’ll never judge you.”
“I know,” he said, and looked at her. After a long moment, he cleared his throat. “It was a calm night,” he said, “and we were on another ordinary patrol…” His eyes grew distant and immediately filled with tears.
“Go on,” she whispered.
“When Max screamed, ‘Davey!’ I turned and saw three Afghan men, a small band of Taliban, raising their AK47s in our direction. I hit the deck, while the first few rounds whistled over me, where my head had been just two seconds before. We returned their fire. It felt like I was looking through a window, watching the whole thing go down.” He shook his head. “When it started, there wasn’t any fear, really, just a morbid curiosity about how it would play out. Bullets began flying, and men were collapsing onto the dirt in front of us. To tell you the truth, I’m not sure any of my bullets hit…” He began to cry. “But I’d be lying to claim that they didn’t.” He looked into her eyes, all the world’s sorrow filling him. “If it wasn’t for Max, I would have been a goner that day. He saved my life.”
While he grieved, Lindsey hugged him tight.
Through the sobs, he said, “It hasn’t been easy living with the fact that I’ve taken a life. For all I know, that Afghan soldier had a wife and children, or a girl just like you waiting for him at home. My heart’s been sick because of it ever since.” He wiped his face. “It’s hard to explain, but I have this real sense that I’m going to spend the rest of my life trying to get past that firefight.”
She leaned back and peered deeply into his eyes. “Be honest, David. If you hadn’t shot that man would he have killed you?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
She sighed heavily. “Then thank God you pulled the trigger,” she said and fell back into his arms.
David eventually emerged from his painful past, his face awash in tears. He looked at Lindsey. She was crying right along with him, sharing in the pain. He hugged her tightly. “I’ve never felt so close to another human being in my life,” he whispered.
“Me either,” she said, wiping her eyes.
“And then Max died,” David said, shaking his head. “And it kills me that I never got a chance to really thank him for saving my life or to say a proper goodbye.”
“Then go and do it now,” she said.
He looked at her like she had just stepped out of her mind. “What?”
“Go see him now and tell him,” Lindsey said. “Gather your brothers and go say a proper goodbye to Max.”
11
It was Veterans Day when ten brothers rallied at David’s house. Handshakes and hugs were exchanged all around. Each one of them looks so much older, David thought. The fine lines in their faces revealed the harsh weather endured along the paths they’d each traveled, with some of the more difficult and dangerous miles shared together in Afghanistan. They were brothers, representing a third of their rowdy platoon. From the moment they reunited, the smiles never left their faces. Enough time had passed that it was now good to see each other. Reminiscent stories started off the day, and the laughter quickly followed. From the first chuckle, it never stopped. Each one had a shot at, “Remember when…”
Big Al showed up late. David was taken aback. “Wow, I’m surprised you made it,” David said, looking down at his friend’s prosthetic legs.
“They were legs, Davey. Not my soul,” Al said, smiling.
“How’s life?” David asked, still feeling guilty about the incident.
“Better than good,” Al replied.
David was taken aback again. “That’s what my girlfriend always says.”
“Smart lady.”
David chuckled. “A lot smarter than me, that’s for sure.”
Al looked around. “So are we gonna drink beer or make out?” he asked. “And I’m hoping for the beer…” He slapped his plastic legs. “’Cause I don’t have the legs to run from you anymore.”
David laughed hard, feeling an odd sense of relief. It was obvious that Big Al held no resentment toward him or the IED that claimed his natural mobility. David had held more guilt than he’d realized and could feel the weight lift clean off his slumping shoulders.
As if he was making sure that David understood, Al added, “My boy likes riding on the back of my wheelchair. He thinks it’s a chariot, so we pretend to be gladiators.” He smiled. “It’s very cool stuff.”
The old team stuffed themselves into three vehicles and ventured off to the Cavalry Cemetery halfway across the island.
As they arrived at the sacred burial grounds, they found that two more brothers were already there, waiting with Max. Nate Michaels was still in the Army and was appropriately dressed in his camouflage uniform and black beret, and Billy Brodeur, who looked considerably older than his twenty-three years. Handshakes were exchanged again, and then there was silence.
The stone read: ESSINGTON MAXIMILLIAN, his date of birth, premature date of death, and the inscription, I believe I can fly toward the bottom. The granite stone was black and buffed to a shine. Private prayers were offered, while comments about Max’s quiet neighbors broke the thick tension. Other mutterings about Max’s “view” took care of the rest. All twelve brothers joined in the morbid laughter.
It didn’t take long before beers were cracked and the first sips were poured into the ground for their fallen comrade. After an informal toast to their guest of honor, gifts of love were presented. There was a wreath made of red, white and blue flowers, and a banner reading 4TH RANGERS placed at the tomb of their well-known soldier. Several old ranger team photos wrapped in plastic were pierced through the ground by a small American flag.
To top it off, two unit patches, a U.S. Army nametag, and Max’s rank of sergeant had been framed by another brother and carefully set down by his stone. A full can of beer finished the offerings.
As if erecting a base camp, a picnic table was set up with its umbrella opened wide. They were careful to ensure that Max’s headstone was located at the head of the table. Full coolers were carried over, and everyone gathered around the circle of love.
For the next two hours, they visited with each other, reveling in their brash stories of the past and catching up on their tamed stories of the present. To someone unaware of what was going on, this entire display would have appeared disrespectful—as if they ignored the friend who now lay six feet beneath them. It was the complete opposite. As they smoked, drank, remembered and laughed, Max was sitting right there beside them. He couldn’t have been more included in the festivities. He was the very reason they reunited and they were grateful. There were many reasons why Max was the guest of honor.
There were passersby, but nothing disrupted the celebration until a man escorting his two young sons stepped up to the gravestone beside them. David approached the stranger and explained, “My comrades and I intend no disrespect to you or your deceased loved one. We’re actually honoring our fallen brother by carrying on a tradition.” He shot a smile at the young boys.
The man grinned. “The name’s Eric Holloway,” he said and extended his hand, “and I understand. If I’d served with you guys, I’d be drinking with you today too.” The rangers nodded. The man then asked, “What did he die from?”
David hurried to answer. “He got sick from his time in Afghanistan and…”
“He died of a broken heart,” Kevin Menker interrupted.
Eric nodded solemnly.
David did the same, thinking, It couldn’t have been said any better.
While Eric and his sons concluded their prayers and sauntered away, the rangers followed suit. They finished their beers, closed up the umbrella and placed the table back in the rear of Kevin’s truck. Several kisses on the stone and a few more silent prayers later, David placed a sealed letter at the base of the stone. Though none of the others would ever know what
it contained, it read:
Dear Max,
It seems like forever since we served together in Afghanistan. Since we’ve been home, I thought about it and I don’t think I ever really thanked you for saving my life that day. Thank you, Max. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you.
Your mom told me that besides the nightmares and flashbacks, you suffered from severe headaches, respiratory problems and digestive problems. But the VA denied each one of your claims, refusing to offer you the treatment you needed. It’s criminal, I know!
But the physical pain was only a fraction of it, wasn’t it? Men like you and me were forced to learn that the hard way. More than anything, I wish I could have helped you find the peace you needed, brother.
I learned, far too late, that you turned to drugs and got hooked. It brought relief from your demons, I’m sure. I’m also sure that you fought to beat it back. I heard that you died at home with your mom right by your side. When I heard this, I wept like a kid. But I was also relieved that you didn’t die alone. I am so grateful that you passed over with someone who really loved you by your side. Now, I can only pray that this incredible tragedy has finally brought you peace.
I’m writing you now to let you know that I haven’t forgotten—you saved my life in Afghanistan. And although I may not be able to clear my debt until Max Jr. gets older, you have my word that I’ll be there for him on the day he really needs someone.
I promise that Max Jr. will know that his dad was a great man. Brother, you were loved very much and still are! And, you are still respected by people who don’t show respect unless it’s earned. I miss you terribly, Max, but have also experienced enough to know in my heart that it’s only a brief matter of time before we reunite and laugh over old times.
I love you, brother. I’ll be seeing you soon.
Your eternal comrade,
David
The group assembled back at their convoy on the road. Looking back, they offered a final salute, confident that Max would have loved the bizarre remembrance. In fact, had it been one of the others resting in their eternal bed—Max would have been right there with us doing the same, David thought.
A dozen men drove off back to their lives. Thanks to an old friend, they were firmly reminded of their obligation toward honor—especially for their departed brother’s kid. If young Max Jr. knew that decent men loved his dad, then the boy could never question the decency of his father. And this would certainly not be the rangers last example of love.
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