After wrapping Henry’s stump with a compression bandage to guard against the expected abrasions of learning to walk again, the doctor had Henry put on a stump sock before slipping on the socket.
Stump socks came in various thicknesses. The trick was choosing the right one for normal, sometimes daily fluctuations, usually water retention. But even the weather could affect the fit. For Bruce his prosthesis was held in place by suction with nothing between the stump and the socket. But with fit and circulation a factor in Henry’s case, his socket was held in place by a Silesian bandage.
“How does that feel?” Doc asked, attaching the leg. The old man nodded. “Can you stand?”
Henry couldn’t stand on his own, so Bruce supported the vet’s frail body while the doctor attempted to adjust the trainer to his height. The gait training leg was little more than an adjustable pole with a foot.
Henry didn’t own a right shoe to put on the prosthetic foot. But it was the first time in years that he had had a right leg he could actually stand on. Bruce noted the determined set to the vet’s chin as they led him to the parallel bars so he could practice bearing his own weight.
Moving sideways along a single bar was just one beginner exercise. The old man’s arms were shaking just from the strain of holding himself up. The doc had him move to his right, off his trainer.
Lift. Step. Plant.
A lot harder than it seemed.
He was able to take a few more with his good left leg in the lead. Those first few steps were as frustrating as they were exciting.
“We’ll work on it,” Bruce said when he saw the frustration on the weathered vet’s face. He was eager to take his first steps—he just wasn’t ready.
They helped Henry back to his wheelchair.
Henry left his trainer on. The technician wanted to use parts of his old leg to fashion a new custom leg. The mold for the new fitted socket would be made at his appointment.
Useless as it had become, Henry still had a hard time letting go of his old leg. Eventually the thought of a new leg won out and he gave in.
“You’re next,” the doc said.
Bruce had thought he’d given up his appointment, but his examination didn’t take long. His C-Leg was none the worse for wear. The doctor pronounced him fit and ready to take on the O-course. Skiing. And any other sport he might like to try.
Having stripped down to his jockey shorts without giving Henry’s presence a second thought, Bruce was pulling his T-shirt over his head and down past his six-pack abs when Henry saw fit to comment.
“I had a body like that once.”
Bruce heard years of regret behind those words, but refused to play to the pity. “Old man,” he said, “you never had a body like this.”
They both chuckled. Just so long as Henry realized he had to start taking better care of the one he had. In the mirrors that lined the therapy room Bruce caught a glimpse of the two of them side by side.
“A RAK. And a LAK,” Henry said, coming to the same conclusion. “You’re a size what, thirteen? Between us we could get by with only one pair of shoes.”
“I need both shoes,” Bruce said. “And so do you. What do you say we make a quick stop on the way back to the office for a new pair?”
Bruce picked up his uniform pants. As he put them back on he remembered sticking his dive watch into the pocket after Mitzi had given him her brother’s. He felt around for it now to see if it was this particular pair of pants. Sure enough. Good thing it was waterproof. He’d done his laundry this weekend.
“What do you need two watches for?” Henry asked.
“I don’t.” And the keeper was already on his wrist. Knowing how honored he’d felt when Mitzi entrusted him with it there, and that it was never coming off, he said, “Hold out your arm.”
Henry complied and Bruce fastened his old watch to the wheelie’s wrist. Henry looked it over. “A Luminox. That must be worth something. Sure you don’t want to save this for that kid brother of yours?”
“Definitely not.” The watch had been a gift from Lucky when Bruce had completed BUD/S training. He did not want to encourage Keith in that direction.
Con artist that Henry was, the quick stop for a new pair of shoes turned into a haircut and a shave at a high-end salon where the beauticians wore lingerie.
Lunch at Hooters.
And a trip to the pawnshop.
Bruce was seething when Henry came rolling out of the shop without his watch. “If I’d known you were going to pawn the damn thing—”
“Need the deposit money for my new landlord.”
Bruce felt like a complete ass. Of course a roof over the old man’s head was far more valuable than an old watch.
Good riddance.
“Remind me—you’re going to want this pawn ticket someday.” Henry tucked it away into his pack as they headed back to the car.
“Keith doesn’t need my old dive watch.”
“Never heard one man’s trash is another man’s treasure?”
Obviously the old man lived by that rule.
All in all, that new pair of shoes cost Bruce about two hundred bucks. And Henry now had more cash than what Bruce would have thought his old Luminox was worth. What else had the old guy pawned?
CHAPTER NINE
“PEACE OFFERING,” Calhoun said upon his return to the office.
Mitzi raised an eyebrow as he dropped off Hooters takeout at her desk. “Thank you, I think.”
“They have good wings,” he said.
“And I thought you went for the breasts and thighs,” she said, still seething from Henry finding that ring box in the Dumpster this morning. She didn’t know whether to confront Bruce about it or not.
He leaned across her desk. “Henry picked the place. I just went along for the ride.”
“I see you got a haircut. Was that Henry’s idea, too?”
“As a matter of fact, Henry knows quite the barbershop,” he said, whistling his way to his desk.
He was in a chipper mood. He either didn’t know or didn’t care what they’d found in the trash.
Mitzi got moodier as the afternoon wore on.
The minute she stepped out the back door and lifted the lid on the Dumpster, she realized she was insane. She pulled herself up and over and into the middle of all that garbage anyway.
It wasn’t the ring, she told herself as she sifted through waste-high rubbish. She’d returned his ring. It was his to do with as he pleased. Even throw it away.
She burrowed deeper into the refuse, despite a smell so bad it made her want to gag.
Did sentiment have no value to him at all?
She knew the inscription by heart.
“Semper Fi, 09.11.01.”
The date, of course, had nothing to do with their engagement—9/11 was the day the twin towers came down. The day Freddie and Bruce enlisted.
Her brother had walked away from the police academy without looking back. Bruce had been a freshman in his first few weeks of college when he’d left basketball, and her, behind.
Near tears, she’d been digging for almost an hour and hadn’t found anything. Her hands were as raw as her nerves and her nose was dripping.
Wiping her forearm across her forehead, she had to admit defeat. She was never going to find it. If it was ever even here.
“What are you doing?” Keith stood outside the Dumpster in his warm letterman jacket with his backpack slung over his shoulder.
Mitzi checked her watch. That late already?
Her DEPers would start showing up soon.
“I thought I’d lost something.” Her voice had a weariness to it. “Guess I was mistaken. What are you doing?” she asked, still inside the Dumpster.
“Bruce said I could come by and work out with the DEPers.”
“That’s right. I’d forgotten.”
“Do you think you could work on changing his mind?”
“That would be up to you.” It was one argument she did not want to be in the middle
of.
They heard air brakes as a garbage truck pulled into the alley and stopped in back of the building. The driver got out, leaving his door open. “Lady!” he shouted across the parking lot.
“What’s your problem? I’m getting out!” she shouted with a defensive shrug. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t known it was trash pickup day. Desperation had driven her to at least look.
Before the ring wound up in a landfill somewhere.
He got into his truck and she heard that beep, beep, beep warning as he started to back up.
“Can I help you out?” Keith offered.
“I got it,” she said, swinging her leg up and pulling herself out. She’d run her fair share of obstacle courses.
The driver checked his mirrors to make sure they were both out of his way. Mitzi took a step back and bowed with a sweeping gesture toward the Dumpster. “It’s all yours.”
THEY WERE RUNNING along the South Platte River trails.
“Left. Right. Left, right, left!” Bruce called cadence to keep everybody in step. Mitzi ran beside him. His brother and her four DEPers behind them echoed lines.
“Everywhere we go…” He started an old favorite of his from boot camp. “People want to know. Who we are. Where we come from. We come from an island…Parris Island.”
“I don’t see any Marine recruits back there, Gunny,” Mitzi taunted. “It ain’t like the Army, at Fort Jackson.” He put emphasis on ain’t for her benefit. “It ain’t like the Navy, down in Florida.” He slanted a glance to catch her reaction. She pursed her lips and pushed on. “It ain’t no flyboy, over in Texas.”
“Whoa, oh. Whoa, oh.” The kids were starting to get the hang of it and added their own little spin.
“There ain’t no other. Parris Island.”
Mitzi nudged him with her shoulder. “Enough, Parris Island.” She kept it in cadence. “These kids ain’t goin’ to South Caroline.”
He’d gone to boot camp in Parris Island, South Carolina.
She picked up her pace on the incline and they all had to kick it into gear. Not to be outdone, Bruce pushed her to try to stay even with him.
“What’s that smell?” He leaned over to sniff her hair. “Whew, you need a shower there, Chief.”
She elbowed him hard in the gut and he took a misstep and had to allow his C-Leg to readjust for a few paces before pulling even again. “Watch where you’re swinging those things.”
“Trust me, I would have aimed lower if I could.”
“If there’s something you want to say to me, just say it.”
“Go jump in the Platte,” she said, stopping them both. She started walking backward, in the direction they’d come from, and shrugged. “There, said what I had to say.” She turned and continued walking away.
Keith, followed closely by the SEAL twins, caught up to them and didn’t know whether to stop, slow down or turn around and follow Mitzi.
“Round back to the station,” Bruce said before going after her. The gamer and the girl used the break in action to stop and catch their breaths.
“Keep walking,” Keith said.
It didn’t take Bruce long to catch up to her. Mitzi telling him to go to hell, which is how he’d interpreted it, wasn’t any worse than having been there. But knowing that she meant it hurt.
“Normally you smell…good.”
Like a field of wildflowers on the western slopes. Or a magnolia plantation in South Carolina. Or a cactus in the moonlight. Everywhere he’d ever been had a scent that reminded him of her.
“This isn’t about my hair.” She crossed her arms.
He figured that.
“I spent the afternoon digging through a Dumpster….”
Because he’d slam-dunked her ring into it?
“Never mind.” She reached to scratch her scalp and wound up taking her hair down. “I need a shower. Just…stay out of my way today, Calhoun.”
MITZI PULLED INTO the parking lot at Englewood High School Wednesday afternoon and parked her navy blue sedan as far from the red USMC Hummer as she could get. Every available surface of the monster vehicle was painted with official USMC images. It even had eagle, globe and anchor hubcaps.
The Army arrived in a similar black Hummer. And the Guard rode in with a red, white and blue mural painted on their van.
Annie stepped out of a bright blue sedan not unlike Mitzi’s navy blue one. Until recently the Air Force had never had to go looking for recruits. The Navy and Air Force had all the cool high-tech jobs and were a much easier sell to both kids and parents. A bad day on the job for a Navy recruiter was nowhere near as tough as it was for a Marine recruiter.
They were all wearing their service’s combat utilities because that was the “cool” uniform. The one that impressed the kids the most.
Mitzi grabbed her box of goodie bags from her trunk and walked into the building with Annie.
“Sucks to be them,” Annie said.
This was Mitzi’s second Career Day, she knew exactly what the other woman was talking about. They parted ways in the hall where Bruce was setting up tables outside the auditorium.
Career Day was open to colleges, as well. They were each given five minutes to speak to the captive audience. Afterward the kids and their parents were free to roam the halls and stop by their tables for more information.
Colleges went first, followed by the trade and tech schools. The military was lumped together last.
Mitzi used this quiet time to set up her area. She noticed Calhoun slip inside the auditorium to stand near the back. Lack of a college education was one of his big regrets. And she suspected the reason he was so adamant his brother would attend.
Was he gathering information for Keith or for himself? She wondered if he even knew that, with approval, recruiters could attend college during working hours, provided they wore the uniform. Lots of perks with the job.
What was she doing reaching for reasons he should stay? He’d had one very good reason—her. And that wasn’t enough. To hell with him.
There was the usual shuffling in the audience as the armed services took the stage. For juniors and seniors attendance was mandatory and a good excuse to miss a half day of classes. Not so for the parents. A few got up to leave because of schedules or in quiet protest. One woman wasn’t so quiet.
Spouting her views on what she called the economic draft, the woman was escorted from the building by the police officer on duty at the school. At least no one had pulled the fire alarm or called in a bomb threat. Yet.
Settling into their seats on the stage in the order in which they were speaking—more or less alphabetical—Mitzi sat in the second to last chair, with Calhoun to her right. The Marine Corps’ position was always to the right of the Navy.
The Colorado National Guard went first. Followed by Air Force Annie, who could always be counted on for a laugh, and to go over five minutes.
As Mike and Ike did their tag-team routine for the Army, Mitzi shuffled through her index cards. Public speaking was not her thing. Luckily she had a three-minute commercial that would be projected onto the screen behind her and only two minutes to fill.
The polite applause for Mike and Ike faded.
Stepping up to the podium, Mitzi took a deep breath and scanned the audience for a friendly face. She found Dan’s and smiled back at him. Challenging herself to work hospital corpsman into her spiel at least four times, she began.
“Good afternoon, I’m Chief Petty Officer Mitzi Zahn. Eight years ago I was sitting where you are today wondering what I was going to do with my life…. I played the snare drum in the school band—” she smiled at Kelly in the crowd “—your basic overachiever.
“College was certainly an option. But I was eager to get out into what I considered the ‘real world.’” She supplied air quotation marks for real world. “My brother and his best friend had joined the military two years earlier. They seemed to be having fun—I wanted to have some fun.” Her emphasis on fun generated a collective laugh from her a
udience.
“In reality what they were doing was taking on responsibilities I never dreamed of. The fun came in their love of life and the jobs they were doing. They were both with the SEAL teams at the time. So I walked into the very recruiting station where I work today and told my recruiter I wanted to be a Navy SEAL.
“Well, he laughed as loud as you’re laughing now. Then he told me I couldn’t be a Navy SEAL because I was a girl, but he could make me a hospital corpsman. I said okay, and signed up for the delayed entry program.” She really had been that naive. “A few months later I graduated from high school and shipped off to boot camp followed by hospital corpsman ‘A’ school.
“At the end of it I watched my fellow corpsmen go on to work with SEALs and Seabees and even Marine Force Recon teams. Of course, they were all guys.” She paused again for the laughs. “And while most corpsmen will work within a hospital environment, I knew that wasn’t what I wanted. I met with a savvy Navy career counselor and told her my dilemma—I was born with the wrong set of genes.
“She took one look at my file and said, ‘…I see you were captain of your swim team in high school. I can get you into special ops.’ A girl in spec ops—what a concept. I said, ‘What do I have to do?’ After two years of intensive mental and physical training, I became an AIRR, an aviation rescue swimmer. SAR—search and rescue—is some of the most rewarding work you’ll find anywhere.
“As it turned out, my hospital corpsman background proved invaluable, as I later went on to advanced AIRR school for emergency medical training. You’re sitting here today with a world of possibilities before you. Let me open your mind to what the United States Navy can do for you. Thank you.”
Mitzi finished as the motto for rescue swimmer flashed across the screen behind her: So Others May Live. The first of six thirty-second high-octane “Accelerate Your Life” clips began to play. She ended with a low-key favorite of hers called “Navy SEAL Footprints,” a night shot of a beach with a cloud-covered moon, waves crashing against the shore.
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