by Tricia Goyer
“You think I should drop it? Just like that?”
“Yes, Ava. As much as you’re trying to make it your trip, it’s about him.”
Movement caught her eye, and Ava turned to see her grandpa and Grand-Paul exiting the museum—supporting each other—and she swallowed hard.
“Shouldn’t I at least ask? She could be here,” she whispered.
“It’s not your choice, Ava.”
Both men looked sober as they approached. Ava looked at Dennis, as if wondering what to say, what to do.
“It’s been a long, hard morning. Lots to take in.” Dennis took his grandfather’s arm. “Why don’t we get some lunch?”
“Yes, that’s a good idea.” Her mind couldn’t comprehend that perhaps her grandfather could have another child. Ava glanced at a couple coming toward them down the street. The woman’s hair was blond like hers. Could she really have cousins here?
Chapter Fifteen
For the second night in a row, Ava found herself at the table in the corner with her video camera set up and the waitress as her audience. This time, all three guys joined her. In addition to her script about the Battle of the Bulge and the coldest winter in fifty years, she had something else she needed to ask. Something that could put her back on shaky ground with her grandfather. She should be thankful he was willing to be videotaped at all, but she also needed to add another element to these videos, because what she had now wasn’t going to be strong enough.
“Grandpa, can I talk to you alone for a minute?” She pointed to the patio outside.
“Sure.” He rose with slow movements. His hand trembled more than it had any other time on this trip, and she told herself he was tired from their travels.
They walked out into the cool air, and her eyes focused on his cowboy boots. “I know you didn’t intend for me to find those letters, and I’m sorry. I should have asked. I—I just haven’t been handling things as I should on this trip.”
She was afraid to look at him. Afraid to see the disappointment in his eyes. “But the truth is, I’m going to need more for this video.” She paused, thinking of how to say it. How to tell him there was nothing heart-tugging about what they shared today. “Could we do more taping? Maybe if you could share a few personal stories?” Her finger followed the grain on the wood of the patio deck. “Or, if you thought there was a letter that was meaningful…” She let her voice trail off and waited for her grandfather to respond, but the only sound was Paul and Dennis’s laughter coming from the dining room. Their laughter didn’t help the tension building within Ava. She recalled Dennis’s words. Would you walk away if he asked you to? Her heart ached, knowing he had asked—not directly, but by his rebuff—and now she was wanting even more from him.
Finally, she dared to lift her head, looking into his face. The single light on the patio did little to penetrate the darkness. Yet, even though the night was dim, the rays from the moon lit her grandfather’s worried gaze.
He shrugged. “The letters aren’t any good. I was no Ernie Pyle or Ernest Hemingway.”
“I know you don’t think they’re very good. But they’ll give viewers an inside look at your experiences—a glimpse into your heart.” She noticed he didn’t offer to share any stories. Maybe sharing the letters seemed the less threatening of the options.
“If you think people are interested, I can pick out a few. There are others…well…I’ll pick the ones you can look at.”
Pain shot through Ava’s heart. What could be so horrible that he would keep it from her? She was his granddaughter, and before last year’s incident, they’d had a close relationship. She attempted to look into his eyes—to get a glimpse of what was going on in his mind, but he quickly looked away. It made her want to read the other letters even more.
“I understand there are some you don’t want me to read.” She swallowed her emotion. “And I’m okay with that. If there are some I could look at, well…I’m sure I can find something interesting. I think our viewers will enjoy the fact they’re from World War II.”
He nodded and turned back to the doorway leading inside. His shoulders slumped. It was as if he had gotten tired of fighting and was choosing the path of least resistance.
“I was thinking maybe you could read the letters for the camera.” The words spilled out, and she hoped she wasn’t pushing too far.
He tilted his head, unsure.
“Don’t worry about the camera. I’m just using the voice track.” She stepped forward and hurried to his side. “I won’t even set the focus on your handsome mug if it makes you feel better.” She offered a soft laugh, hoping he couldn’t sense how hurt she was that he didn’t trust her with the truth of what was in the rest of those letters.
Her grandfather nodded. “Do I have a choice?”
“Of course, Grandpa.” She placed a hand on his arm. “I’m not going to force you to do anything you don’t want to do.”
He thought about it for a moment. “Fine. I do know how to read,” he said, and then instead of returning to the dining room where Paul and Dennis sat, he went through the other door into the lobby. Ava assumed he was going to the room to get some letters, and she hoped there would be something she could use for the video. Ten minutes later, he returned with a half-dozen letters.
It took a few minutes for Ava to go through the letters, picking her favorite parts. There was nothing spectacular, but she could work with them. She got the camera set up and without putting up a fuss, her grandfather sat down—much to the amazement of Grand-Paul and Dennis.
“Okay, good. We’re all set.” She glanced up at him and then pushed the button on her remote. “Go ahead and start.”
Grandpa Jack glanced over the sections she’d put sticky notes on.
“So these are the interesting parts?” Grandpa Jack shook his head.
“I think so.”
“Here goes nothing.” Grandpa Jack readjusted his glasses on his nose. He didn’t seem excited, but at least he wasn’t fighting her. Her grandpa cleared his throat and began.
“‘December 19, 1944. Dear Mom and Dad, I got my baptism of rain and mud, sleeping outside for the last few nights. As I laid in my pup tent, I heard your voice, Mom: “Jackson, you’re going to catch your death of cold.” I haven’t got even a sniffle yet. We bivouacked in a quagmire of mud and water. Four of us pitch our tents together, Paul, Henry, David, and I.
“‘I haven’t washed in a week. Another week might pass before I can. I’ve always wanted to try growing a beard. Now’s my chance. Love, Jack.’”
Grandpa Jack set the letter on the table, and then he looked at the next one. He cleared his throat and then started.
“‘December 24, 1944. Dear Mom and Dad, There’s going to be a Christmas service tonight here. Not that I know where “here” is. We’ve been on the move quite a bit. It’s hard to believe in Christmas over here. It’s sometimes hard to believe in the Christ child too. Even my memories of home seem like a made-up story.
“‘The other day we rolled through the city of Reims, in France. It was amusing to see people walking through the streets with long, thin loaves of bread. I thought they were baseball bats at first. The women of France are lookers. They really know how to use makeup and fix their hair. The buildings all around them may be crumbled down, but the ladies are fixed up. My buddy Paul says he likes it that way. He says ladies are more interesting to look at than buildings anyways.’”
Grand-Paul gave a low chuckle, and Ava glanced his direction. Dennis appeared equally amused.
“‘More than anything, I wished we could have gone to Paris so I could climb the steps to the top of the Eiffel Tower,’” Grandpa Jack continued. “‘General Patton said it was impossible to make a tourist stop. We were needed in Belgium.
“‘That’s where we are—somewhere in Belgium. Over the last few days we went through a lot of towns, and the destruction of war was clear. In some villages there wasn’t a house intact. There are many German vehicles wrecked on the sides of
the roads, and some of ours.
“‘I know you worry, Mother, but don’t worry too much yet. I’m a little cold and a little hungry, but otherwise in great shape. Keep praying and maybe God will listen to you. It will be a good thing if He does. Love, Jack.’”
“It doesn’t work.” Grand-Paul lifted his chin. “Jackson’s voice sounds too old. The letters were written by a young man.”
“I know, but the viewers will understand. They know that he’s…” Then Ava paused as a new idea filled her head. She turned to Dennis. “You.” She pointed.
He leaned forward, resting his arms on the tabletop. “What are you talking about?”
“I think you should be the one to read the letters.” She rose and removed her sweater and placed it on the back of the chair. Excitement caused the hairs on the back of her neck to rise. For the first time that day a smile bubbled out from inside.
“Yes, that’ll work!” Grand-Paul gripped Dennis’s shoulder.
“What is this, video by committee?” Dennis shook his head, and he didn’t seem amused.
“No, really. We should try.” Grand-Paul scooted the letters across the table to Dennis.
“Grandpa, are you okay with it?” Ava searched his face for any sign of disappointment.
His smile brightened. “Fine by me. Maybe Dennis will breathe some life into those old words.”
Ava turned the camera and focused in on Dennis. He glanced up at her and then let out a sigh.
“Ready?”
“Well, ma’am, don’t really think I have a choice, do I?” He winked and then held them up to read. It surprised her, first his going along and then his playful attitude. What had changed?
He looked over the letters at her, and her stomach grew warm, as if she’d just downed a hot cup of coffee. She studied his face and was reminded again how handsome he was. She also wondered why she’d been so adamant about following her own plans so long ago. How could she have turned her back on him?
In the corner of her eye she noticed Grand-Paul’s eyes on her. He had no doubt noticed her looking at Dennis, for a wide grin filled his face. Ava quickly looked away and focused instead on the camera, pretending to make sure all the settings were right.
Dennis started with the first two letters that her grandfather had already read. They sounded fine, but she still wasn’t sure if it was that much of an improvement.
“Okay, now try these new letters, and really think about being here.” She pointed to the window. “Or rather out there in the Belgium countryside, cold, scared, alone.”
“Alone.” Dennis cocked one eyebrow and pursed his lips. “I can understand that feeling.” He cleared his throat. “Ready?”
Ava nodded and twirled her finger in the air to show that she was already rolling.
“‘December 26, 1944. Dear Mom and Dad,’” Dennis read. His voice was soft, hesitant.
“‘I know it is not polite to ask for Christmas presents, but is there any way you could send me a wool hat to wear under my helmet? There are some that protect your head and neck and have small holes for your eyes and mouth. Also, don’t be concerned if my letters become less frequent. Know that I’m thinking of you all back home. We all think of those far away. Sometimes I write letters to you in my mind, saying all the things I don’t have time to write or can’t write because of censorship.
“‘There’s so much I want to tell you. I’ve never felt so alone in my life. My friends are with me, but there’s something wrong deep inside. I can’t explain it. Maybe that’s what war is. As much of a battle within as outside in this frozen place. Love, Jack.’”
“Wow,” Ava whispered. “Read this last one just like that. It was great.” She looked at her grandfather, and for a moment she saw that scared kid peeking out from his gaze.
Dennis nodded.
“‘January 2, 1945, Belgium. Dear Dad, I’m not sure why I’m here. I wish I could be anyplace but here. Something awful has happened in a place called Chenogne. I can’t tell you—’”
“Not that one.” Her grandfather’s voice interrupted Dennis’s words. “I didn’t mean to put that one in there.” Her grandfather reached for the letter. His face took on an ashen hue.
Before Ava understood what was happening, her grandfather ripped the letter from Dennis’s hand and pushed back from the table, stood, and then turned. He moved more quickly than Ava had seen him move in years.
“Grandpa, wait!” The cord was stretched between the camera and the wall, and before Ava could get to them, her grandfather’s leg and the cord connected.
She saw him going down, and she sucked in a breath, not believing what she was seeing. She stood and reached but couldn’t get to him in time. He tumbled to the ground. His arm hit first, then his shoulder, and finally his head. His head bounced off the floor with a crack.
A gasp escaped Ava’s mouth, and then her hands covered her face.
Grandpa Jack moaned from the impact. Dennis sank to the floor, cupping her grandfather’s head in his hands.
“Go to the front desk. Have them get a doctor.”
Chapter Sixteen
It had been a long night. Even before Ava could get to the front desk, the waitress had alerted the manager. The village doctor had visited, declaring that Grandpa Jack was bruised but fine. Ava had stayed up most of the night watching him and somehow also managed to put together the second video, sending it off.
She’d used footage of her grandfather and Grand-Paul talking about the freezing winter, about how many of the towns in this area had been destroyed, and about how it felt good to see them fixed up.
Then, as images of the countryside, the American flags, and the memorials flashed on the screen, she added audio from the letter Dennis read. He’d done a good job of sounding like a young kid lost at war. They’d been together for two days, and he still was a stranger to her—a ghost from the past who haunted her with his presence and turned invisible whenever she tried to get close.
Even with little sleep, Ava roused herself by 7 a.m. to make sure she made it to the town square by 8 a.m. to videotape the chiming of the clock. The May air was cool and the square was quiet. All around her, shopkeepers were getting ready for the day. The only place that was already receiving traffic was the small bakery two doors down from the hotel. Old women, young women with strollers, and small boys holding fresh bread strolled through town. It seemed like such a simple life—so different from Seattle—and a longing tugged at her heart, surprising her. She videotaped some of the town too. Not for the videos, but for her. To remember.
She counted down the time with the clock and turned on her video camera as it got close. When the minute hand clicked to the twelve, the “Star-Spangled Banner” chimed again and emotion filled her throat.
When the chiming stopped, she packed up her things and walked back to the hotel. As she approached, she noticed Dennis leaning against the rental car, his arms folded on the roof and his face buried in his arms. His shoulders shook, as if he was laughing, but from his position, it had to be tears. She quickened her pace, the weariness of the night slipping away.
As she crossed the street, the wind picked up. Ava took a hair tie from her wrist and pulled her hair back. Her heart seemed to double in size at the sight of Dennis—his tan neck and the way his dark hair curled so slightly at the nape. His broad shoulders. His arms. He was strong, but at this moment he looked like a lost little boy.
“Hey there.” Ava placed her hand on his arm. “Are you okay?”
He wiped at his face and then patted her hand. His eyes were puffy and bloodshot.
“Dennis, what’s wrong?” Her brow furrowed and her heart quickened, knowing what it had to be. “Is it Grand-Paul? Is he all right?”
Dennis rubbed his forehead. “My grandpa hadn’t zipped his suitcase all the way and his medication fell out. I’d seen him taking stuff every day, but I didn’t know what it was till I picked it up. There were a lot of different things. Not your typical blood pressure stuff. Ava
, I came down to the hotel lobby and used their computer—I didn’t want to wake him up by getting my computer out. I looked it up and I discovered that the medication he’s on is for cancer patients.”
Ava’s knees weakened. “Cancer?”
“It gets worse. He doesn’t want treatment. The doctor has given him less than a year—that’s if everything goes well. The medication is just to help with some of the symptoms and for pain.”
Dennis opened his arms to her. Looking into his face, she didn’t see the man who’d tried so hard to keep her at arm’s length. Instead, she saw the eighteen-year-old boy she had fallen in love with. Without hesitation, she stepped into his embrace. His shoulders trembled again.
Her breath stuck in her throat, and she tried to think of something to say. Something to comfort him. There was nothing. She felt his pain, but there was nothing she could do to fix this.
Not counting the quick hug at the airport, this was their first embrace in fifteen years, but it wasn’t exactly like she had imagined. She pictured Grand-Paul’s face. During this trip, she’d noticed his need for extra help, his pallor, but she couldn’t wrap her mind around the idea he didn’t have much time. His mind was so sharp. And her grandfather. How would he go on? First losing his wife and now his best friend?
Leaning on Dennis’s strength, she felt his chest rise and fall quickly, as if he was trying to hold sobs in. She focused on the beating of his heart, for a time forgetting where they were and the answers she was trying to uncover.
“Oh, Dennis.” She wanted to say more but didn’t know how. “I’m so sorry.”
“I’m sorry too. Why didn’t he tell me, Ava?” Dennis’s breath was warm on her hair. “Why did he hide it?”
“He didn’t want to worry you.”
“He said he needed this last trip. He said he was looking for an answer to something but didn’t say what. He also said coming here was for me more than him.”
“A last trip for the two of you together.”