Marcel and Marcus acknowledged Truely silently with somber handshakes. “Man,” Marcel finally said. “This ain’t right.”
Truely agreed.
“Me and Marcus got to get back to work,” Marcel said. “We’re working for Gordo’s old man these days. Jerry put us on his construction crews on a trial basis. We just came by to see Mrs. M. Pay our respects.”
Truely nodded.
“Man, look who the cat dragged in,” Marcus interrupted. “How long it been since you laid eyes on him?”
“You know who that is, don’t you?” Marcel asked Truely, nodding in the direction of a sullen young black kid, sitting off to himself, wearing large — Truely assumed fake — diamond earrings. He was a good-looking kid in a would-be gangster sort of way. A do-rag around his neck. Short braids poking out under his ball cap. He had a handsome angular face. It looked like if you dressed him in khakis and a polo shirt he could probably pull it off just fine. Not that he would want to.
“Don’t know him,” Truely said.
“That’s Arnold Carter,” Marcel said. “He was like Gordo’s shadow, man. He made all-conference safety his sophomore year. They wrote him up in all the papers. Looked like maybe he was going to have a future.”
“What happened?” Truely asked.
“He blew it.”
“Blew it how?”
“I know you don’t got to ask me that, man. How you think?”
Truely watched Marcus and Marcel make their exit, pausing to shake hands with the moody-looking kid. “Good to see you, Arnold,” Marcus said. “Everything going be okay, man. Gordo gon beat this thing.”
“Yeah. It is what it is.” Marcel shrugged.
After Marcel and Marcus left, Truely found himself walking over to the terrace bench near where this young guy, Arnold, sat slumped over, staring at his shoes, lost in thought. Truely was really trying to get someplace quiet where he wouldn’t have to talk. This guy looked angry and silent enough to be a safe bet. Truely’s headache was getting pretty bad. He reached in his pocket and got his cell phone to check his messages. Three from Courtney. He’d call her back later.
“Man, you got a cigarette?” Arnold was looking at him.
“No.” Truely was thinking this kid was too young to smoke.
“It’s all right. I don’t really smoke. Just something to do.”
“I know what you mean.” Truely put out his hand. “I’m Truely Noonan.”
“Arnold Carter.” The kid stood and shook Truely’s hand. “You the guy that goes with Shauna?”
“Right,” Truely said. “And you?”
“Me and Gordo grew up together — he’s a few years ahead of me. We started out over in Sunnyland Park, you know, before his old man hit the big time and they moved over to Crystal Lakes, long time before they moved on over here. Gordo’s old man got them going upwardly mobile, you might say, about the time my old man bottomed out.”
“What happened?” Truely was not particularly curious.
“He went and got hisself shot. His own brother killed him.”
“That’s rough,” Truely said.
“According to my mama it was just a matter of time before somebody bound to get a gun and shoot him.”
“Pretty cold,” Truely said.
“My old man, he wasn’t no prize. Nobody ever tried to tell me different.”
“That the way you remember him?”
“I was too scared of him to remember much. He used to beat on my mama bad — slap me across the room if I cried about it. He was mean. I remember that.”
“Sorry,” Truely said.
“None of us gets to pick out our old man — just the luck of the draw. Me — I drew a losing hand.”
It looked like Truely was wrong about Arnold. Arnold was turning out to be a talker. Truely really needed to get something for his splitting headache.
“After my old man kicked off, Mama and my sister, they moved into public housing over in Bay Vista. Mrs. M. — Suleeta — she let me stay with Gordo most of that next school year. I been staying with them on and off pretty much ever since. Gordo is older and all, but he always got my back. We like brothers.”
“I didn’t know you used to live with the Mackeys.” It struck Truely as odd that he had never heard this story before.
“Yeah, man. This like my second home over here. All my life I been thinking, damn, man, Gordo is one lucky dude. Everything go right for Gordo. Jerry, he’s a hard-ass, but he look out for Gordo. I seen that. And his mama — she the mama everybody wish they got.”
“What about your own mother?”
“She’s messed up, man. I never could expect nothing from her — no help or nothing. After my old man got hisself killed she started looking to me to help her out. I was just a kid — but she didn’t have nobody else to look to. I don’t hold it against her. Everybody got issues, right?”
“I guess so.”
“When I hear the news about Gordo getting caught in that bombing, man, I can’t believe it. Nothing bad ain’t supposed to happen to Gordo. He’s supposed to be the lucky one.” Arnold stuck both his hands deep into his low-slung pants pockets and shook his head in disbelief. “Me and Gordo, we went down to the army recruiter together. We was both going to join up.”
“What happened?”
“I spent time in juvenile, so that kicked me out. Besides, I told them I was almost eighteen. I looked as grown as Gordo, but I wasn’t but fifteen.”
“Guess you’re glad about that about now.”
“Naw, man. I wish we was both over there together. I always wanted to go in the military. My uncle is a career guy. He’s got a good life too.”
“So, what are you doing these days?”
“Trying to finish school. I got behind, you know?”
“How’s it going?”
“I ain’t cut out for school. That school is worthless anyway — pretty much everybody drop out. Suleeta make Gordo finish high school. Now she want me to finish too. I promised her, even though that school ain’t nothing but a hell hole. Suleeta want me to get away from here when I get done — go up to Sacramento or someplace. They got plenty of work up there. But now this mess happened to Gordo I don’t want to leave. I told Suleeta when Gordo comes home if he needs somebody to help lift him out the bed, or into his wheelchair or the bathtub or what have you — well, I sure would like to have that job. I think maybe we work it out.”
“Good.” Truely patted Arnold’s shoulder. “Sorry, man, but I got to go find some aspirin or something. Got a bad headache.”
“Suleeta keep some aspirin in the cabinet over top the kitchen sink,” he said. “She got her own little pharmacy in there.”
“Thanks. Good to talk to you.” Truely should have said good to listen to you since Arnold had done most of the talking. Truely was not lying though, his head was about to bust open. He made his way back to the kitchen. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a headache like this.
TWO EXTRA STRENGTH EXCEDRIN later Truely was standing in the den listening to Jerry talk about what he was going to take to Germany with him that might help lift Gordo’s spirits — CDs, a photo album of favorite old shots and recent ones, a batch of Suleeta’s homemade Mexican wedding cookies — his favorite — a couple of Playboy magazines which Jerry would have to sneak in and not let Suleeta see, a Chargers press guide and jersey, handwritten notes from his buddies, a video of today with personalized messages from all the people who loved him. The list was long. Jerry had already gathered most of it. It was good, Shauna said, because it kept him busy. Her father was a goal-oriented man, she explained — he liked to have a plan and to execute it.
When Pablo walked over to them Truely understood by instinct alone who he was — a lean, muscular man, not too tall, with square features and an easy smile. “How’s it going, old man?” He slapped Jerry’s back affectionately. It was Jerry who introduced Truely. It was the inevitable moment when Shauna’s past collided with her present. But was her pa
st also colliding with her future? That was the unspoken question. Truely noticed Jerry’s unremarkable introduction. “Pablo, meet Truely Noonan. Truely, this is Pablo Sullivan.” The two men shook hands. “What’s up?” they said in near unison.
“I know you’re putting together some things for Gordo,” Pablo said to Jerry. “I got the Chargers highlight film — if you can call that Chinese fire drill highlights — from last season. Gordo might like it. He’s got a little DVD player over there, right?”
“I got him a new one.” Jerry took the DVD from Pablo and put it in his jacket pocket. “I need to get both you guys on video,” he said. “Wait right here. Let me get my camera.” Like that, Jerry was off on the continuation of his mission.
“So.” Pablo was the first to think of something to say. “Shauna tells me you got a real nice place in San Fran. Got one hell of a good view, she says.” So Shauna had mentioned Truely and Pablo was letting him know that.
“I like it. It’s not decorated to Shauna’s standards, of course,” he joked. “The location is a lot nicer than the actual building. Building needs some renovation.”
“I’m thinking about buying a condo from Jerry. You seen that development he’s got over near La Mesa?”
“No,” Truely said.
“It’s nice. A little pricey. It’d be a stretch, but I been renting too damn long. A man needs to own something. Just got to throw caution to the wind and dive in. I just never liked the idea of a mortgage hanging over my head.”
“Yeah,” Truely said, “a mortgage can keep a guy sober for sure.” He wished he’d phrased that differently, but there was no sign Pablo took offense.
Pablo cracked his knuckles and glanced around. “This is a damn shame, man. Gordo is one hell of a good guy.”
“He is,” Truely agreed.
“Thing about Gordo is — you know — he really wanted to do something with his life. This wasn’t just some fool thing he did on a lark, to get out of going to college like Shauna thinks. Gordo joined the army because he really wanted to stand up and be counted, do something that mattered. He was disappointed as hell when he got that damn kitchen assignment. He had his heart set on being a soldier in the field. He saw himself doing something to make a difference — being a true hero. It sounds sort of corny but that was Gordo, man.”
“Every kid that ships out to Iraq is a hero — that’s the way I see it,” Truely said.
“Hard for Shauna to see that right now. She wishes he’d never signed up.”
“What’s happened to him — it’s everybody’s worst nightmare, I guess.”
“Gordo’s got to pull through. The rest — whatever it is — we’ll take it. Just as long as he lives to come home.”
“Amen,” Truely said. “You wish you could do something.”
“I’ll tell you one thing. Gordo is a fighter — like Shauna. Those two — you can’t make those two say uncle.”
“Okay, guys,” Jerry called from across the room. “One at a time. I want to get you on camera.”
“You go ahead,” Truely said.
“Okay, man. Good to meet you.” Pablo slapped Truely on the back and made his way across the room to where Jerry waited with his camera pressed to his face.
Truely wandered into the dining room and took a paper plate from the stack. He dished up a couple of tamales and was headed back out to the terrace to sit among the strangers and eat something. He had not eaten all day and hunger was beginning to gnaw at him. That was probably what brought on his headache in the first place — hunger. He saw Shauna in the kitchen on the phone, fielding yet another condolence call. She blew him a kiss.
He would like to be locked away with Shauna — maybe in his room at Town and Country, just the two of them — grieving privately. Saying prayers of their own — together. Lighting a few candles and watching them flicker in the darkness. Maybe they could talk. He would be a good listener and comfort her to the best of his ability. He remembered how Jesse had come through for him when his father died — and later his mother. He could not even think about their deaths without thinking of Jesse too. He could do that for Shauna, he thought. He wanted to try.
It was hard to think of someone as high-octane as Gordo dying — impossible really. But Gordo would certainly be seriously changed — damaged — and the battle to recovery would be the greatest battle of his life, maybe even dwarfing the war itself. Recovery would be slow and discouraging at the very least. Maybe Truely could help most by being there for Gordo after he got home. Maybe he could lend a hand in some part of his rehab, same as the kid out on the terrace, Arnold, wanted to. But until then he wanted to lie down with Shauna and let her sleep in his arms.
Shauna caught his eye across the room. She was still talking on the phone, waving her free hand to get his attention. She mouthed the word Mama and pointed down the hall, where Truely could see Suleeta standing in her bedroom doorway. He nodded that he understood. When he passed Shauna in the kitchen she reached out and squeezed his hand.
Truely walked down the hall carrying his plate of tamales. Suleeta stood with her back to him, her shoulders rounded, her hair messy, as though she had been lying down and was startled awake. He spoke her name and put his arm around her. “Can I get you to share a couple of tamales with me?”
“Oh, True.” She called him that because Shauna did. “Hey, niño.” She laid her head against his shoulder and took a deep breath.
“How you doing, Suleeta?” Truely had never really stood this close to Shauna’s mother before. He could smell the slightly sweaty odor of grief in her hair. He could hear the heaviness in her voice when she spoke and see the fluidity of hope in her red-rimmed eyes. “You’re a good mother, Suleeta,” he said quietly. “You make me miss my own mother. Gordo is lucky to have you here praying for him.”
“All these candles,” Suleeta said. “I keep them burning for Gordo.”
“A mother’s prayers are the most powerful of all.” Truely believed it because his own mother had been known to bring on small miracles with her insistent prayers. He had witnessed it for himself.
“I want to show you something,” Suleeta said. “Come here. I want you to see this.” She led Truely into the bedroom and closed the door. “Did you see today’s paper?”
“Not yet.” He had bought a paper that morning but it was in his car waiting to be read on his late flight back to San Francisco.
“You need to read this,” she said. “A sign from God.”
“Another write-up on Gordo?” He had seen the one that came out two days ago, a big picture and an article on Gordo’s courage and the injuries sustained. According to the article he was driving a truck transporting food supplies from the airstrip back to the mess hall and a parked car blew up just as his truck pulled alongside it, stopping to let another car pass which — coincidently or intentionally — trapped his truck. Wham! Before anybody could think. Gordo’s two feet gone and most of one leg. Fingers missing on his right hand. The soldier riding shotgun was killed.
Suleeta took his plate and motioned him to sit down in the chaise. She went to her dresser and picked up the newspaper there. “You believe in signs, yes, True?”
“Sometimes.” He did not say that he worried that he missed more signs than he intercepted — that his life might be a series of missed signs, so well or poorly camouflaged that they passed him unnoticed, unheeded and unhelpful.
“Look at this.” Suleeta handed him the paper. “First I see it on TV. I went to my knees, saying a Hail Mary. Then I look in the paper to see if they say anything about it and look, here it is. See?” She tapped a photo. “It’s the president.”
Truely studied the photo. It was a shot of President Bush jogging with a soldier who had lost both his legs in the war, one from the knee down, one from the thigh down. It showed the soldier jogging on springy metal devices — not fake legs, but metal attachments that seemed to put enough bounce in his step to allow him to simulate running. He was handsome too, the soldier — like
Gordo. Strong-looking.
“Wow,” Truely mumbled.
“Maybe they make these legs for Gordo? Yes?”
Truely pictured Gordo bouncing along on metal legs. He imagined him playing basketball, the added bounce enabling him to dunk the ball and hang from the rim that perfect few seconds. “I don’t see why not,” Truely said.
“This boy, he keeping right up with the president. See there?”
“Looks that way,” Truely said.
“Jerry should take this picture to show Gordo, yes? Tell Gordo never mind, he going to walk again.”
“Sure,” Truely said.
“God, he gives signs,” Suleeta insisted.
Truely nodded in agreement, although this was not his comfort zone, neither signs nor God. But he respected Suleeta’s spiritual certainty the same way he had respected his parents’ variation on the same.
“Gordo does not hate the president like Jerry do,” Suleeta said. “A soldier cannot afford to hate the man he’s fighting for. It mess up his mind too much. Gordo write me a letter one time and say so.”
“He’s probably right,” Truely said. “Good to stay positive.”
“The president do his best,” Suleeta said quietly. “I know that.” Before Truely could respond she said, “You never go to the military, no?”
“Never did.” Truely felt almost apologetic admitting it. No, he had never had his feet blown off and his mind and body jolted into a near-death state. “My dad was in Vietnam,” he said. “He told me some stories.”
“Very hard to be a hero,” Suleeta said.
“Yes,” Truely agreed.
Suleeta took the newspaper article out of his hand and put it back on the dresser. Her mood had shifted. “Good you could come see about Shauna. She appreciate you for coming.”
Suleeta was dark-haired like Shauna, only her hair was cut short and was still curly. Truely felt a new tenderness for this woman in her own right — a person. It seemed he had never fully noticed her before today. She was naive by conscious decision, he thought, a characteristic he was more than familiar with growing up in Mississippi. It was not something he admired really, but he accepted it with the perfect ease of the familiar. Normally life experience would not allow a woman of Suleeta’s age to remain so innocent unless she willed it with great determination. Suleeta was a woman who had chosen to believe only certain things despite all the evidence to the contrary. He didn’t know how she managed it. Even his own mother had been forced, on occasion, to yield to reality, although never for long.
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