They each smiled in agreement.
“And we have until midnight on Christmas—” Randy said.
“—in memory of Jesse’s favorite holiday,” Ava interrupted.
“Perfect,” Izzy muttered.
Again, they each agreed.
“The kind act cannot cost money,” Ava added.
“Our own money, you mean?” Kevin interrupted. “We should be allowed to get others to donate, right?”
Ava nodded. They each followed suit.
“Okay then,” Izzy said, “let’s go honor Jesse.”
“…and win a whole dollar,” Randy joked.
“…and maybe four lives worth living,” Ava concluded.
The following day, the four friends met Professor McKee on the quad and let her in on their plan.
With a proud smile, she nodded. “I honestly can’t think of a better way to honor the memory of a friend,” she said. “And if you ask me, Jesse’s still giving, isn’t he?”
Each set of eyes filled with tears.
Gooseberry Island
They met at the worst possible moment…or maybe it was just in time. David McClain was about to go to war and Lindsey Wood was there at his going-away party, capturing his heart when falling for a woman was the last thing on his mind. While David was serving his country, he stayed in close contact with Lindsey. But war changes a person, and when he came home very little had the same meaning that it had before – including the romance that had sustained him. Was love truly unconquerable, or would it prove to be just another battlefield casualty?
Gooseberry Island is the most nuanced, dramatic, and romantic novel yet from a writer whose ability to plumb the depths of human emotion knows few peers.
A Note from the Author
In 1991, I served in Operation Desert Storm as a squad leader of a U.S. Army Military Police Unit (14th MP Brigade, 7th Corps) in Iraq. By being there in person, my perspective of the Persian Gulf War was very different from the sanitized version CNN opted to show the rest of the world. Men died and children were slaughtered by land mines—just some of the evidence of the hefty costs associated with freedom.
After the hundred hours of ground fighting in the Middle East, friends were made and lost, battles were waged on an internal front, and promises were broken. Though most soldiers returned home visibly whole, what they brought with them as a result of experimental vaccines, radioactive depleted uranium and pent-up rage was nearly impossible to carry. It was a just cause; babies were being tossed from hospital incubators in Kuwait. Our problem was the way our own government chose to complete the deal. The lack of treatment was criminal.
As time built scar tissue and I contemplated the brutal desert experience, I realized that not all war wounds are visible, nor are they all suffered on the battlefield. War is a state of mind and a man cannot live in two worlds at one time. Eventually, there has to be a truce.
In the end, the human trauma and tragedy I witnessed helped to define who I am, while also inspiring me to live my life to the fullest. But I was one of the lucky ones.
I chose the novel’s excerpt because it brings the reader right smack into the middle of the real war; a combat-weary soldier returning home. Trust me, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder can be concealed well, but it refuses to be ignored. Depression, anxiety and difficulties transitioning back into normal life have often proven too much for many soldiers, sailors, airmen and marines—who have inevitably taken their own lives.
Gooseberry Island, and the excerpt I’ve chosen, is intended to bring awareness to the weight that many veterans carry. One way to bring about real change is to share knowledge and educate people; and the effects of war are a lifelong nightmare.
An excerpt from Gooseberry Island
David was walking with his friend Al on the beach. They were joking and laughing. “I think I’m pregnant,” Al said, rubbing his belly. “The blood tests should be in soon though.” He shook his head. “There were so many guys at the party I’m not even sure who the father is.”
Suddenly, there was a loud explosion. While a cloud of dust was still settling, David screamed, “I’m sorry, Big Al. It should have been me.”
Al shook his head again, but this time there was a strange look in his eyes. Sympathy, I think.
Al pointed to David’s left leg, which was now a bloodied stump. “Your turn, McClain,” he said and started laughing.
David awakened, clutching his chest and trying to breathe. He jumped out of bed on two healthy legs and fought desperately to fill his lungs with air and hang onto life. His head wasn’t pounding. Rather, it was growing numb with a thousand confusing thoughts—a tornado of doom and gloom creating fragments of hideous pictures with just enough reality to be absolutely and completely terrifying. His palpitating heart was racing so fast that his extremities—hands, feet, fingers, toes, and even the tip of his nose—began tingling. Pure and relentless panic was rushing from his core, filling his entire body with a fight or flight response from something that existed only in the darkest recesses of his mind. It was self-preservation in the face of peace.
An hour later, David was sitting on a gurney. The balding emergency room doctor entered, holding a chart and smiling. “I have great news. We can’t find any evidence of a heart attack. It was probably just a panic attack.”
“Can’t be…” David said.
“These attacks are sometimes caused by the building tensions of everyday life,” the doctor explained. “Anything could have triggered the attack.” He studied David’s face. “Anything new going on—something that might be causing lots of stress?”
David shook his head, playing the dunce.
“I think you should go talk to someone,” the doctor advised.
“I’ll go see my primary care physician tomorrow,” David said.
“That’s great, but I was thinking more along the lines of a therapist.”
David looked at the man in disbelief. As the doctor left the room, David collapsed back onto the gurney, placed his hands over his eyes and let out a wounded grunt.
David pulled the shiny Mustang into his driveway. He stepped out of the car and watched as the Welcome flag waved in the wind. From the greeting sign and lawn ornaments in the front of the house to the pristine patio out back, it was the perfect picture of happy, middle class America. Looking at the manicured lawn and his mother’s flawless flowerbeds, David reached his front stairs and snickered. What bullshit! He slammed the door behind him.
~~~
A full week had passed. David sat quietly, staring out the kitchen window and way beyond whatever lay in the yard. Not so much a dreamer any more, he was reliving the same nightmares over and over and over.
It only took a second to change the outcome of an entire lifetime. He thought about the Afghani boy who’d been beaten to death. …or several lifetimes.
David continued to stare out his kitchen window. My life is in complete chaos, but maybe if I tried talking to Lindsey? He shook his head. No, he thought, it wouldn’t be fair.
Though distinct, the front door softly closed. Uninterested, he continued to stare into nothingness. He smelled Lindsey’s perfume wafting through the stale air before he ever saw her. He looked up to find her standing in the middle of his kitchen. Her eyes were filled with tears, the left one purple and black. She’s been hurt, he thought, and took a deeper look into her eyes. But I’ve hurt her more. There was a piece of him, a very subdued piece that was beyond excited to see her again. And then reality hit. I wish she didn’t see me like this.
“I thought you were supposed to meet me at our bench?” she said sadly.
A dream from a long-forgotten time, he thought, shrugging. “Sorry,” he whispered.
His baby face had been replaced with a man’s chiseled features. And his hazel eyes no longer sparkled, his love for life extinguished somewhere in Afghanistan.
“So you made it home,” she said, breaking the terrible silence.
He nodded. “I did.”<
br />
“I hope you don’t mind,” Lindsey said, “but when I heard that you’d come home I asked Craig to let me see you. Please don’t be mad at him.”
He shook his head, the tears building fast behind his eyes. “Of course not.” He stood and took a step toward her. “I’m sorry, Lindsey,” he said, “but…”
She threw up her hand, stopping him from getting any closer. “No need to be sorry, David. If you didn’t want to see me, all you had to do was be honest.”
“It’s not that at all,” he swore, the first few tears breaking free. “I’ve never lied to you. It’s just that… You don’t understand.” He was already struggling to take in oxygen.
“Of course I don’t understand, David,” she said, her voice changing from sorrow to anger. “And how could I unless you explained it to me?”
David considered this and shook his head. Life had dropped him to his knees and the view was very different now. A full night spent on a park bench is much different from that same night on a rooftop, he thought. His innocence had been replaced by a harsh maturity. Things are different now. I’m different.
“Just because I didn’t experience what you experienced doesn’t mean I’m not here for you,” she said and began to cry.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated, unable to say anything more. He was just trying to breathe.
“Oh David,” she squealed and hurried out of the kitchen, shutting the front door behind her.
I’m sorry, Lindsey, he thought, and began to weep mournfully—while gasping for air.
~~~
The following night, David sat for supper with his mom and Craig.
“I have a job interview this week,” Betty told her boys proudly.
“Good for you, Ma,” Craig said, reaching for the large bowl of pasta.
“Your dad never wanted me to work, so I’ve never been on an interview. I’m a little nervous.”
“You’ll do great, Ma,” David said. “It’s about time you got out there and lived for yourself.”
The woman smiled gratefully.
“When are you going to tell me what it was like over there?” Craig blurted to David, changing the subject. “I’ve been asking for a week and you…”
Betty slapped Craig’s arm, stopping him.
“It’s okay, Ma,” David said and took a deep breath. “It sucked pretty bad I guess.”
Craig slid to the edge of his seat. “Yeah, I know that. But what happened when you first…”
David’s mind began to drift. He couldn’t help it. His breathing quickened and beads of sweat formed on his brow. Aware of his lack of concentration and the fact that he couldn’t stop squirming, he eventually stood and cleared his throat. “I need to use the bathroom,” he said and hurried out of the kitchen.
David rushed to the bathroom and closed the door behind him. He splashed cold water on his face and then stared deeply into the mirror. “What is wrong with me?” he asked his frightened reflection. “Dear God, what in the hell is wrong with me?”
Avoiding any further conversation, David left the bathroom and sat in the living room recliner. He threw on the TV and, while Craig and his mom gave him his space, worked on calming his breathing. In desperate need of peace, he decided, Sleep, and lots of it, is probably best. It took nearly an hour, but he finally nodded off in the recliner.
Suddenly, David flew from the chair and opened his mouth to yell for help. He didn’t. Instead, he fell into a heap and began to cry. While his sweaty, trembling hands covered his face, he tried to catch his breath. He thought about telling Craig or his mother to call for an ambulance. No, he thought, no hospital. He climbed back into the chair. Am I going crazy, or is it some disease spreading through my body?
Minutes later, when the cruel wave had completely washed over him, he sat up to face another long bout with insomnia. It was becoming a nightly routine for him. He felt so alone.
~~~
Halfway across Gooseberry Island, Lindsey lay in bed staring out her window into the star-filled sky. How could I have felt so much closer to you when you were halfway around the world? she asked David in her mind. And now you’re only a few miles away, but you might as well be on Mars. She shook her head, breaking the first tears free. I miss you like crazy and I have to believe that you miss me too. On the verge of sobbing, she watched as the North star flickered brightly. Don’t you still see what I see, David? she asked in her mind. Don’t you still want us? She wept like a child.
~~~
The following afternoon, David found himself in his own trusted physician’s office. Doctor Lauermann was a tanned, well-conditioned medicine man who was easy to talk to. “There’s no evidence of heart trauma,” Dr. Lauermann reported. “It’s probably just anxiety.”
“Just?” David asked, surprised. David was falling apart and felt ready for tears. He thought about his old friend, Coley. I need to go see him.
A half hour later, David and Coley sat in the gleaming rag top. “Are you sure you’re not going to march in the parade?” Coley asked. “The whole island wants to give you and Max a hero’s welcome home.”
David shook his head. “Not a chance in hell.” He looked at Coley. “Did they already ask Max?”
Coley nodded and then grinned. “He said the same exact thing.”
David nodded.
“So what’s eating at you?” Coley asked.
David opened his mouth to answer but couldn’t. He realized, Coley will never understand. He looked at his friend. “I have to go,” he said.
Coley shook his head. “I’m here for you, you know,” he said.
“I know,” David said, “and I appreciate it.” And if I ever need pointers on picking up girls, you’ll be the first one I come see, he thought, smiling.
Coley nodded and jumped out of the Mustang.
It’s Captain Eli who I need to see, David thought.
A half hour later, David was standing on the bow of SEPENDIPITY with Captain Eli.
“I don’t know what it is, Captain Eli. I feel so different now. There’s nothing really wrong, nothing going on, but I’m down. I’m always down and—” he shook his head, “—when I’m not, I feel like I’m having a heart attack.”
“You need counseling, David. I mean, my God, from the letter you sent me, there’s some pretty heavy stuff you need to process before you can get beyond Afghanistan.” He looked into his friend’s eyes. “You can only carry so much weight, David, before you break your back.”
David inhaled deeply. “But I was trained for everything that happened over there.”
Captain Eli reached into his wallet and pulled out a business card. He handed the card to David. “His name’s Brad Perry. I’ve been seeing him for years.” Captain Eli shrugged. “What can it hurt?” he asked.
David looked at the card. Without thinking, he pulled out his wallet and slid it in. For years? he thought. What can it help?
A few golden nuggets of wisdom later, David headed back for the Mustang—feeling as lost as ever.
~~~
Surrendering to grief and despair, it was as if Denis Wood was forfeiting the rest of his God-given days on earth. Lindsey wished she could help him, but she’d tried everything she could think of. His scars were deep and the wounds beneath them dark and festering.
Weeks had already turned into months and he was still at the VA Hospital, still cut off from her and the rest of the world.
The bloody nose and black eye were long gone when Lindsey finally went to see him. “Are you ever going to get out of here, or are you planning to stay forever?” she asked him.
He could barely look at her. “Seems it might be best for everyone if I stay locked up.”
“I disagree,” she said, and her hard tone forced him to look up.
“I…I…” He couldn’t articulate his feelings into words.
She took a seat at the edge of his bed and peered into his eyes. “Dad, I understand. It’s okay.”
“How is it okay, Lindsey?” he as
ked, almost at a scream. “What kind of father hits his daughter…the person he loves most in this world?” He shook his sorrowful head. “You’ve been there for me every step of the way and it hasn’t been a fun trip…for either of us.” He pointed to her eye. “And how do I repay you? I…”
“You didn’t mean it,” she interrupted.
“What difference does that make?”
“All the difference in the world, Dad. You have PTSD and I understand that. If you had diabetes, would I get angry at you when your sugar got low?”
“So it’s okay for me to slap you around when I don’t have my wits about me?”
“Not at all!” she answered defiantly. She looked at him and softened her tone. “We obviously need to come up with a better strategy, but you need to let go of your guilt for this. You need to forgive yourself.” She grabbed his hands and kissed his forehead. “Because I’ve already forgiven you.”
He opened his mouth to reply but couldn’t. Instead, he started to cry. At first, it was a few tears that he tried to conceal. And then he began to sob, harder than Lindsey had ever seen him. The pain was so intense, it was just oozing out of him.
She held onto his hands and cried hard right along with him. “We’ll be okay, Dad,” she whimpered. “Everything’s going to be okay.”
In truth, she knew that their relationship had been reduced to small talk, Boston Red Sox statistics and an occasional visit to a safely selected memory. But it’s something, she thought. And he needs to know that he’s not alone.
~~~
David had been home for six weeks when he pulled into the market, preparing to locate everything on his mother’s grocery list. As he approached the store, he spotted a young teenage boy walking out; he was holding a brown bag. An older man approached the boy and reached out his hand. David gasped and his dizzy mind immediately raced back to Afghanistan and the horrific beating of the young Afghani boy:
There was movement three hundred yards out on the street below. Unusual, David thought. It was a teenage boy, maybe fourteen, carrying a burlap bag and hurrying home before dark. Never seen him before, David thought.
Goodnight, Brian Page 27