by Paul Cwalina
“Anyway,” Frank continued. “My brother and his fellow soldiers knew that. That’s why they were headed toward that beach. But there was never a question in their mind about what they needed to do nor was there any whining from their mouths. Not one of them said that it wasn’t fair that they had to be there. They just went. They knew what had to be done and they just did it. So, anyway, the boat approached the beach. The gate opened and it became a ramp and they all began running down the ramp and through the water toward the beach. Well, they didn’t get five feet onto the beach when the guy...well, kid, really...next to my brother was hit.” Frank lifted his finger to his face and continued, “The bullet went through his left cheek right below his eye and then through his spine and out the back of his neck. He probably died instantly. Just like that his life was over. My brother didn’t stop to think or mourn. He just kept running onto the beach and into a rainstorm of bullets until he found cover and began returning fire. He was doing nothing less than defending himself and his freedom, my freedom and , even though you were years away from being born, he ran onto that beach for your freedom. Those guys, whether they were at Normandy that day or in northern Africa or on Iwo Jima or Guadalcanal fought, sacrificed their youth, some sacrificed their mental health, their sight or hearing or limbs to preserve the very freedom too many take for granted. And it wasn’t just those guys in World War Two or One, it was the soldiers in every war before and since from the American Revolution and up to today in Iraq and Afghanistan. They put their lives on the line for you and your freedom. Do you understand that, MIss? When my brother returned home after the war, he told me that story once and he would never talk about it again.”
Frank paused for a moment to think before continuing, “Miss, imagine you went to work for an entire year just to buy someone special a gift. Every paycheck you earned went solely to pay for that gift. Fifty-two weeks pass and the day finally arrives when you can give that person that special gift you worked so hard for. You wrap it nice and hand it to them and they just throw it away...right in front of you, right into the garbage. How would you feel?” Chelsea didn’t respond. Frank continued, “Now, imagine it wasn’t a year’s worth of work and paychecks. Imagine it was your life or your brother’s life that was given as payment. Now how would you feel?”
Chelsea had become quietly emotional. I saw her wipe her nose and stop a tear from falling. I put my arm around her shoulder and leaned in and said, “And this is why you should vote.”
“I’m speechless,” she replied. “I never thought of it that way. It just never occurred to me.”
“Miss,” Frank said, “When I hear of a person who doesn’t vote, it’s like they’re standing here and spitting on my brother’s grave.”
Chelsea seemed shocked at that thought. “I had no idea. I just never looked at it that way. I’m so sorry.”
“Mr. Makarevich is being humble,” I interjected. “He served in the Korean war.”
“Yes, I did. Proudly. It was my honor to do that for you, Miss. And some day, probably soon, I will be on the other side of this grass. I hope you won’t spit on my grave.”
“I promise,” she said. “I want to say ‘thank you’ to you and your brother, but that just seems so inadequate.”
“Like I said, it was my honor, Miss.”
“We have a picnic basket full of food and wine,” Chelsea offered. “I’d be honored if you would join us, Frank.”
“A picnic? Well, thank you, Miss, but picnics are for lovebirds.” Chelsea looked sharply at me “You two go ahead and enjoy it.”
“Well, then, thank you for sharing your brother’s story. It was an honor meeting you,” she said.
“The pleasure was all mine, Chelsea,” Frank said, reaching for her hand. “Mayor,” he continued and shook my hand.
“”Mr. Makarevich, thank you for everything,” I said.
“You’re welcome. Now watch my money over there at city hall, ok?”
“You got it.”
Chelsea and I turned and walked back to my car. Frank remained standing where he was and turned his attention back to his brother’s grave.
Chelsea took a few moments to process everything. “What a wonderful man,” she said.
“He certainly is.”
I drove to one of the city parks so Chelsea and I could enjoy the picnic lunch she prepared.
We sat down at a table in the partial shade of a maple tree and she began emptying the basket. She pulled out a wrapped plate of chicken, a large vine of grapes, a salad with lettuce, tomato, cucumbers and slivered carrots, a bottle of dressing, a baguette, a small bottle of wine, two glasses, two plates and two forks. We both unwrapped the food and helped ourselves to portions. Chelsea picked up the baguette and looked around the table. Then she looked back in the basket and said, “I can’t believe this. I forgot to pack a knife.”
“No big deal,” I said.
“Sorry,” she said and tore the bread in two and handed me the larger piece.
It had been a long time since I had simply enjoyed a meal in the peace of a lazy afternoon. Chelsea and I talked a little about the museum and Frank, but it was mostly small talk. I’m not sure if she hadn’t fully recovered from the night before or if we simply were too different to sustain a conversation.
It didn’t matter to me at that moment though. I felt a gentle breeze and the sun on the back of my neck, and for a brief hour or so I reveled in the opportunity to just be.
Chapter Nine
Diane and I had lunch together in my office the following day. She did what women do in the aftermath of their matchmaking efforts. She probed for reactions, feelings and so forth, not only for her own edification but to pass along to Chelsea, as well. I’m sure I disappointed her with my thoughts.
I couldn’t help but turn the tables on her and get some information about Chelsea. I always had a flair for the blunt when I needed information, so I simply asked, “What is Chelsea’s deal?”
“What do you mean?” asked Diane, a bit taken aback.
“Did she tell you how she went off on me on Saturday night? I mean out of the blue she started really ripping into me about sex and her body and whatever.”
“Oh,” Diane said, then she wiped her mouth and put her fork down. “Yeah, she mentioned that to me. She told me she apologized, right?”
“She did. I mean, we were fine yesterday when we were together”
Diane turned a bit serious and said, “We should talk about that.” She paused, then said, “Chelsea is a little different.”
“Oh, you’ve noticed that, too, Captain Obvious?” I said sarcastically.
“What? That’s she not one of those tramps that trolls the Good Knight?” she said indignantly.
That stung a bit. I got the feeling that was a shot more at me than those women. “I don’t need your judgement here, Diane,” I said and went back to eating my chef’s salad.
Diane put her hand on mine to stop me from eating and to get my attention. “Diane, that’s a great way to lose a hand,” I joked.
She didn’t smile or laugh, though. “I need you to be serious, right now, and listen to me,” she said. “And I mean listen, okay?”
I was a little concerned about her tone. I put down my fork, wiped my mouth and turned my chair toward her.
“Chelsea was in a long relationship that ended a couple years ago. It took us - her friends and family - a long time to get her back on her feet. She was devastated. She really thought Adam was ‘the one’.”
“Oh, she didn’t tell me that. She doesn’t talk about him,” I said.
“Of course she doesn’t. She knows you don’t want to hear about that, just like she doesn’t want to hear about Sarah. So, you better stop talking about Sarah. And stop calling her Sarah,” she said sternly.
“I only did that once.”
“That’s one time too many. Don’t do it again,” she said then continued, “I’m not surprised she doesn’t talk about it, though. It was brutally painful
for her.”
“You wouldn’t know it,” I said, as I picked up my fork and returned to eating. Diane followed my lead.
“Yeah, well, she’s finally put it behind her,” she said. “Maybe that’s why she’s being patient with you. She’s been there,” she said and then paused. “But the scars are still there. And the last thing she needs is you ripping them open again, okay? Do you hear me?”
“Ok, okay. I hear ya.”
“Anyway, part of those scars is the fact that she was intimate with him. She takes that a lot more seriously than what I’m sure you’re used to.”
“Yeah, she told me that this Adam guy was the only one she was ever with, physically. That can’t be true,” I said, not buying the innocence.
“Why can’t it be true?” she said, upset.
“She’s thirty-three years-old and she’s only been with one guy? Come on.”
“Why is that so hard to believe?” she asked, getting a little more upset with me.
“That’s just weird. Come on.”
“Excuse me? I’ve only ever been with my husband.”
I was stunned to hear that and wasn’t sure I bought it, yet. That just couldn’t be. We went to college together. “Get outta here,” I said dismissively.
Diane shook her head in disgust. “Why is that so hard to believe?”
“Come on. You never slept with anyone in college or until you got married? You never dated anyone before Jack?” I asked, persisting in my refusal to buy into her chastity.
“Sure I dated, but that doesn’t mean I slept with anybody.”
“Um...that’s what dating is,” I said a bit condescendingly. “At least it’s a big part of it.”
“What?” she asked and shook her head again in disgust. “You are so screwed up. Dating has nothing to do with sleeping together.”
“That’s just weird.”
“Oh, I’m the weird one? Those tramps at the Good Knight are the normal ones? Really?” she said, furious. “Listen to yourself.”
“Whatever. Anyway, I don’t know how to handle that,” I said, trying to calm down Diane.
“There’s nothing to handle. Just give her the respect she deserves.”
I was frustrated. The conversation was going nowhere. “Well, whatever. It doesn’t really matter. We both know this isn’t long-term.”
“How can you say that? You’ve had four dates with her.”
Yeah, and I’m usually in bed with the woman by the end of the second. “Come on, Diane. You know as well as I do that Chelsea is no political wife. That freakin’ blue hair isn’t going to fly in the world of politics and you know it.”
Diane was seething. “Are you kidding me? The hair again?”
“Diane, don’t start. You know what it would cost me. Just face it. Chelsea is no political wife. She’s no Sarah.”
Diane slammed her fork down. Her face grew instantly red. She had a reputation throughout city hall as the bulldog, but I never really saw her in action and never saw her this angry.
“I’ve had it. I’ve held my tongue long enough,” she said, then pointed her finger in my face as she continued, “Let me tell you something about your precious little Sarah. You think this Ryan guy is the first guy she’s been seeing behind your back since you’ve been together? He’s like number three or four that I’ve heard about. You have no idea what she’s like or who she really is. She’s had you fooled from the very beginning, but you’ve been too wrapped up in yourself to see it.”
I was instantly enraged at hearing these rumors again, especially from Diane. I stood up and swept my bowl off the table, sending it and what had remained in it flying across the room. “Don’t you ever say anything like that again! What? You can’t get me to like your little friend so you’re going to start spreading lies about Sarah?” I shouted. Then, towering over Diane, I pointed my finger in her face and continued, “You never liked Sarah. You’ve just been waiting for a chance to rip her apart.”
Diane stood and shouted right back, “Why do you think I didn’t like her, you idiot? Because I know her! I knew what she was doing. Everybody did. She’s probably just using this guy to help get her building ready.” She paused a moment then shouted again, “Wake up!”
“Get the hell outta here,” I yelled and pointed to the door.
“That’s fine with me. I’m taking the rest of the day off.”
“Good. Find something better to do than spreading rumors.”
“I don’t need this,” she said, as she slammed her chair into the table and stormed out of the office.
I cupped my hands around the edge of the table and flipped it over. I’d heard the rumors before, but Sarah always had an explanation. Besides, they were usually being spread by people who wanted to take her place. I never heard of them from Diane, though. If Diane didn’t know about them, if she didn’t tell me about them, then I felt good knowing that they weren’t true. I walked over to my desk sat down hard into my chair and my phone started ringing. After the sixth ring I realized that Diane must have really left and I picked it up. I knew it was an internal call from the line it came in on, so I curtly answered, “What?”
“What is going on over there?” Greg asked. “All of city hall has come to a complete stop listening to the screaming coming from your office. It’s echoing throughout the whole building”
“None of your business,” I said and slammed down the phone.
Jim appeared in my office doorway. “Sir, are you ok? We thought we heard a fight going on.”
I didn’t even look at him. I waved him off. “Nothing going on. Tell everybody to get back to work,” I barked.
I put my elbows on the desk and buried my face in my hands. I tried to calm myself by taking a couple of deep breaths. After a few minutes, I got up and started cleaning up the mess I made. After I got that done and lifted the table back up, I walked toward the office door on my way out for the day. Diane appeared on the doorway. We looked each other in the eye as I approached. She nervously said, “Look, I’m sorry...”
“Go to hell,” I said and walked right past her.
Because of our professional relationship, we had to talk to and deal with each other, but our personal relationship was never the same from that day forward.
Even with the falling out between Diane and me, Chelsea and I continued to see each other, but it was mostly because she simply insinuated herself into my life and I really had nothing else to do. There was no way she could fit into my life, especially not into my political career. Sarah was the political wife, not Chelsea.
I was well aware of Chelsea’s growing feelings for me. She wore her heart on her sleeve. And, our conversations did get better. We were finding more common ground as I asked more questions about art and she learned more about politics. Most of all, though, we could make each other laugh like nobody else could. As with our first few dates, there was never any physical contact other than a peck on the cheek.
But none of that mattered, anyway. Underneath it all and in spite of everything, I still loved Sarah. I still didn’t care about the rumors, true or not. I just wanted her back. And if I couldn’t have Sarah, then I needed someone that people would think is even more beautiful, even more accomplished, and make an even better political wife. I would have no peace until I did.