Travelers Rest

by Ann Tatlock

  In another moment George and Glen were side by side at the door in their wheelchairs. “What’s up?” Glen said.

  “You play chess?” George asked.

  Glen shrugged. “Yeah, but I’m not very good.”

  “Perfect,” George said. “I’ll play you while these two clowns are playing, and then the winners will play each other.”

  Glen looked hesitant but Sausalito perked up. “That’s a great idea, Mr. George! But listen, why don’t we have a real tournament? Open it up to all the guys on the floor who want to play.”

  His suggestion was met with an enthusiastic murmur of agreement until Hoboken said, “But you know, in the day room there are only two chess sets, and one of them is missing several pieces.”

  “Some of the guys have laptops like mine and Jon-Paul’s,” Seth said. “They can play online.”

  “A few have computers, yes,” Hoboken said, “but not many.”

  “So we’d need to get a bunch of chess sets if we want to have a tournament,” Seth said.

  “No worries,” Jon-Paul assured everyone. “Consider it done.”

  “What?” Seth asked. “You’re going to go clear the shelves at Walmart?”

  “Maybe he owns stock in Parker Brothers,” George said.

  “Let’s just say I have my connections,” Jon-Paul said. “If you guys can find out how many chess sets we need, I’ll get them here.”

  “I’ll find out for you, Mr. Jonny,” Hoboken said.

  “Great. Seth, what do you think? Should we turn this thing into a full-fledged tournament?”

  “Only if there’s a cash prize involved.”

  “I’ll pass the hat,” George offered. “Ten-dollar entry fee.”

  “Don’t be stingy, George,” Seth said. “Make it twenty.”

  “Now you’re talking,” George shot back.

  Glen shrugged. “My wife’s going to kill me for losing the twenty, but count me in.”

  “Way to be confident, Glen,” Seth said. “You haven’t even set up your pieces and you’re apologizing to the wife for losing.”

  “You don’t know Glen’s wife,” George said. “He’d have to apologize to her even if he won. This poor henpecked guy has to apologize just for living.”

  Glen took off his baseball cap and swatted George. Seth and Jon-Paul laughed loudly. Hoboken closed up his computer and said, “I’m going to find out right now how many want to play. Then, cousin, you and I have to get to school.”

  Sausalito’s face shone. “So when will the tournament begin?”

  “Give me a couple of days,” Jon-Paul said. “Soon as I can get the chess sets here, we’ll begin.”

  “Terrific!” Hoboken said. “It’s . . . what do you say? Game on!”

  “Yeah, and I can feel the prize money burning a hole in my pocket even now,” Seth announced.

  “Well, I have just one question,” Jane said, “and that’s for Jon-Paul.”

  “And what’s that?” Jon-Paul asked.

  “You’re always here playing the piano, and now you’re playing games. Don’t you ever work?”

  Jon-Paul raised his brows. “Not when there are more important things to do.”

  Jane smiled up at him. He somehow must have known, because he smiled back.

  27

  Sent: Thursday, June 23, 2005 10:07 PM

  From: Jane Morrow

  To: Diana Penland

  Subject: Some kind of wonderful

  Diana,

  Something wonderful is going on here, and I can’t go to bed tonight until I tell you about it. Seth and another guy named Jon-Paul have started up a chess tournament, and over the last couple of days it’s been going full steam ahead. Fourteen games are being played right now, and everyone involved has thrown $20 into the kitty, so at the end the winner will claim the prize of $560, which is nice but not nearly the best thing about all this. What’s really wonderful is that since the tournament started, there’s been a change in the atmosphere up on the fifth floor. That’s where Seth is, and of course it’s the spinal cord unit, so everyone involved in the tournament is paralyzed to some extent. Except for Jon-Paul, who isn’t a vet and isn’t paralyzed, although he’s blind (more about that in another e-mail). Oh, and Truman, the older man I mentioned who’s a doctor and who lives in the Community Living Center. Anyway, when I went to visit today, I could sense this air of excitement and expectation that wasn’t there before, as though this little bit of friendly competition has lifted everybody’s spirits. Including Seth’s!

  When I arrived, Seth and Jon-Paul were playing out on the big screened-in porch, along with a bunch of other people (five or six games were under way, I guess). Seth and Jon-Paul are playing the game on computers. Two of the aides are actually making the moves for them. A few others are playing on computers too, though Jon-Paul managed to bring in some half dozen or more chess boards for people without laptops. Anyway, as I was walking down the hall to join them, I heard this huge explosion of laughter coming from the porch. I stopped to listen. Quiet, and then more laughter. It sounded more like they were having a party than playing chess. So when I got there I asked what was going on, and the aide who was making the moves for Seth (his nickname is Hoboken—I can’t remember his real name) said in that sweet Ugandan voice of his, “Mr. Seth is . . . how do you say it? . . . he’s cracking us all up with his stories.” I was stunned. Seth telling stories? Making people laugh?

  Jon-Paul said (in a wink-wink kind of way) that Seth was just trying to distract him so he’d make a bad move, to which Seth assured him that all’s fair in love and war.

  He was the Seth I used to know, the one who loved an audience, the one who loved to make people laugh. And the one who naturally drew people to himself because he was just so likable. Seth was enjoying himself, and I can’t tell you how good it was to see that. It’s a giant step forward!

  But there’s something else too. I was talking with Hoboken alone later, after Seth was taken down to PT. He said Seth had asked him to wheel him down to the new guy’s room that morning. The new guy, Philip, just arrived from Walter Reed a few days ago. He’s a C-6, which means his injury is nearly as bad as Seth’s. From what Hoboken says, he’s pretty depressed. Just like all the men and women who are trying to adjust to their paralysis. So somehow Seth heard about him and asked Hoboken to wheel him down so he could invite Philip to join the chess tournament. Philip said no because he doesn’t know how to play chess, but instead of leaving right away Seth stayed and talked with him for a while because he could see the guy needed someone to talk to who was in the same boat. At least that’s how it seemed to Hoboken.

  I don’t know whether Seth’s attempt at kindness made Philip feel any better, but I do know it makes me feel better, because when I first got here a couple of long weeks ago I never would have imagined Seth doing such a thing.

  I know I should guard against being unreasonably optimistic, but I do think things are starting to turn around. I think Seth might be—as Jon-Paul puts it—beginning to take inventory of what he has left rather than thinking about what he’s lost. He can’t do what he once wanted to do with his life, but he can do something, and that’s what matters.

  I feel much lighter tonight, much more hopeful than I’ve felt in a long while. For the first time, I’m looking forward to going to the VA hospital tomorrow to see Seth and the gang. Seth and the gang! Doesn’t that have a crazy good sound to it!

  All for now, but more soon, I promise.

  Love,

  Jane

  28

  The next morning Jane stepped out of the elevator on Five and hurried down the hall. She saw numerous games in progress in various rooms, the opponents bent over the boards in concentration. But when she reached Seth’s room, he was alone in a wheelchair. Someone had parked him close to the window so he could see the view.

  He turned to her when she walked in. “Hey,” he said.

  “Where’s Jon-Paul?”


  “He couldn’t get away from the office.”

  “Oh, so he actually does work.”

  “A little, maybe.” He tried to smile.

  “Will he be coming by tomorrow?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  Jane dropped her pocketbook on the floor and dragged the vinyl chair close to Seth. She sat, settled her elbows on the arms of the chair and laced her fingers over her lap. She felt at a loss as to what to do now, since the plans had changed. She looked around the room, back at Seth. How could a person feel so awkward with her own fiancé?

  “So—” she began.

  “I’ve been sitting here thinking, Jane,” he interrupted.

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah. I’ve been thinking about the irony of it all.”

  Jane frowned, pursed her lips. “What do you mean?”

  He hesitated, as though reluctant to explain. Finally he said, “Well, I joined the National Guard to help me get through college, you know?”

  Jane nodded.

  “But I stayed in it for us. I thought it could help us financially.” He laughed lightly, sadly. “I actually thought it would help us.”

  She took a deep breath, let it out. “Listen, Seth, you couldn’t know what was going to happen. It’s not like any of us knows the future.”

  “Yeah, but still, I can’t get past the feelings of guilt.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “It’s what I did to you, Jane.”

  “To me?”

  “I went to Iraq a perfectly normal healthy person, and I came back like this. It’s ruined everything for you. I’ve ruined everything for you.”

  “No you haven’t, Seth. Please don’t say that.”

  “But it’s true.”

  “It isn’t.”

  He closed his eyes as a pained expression crossed his face. “The first day you came here, you asked me to tell you that I don’t love you anymore. Do you remember that?”

  “Yes.”

  He looked directly at her, into her eyes. “I couldn’t say I don’t love you because I do. I do love you, Jane.”

  She almost smiled. “I love you too, Seth.”

  “But . . .” He paused. A muscle in his jaw quivered.

  “But what?”

  “I’m not sure that’s enough.”

  She waited quietly for him to go on.

  After a moment he said, “I don’t want your whole life to be devoted to taking care of me. You deserve more than that.”

  “But what if that’s what I want?”

  “You can say that now, but what about five years, ten years, twenty years down the line? You’d be a nurse, not a wife.”

  “Other people do it and anyway, for better or for worse, remember?”

  “That’s after you get married, not before. You don’t have to stay with me, Jane. I’m afraid if you did, you’d only grow to resent me. I couldn’t live with that. Neither of us could.”

  She wanted to respond, but she wasn’t sure she could speak without breaking down. She needed a minute or two to compose herself, to put up the steel rods in her chest that made her at least appear strong, however untrue that was.

  “Jane, listen,” Seth went on, “I’m sorry I asked you to help me die. That was stupid. I was just so . . .” He shook his head.

  “It’s all right. I understand,” she whispered. “I know you think I don’t, but I do.”

  “I wish I’d died when the bullet hit me—”

  “Please don’t say that, Seth.”

  “But don’t you see? It would have been so much easier.” He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “But for some reason I’m still here. So I’ve decided I’ve got to try to make the best of it. Playing chess with Jon-Paul makes me realize I still have my mind. Maybe that counts for something.”

  “Of course it does. It counts for a great deal.”

  “So . . .” Another sigh. “I’ve got to concentrate on getting better, whatever that means.”

  She nodded and leaned forward in the chair. “I’m glad, Seth. I’m really glad.”

  “But, Jane?”

  “Yes?”

  “It’s going to take every ounce of strength I’ve got.”

  Jane nodded, though she was unsure of what he meant.

  “I’m not sure I have any strength left over to be what you want me to be.”

  “I don’t want you to be anything other than what you are.”

  “It’s not enough.”

  “It is enough.”

  The muscles in his jaw twitched again. “Right now I can only concentrate on trying to get better. I can’t shoulder the responsibility of being your fiancé on top of that.”

  Jane felt herself go weak. She sat back in the chair. “What are you saying?”

  “It’s just that . . . something tells me that if I love you, I should let you go. I know it will hurt for a time, but you’ll get over it. And then you’ll go on and make a real marriage. ”

  “Please don’t let me go.”

  “But, Jane—”

  “I don’t want you to let me go.”

  “But I want you to have a real marriage.”

  Jane thought a long while. Seth seemed content to wait. At length she seemed to understand. “It would be better for you if we weren’t engaged.”

  He turned to her with apologetic eyes. “Yes.”

  She nodded stiffly. “I’m not very good at giving up, but if that’s what you want, I’ll do it for you.”

  “I’m doing it for you, Jane.”

  She lifted her hand to her head in confusion. Don’t cry. Not yet. Not until after you leave.

  “What should I do now?” she asked.

  “You should do whatever you want. But it might be best if you go on back to Troy.”

  “I want to stay here. Besides, I’m house-sitting for Diana.”

  Silence. Then, “All right.”

  “I want to keep seeing you.”

  “If you do, we’ll be going back to square one.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You will be getting to know Seth the quadriplegic. You need to know who I am now, not who I used to be. We’ll be starting over at the ground floor. We’ll be starting as friends.”

  “It’s a little hard to go backward, Seth.”

  “We’re not going backward. We’re wiping off the slate and starting over. Different man, different relationship. No ties. You’re free to go at any time. If you meet someone else, I’m not going to stand in your way.” He stopped, rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, then back at her. He laughed lightly. “I’m not going to stand in your way. Get it? Since I couldn’t stand, even if I wanted to.”

  “It’s not funny, Seth.”

  The grin slid off his face. “Sorry.”

  “I’m not sure I can do this.”

  “There are no other options, Jane.”

  Jane looked down at her hands, at the engagement ring she had so joyfully worn. She held it up for Seth to see. “I guess I should take this off?”

  He nodded. “It would be best.”

  Reluctantly, she slipped it off and put it in her jeans pocket. “I’m going to keep it, though,” she said, “just in case the day comes when I can put it back on.”

  “Fair enough.”

  Her stomach turned and something began to pound right behind her eyes. “I think I’m going to go now.”

  “All right.”

  She picked up her pocketbook and stood. “Can I . . . is it all right if I come back sometime?”

  “As long as you know where we stand.”

  She looked toward the window, lifted her chin. “I guess you’ve made that pretty clear.”

  She turned to go, had almost reached the door, when he called her name. “Jane?”

  “Yes?”

  “It’s only because I love you.”

  Love? Was there not one place to lay your heart where it wouldn’t be broken?

  She turned and looked at him. And then
she turned away and left the room.

  She strode purposefully down the hall, her eyes downcast, her gaze intent. She wanted to see no one, and she wanted no one to see her. The elevator came, the doors opened—it was empty, thankfully—and she rode down. The lobby was busy with patients and their families. No one played a tune on the piano in the atrium.

  She pushed open the front door and stepped out into the heat of the June day. Her chest heaved with tears as she walked toward the parking lot.

  Is this the answer to my prayer, God?

  She clenched her jaw, quickened her pace. She wanted to get home where she could give in to the tears.

  She had reached her Honda and was about to unlock the door when her cell phone rang. Digging it out of her pocketbook, she looked at the lighted screen to see who was calling. A local area code. But the name of the caller was given as Unknown, and she didn’t recognize the number. She didn’t want to answer. But she did.

  “Hello?”

  “Jane? It’s Ted Taggert.”

  “Oh?”

  “Listen, a group of us from the U are going to the drumming circle tonight. Do you want to come down and join us?”

  29

  It was a night she would later remember in bits and pieces. The long hunt for a parking space on the streets surrounding the park, long enough that she briefly considered giving up and going home. The familiar rhythm of the drums, the slant of evening light between the buildings, the dull relentless sense that she should not have come even as she stood at the edge of the park, scanning the crowd.

  You’re a fraud and a liar. Go home.

  There was Ted, standing on the sidewalk along Patton Avenue, directly across from where she stood on College Street. He raised a hand, beckoned her over.

  I have no business here.

  “Jane,” he said when she reached him, “good to see you. Glad you could come.” He took her hand, leaned over, kissed her cheek.

  “Thanks for inviting me,” she said. At least she thought she said it. She couldn’t hear herself speak, couldn’t hear herself think, above the incessant thumping of the drums.