by Joan Shott
A grin broke across Matthew’s face. “Hey, Ben. How’s it going?”
“Good, Matt. Still on for some basketball tomorrow?”
“Can’t. I’m heading out on a trip. I’ll be gone for a few weeks.”
“I think we’d better get on the road,” I said. I looked at Matthew quizzically. I had no idea he played basketball with Nancy’s new boyfriend. And breakfast with his father? We walked out to the car, and the general opened the front passenger door for me. I’d expected to be shoved into the back seat by him.
“Nice roommates you have there, young lady,” Matthew’s father said. “No wonder this country is in a state of chaos.”
I looked at Matthew, and he shrugged his shoulders. “No comment. I’m being the better man,” he said.
When we were on the highway headed north I said, “Matthew, how long have you known Ben?”
“Not long. A bunch of us guys get together to play touch football, shoot some hoops. He’s one righteous basketball player. He’s been drafted by the Lakers.”
“The what? I guess Nancy just met him. A coincidence?”
“Yep, I had nothing to do with it, I swear,” he said.
From the backseat his father laughed. “You remind me of Lillian, asking me where I’d been and who was there. Of course, that was early in the marriage when it still seemed to matter. You know what they say about women.”
“No, what?” I asked.
Matthew rolled his eyes, turned to look out the window as if he knew what was coming.
“You can’t live with them, and you can’t live without them,” he answered, chuckling at his own joke, although I sensed a bit of sadness under the joviality. The way he’d looked at Lilly had told me he still cared for her.
“I’ve heard that before,” I said. “Only it was a woman saying it about men. Don’t want to live them and don’t want to live without them. Just a silly saying.”
His father unbuckled his briefcase and shuffled through a stack of papers, spread them across the backseat. “So Matthew informed me we’re going to visit your father’s VFW post. He convinced me the men need to know their sacrifices haven’t been forgotten. Your father was an army man during the war.”
“Yes, in the Pacific. A sniper. He even won some medals for marksmanship, but he never talks about it with me.”
“No, they hardly ever do talk about it with someone who wouldn’t understand,” he said.
He instinctively thought I wouldn’t understand what sacrifices war demanded. I turned my face to the window and decided not to argue the point.
We drove mostly in silence, his father scratching notes on a legal pad, Matthew commenting on the stark winter scenery now and then. As we crossed Deception Pass Bridge, a pair of eagles circled high above us. I glanced down at the treacherous currents and cringed. Past the bridge, deep in the overgrown forest of the state park, I spied a doe leaping over a fallen tree. I held back a sigh when I wanted to point out every bit of life that tied me to this place: the birds, the tides, the fiery explosions of scotch broom on springtime hillsides, even the terrifying water in the passage. Suddenly a roar rattled the car windows as a navy jet tore open the sky, flying overhead after taking off from the nearby air station.
The general bent towards the window and shook his head. “Look at that son of a bitch go. Makes you proud to be an American.”
Coughing away images of a jet crash, the jungle on fire, I directed Matthew, with my shaking hand, to drive straight until we had to turn for the VFW post on a winding side road just off the highway.
“You okay?” he asked.
“It never used to bother me until…”
Matthew put his hand over mine and squeezed it. “You don’t have to be scared anymore. It’s over.”
The lot was full and the overflow cars had parked alongside the shoulder. We pulled up to a stop blocked off with orange traffic cones, and my father, wearing his old army cap, trotted out and stood at attention. He raised his hand in a salute as Matthew’s father stepped out of the back of the car.
“At ease, corporal,” the general said.
“General Bluestone, this is a great honor to meet you, sir. Yes, sir.”
The general looked at his notes, “Corporal Edward Miller, 164th Infantry, Guadalcanal. Good to make your acquaintance. You have a very beautiful daughter.”
My father stared at him. “Oh, yes, sir. Those kids. Yes, sir. Nice boy you got there.”
Matthew jabbed me gently with his elbow and whispered in my ear. “I told you it’s like meeting Elvis. Maybe I should have said Sinatra.”
My father led him into the brightly-lit, high-ceilinged hall where the general was directed to a small stage with a podium they’d built for the occasion. My father stepped onto the platform next to him. I looked at the two men, side by side. My father and Matthew’s: two men who couldn’t be more different or more alike.
My father tapped the microphone, hastily assembled for the occasion and attached with electrical tape to the primitive plywood stand. “I can’t say as I’ve had much practice at this, but I’d like to introduce all ‘a you to General David Bluestone who’s kindly agreed to say a few words. By the way, you all know my little girl there, Diane.” He pointed to me as I sunk into my chair in the back row. “She’s gonna be marryin’ the general’s son. You’ll all be invited to the wedding.
The general gripped the edges of the rough-hewn stand. “Men, we live in a difficult time. The United States is leading the fight for democracy, and it’s not an easy struggle.” He stopped and scanned the room, his chest rising and falling beneath his rows of medals, as if he were shouldering the weight of the expectations of each man in the audience. “Young men are giving their lives for freedom, dying in the jungles of a hellish battlefield far from home.”
Another fighter jet roared overhead, the sound echoing in the large room, and I watched the heads of the men in front of us move with their eyes in one harmonious sweep upwards. The walls began to close in on me, my stomach climbing to my throat as if it were rising to meet the passing jet, leaving me light-headed. I leaned over to Matthew’s ear and said, “I need some air.”
He followed me out to the parking lot and put his arm around my shoulder, pulled me inside his coat as we stood outside the door. The air hinted at snow. “I avoid listening to his speeches whenever possible. I know his platitudes by heart.” He tried to smile. “All of it too much for you?”
“I’m a little confused, that’s all.”
“About what?” he asked.
“Your father’s not a monster, Matthew. He cares about what happens. Something in me wants to dismiss him and embrace him at the same time. Reminds me of someone else.”
“Who?”
“My father. They both need us. It’ll take time to sort out my feelings. I do have high standards when it comes to men.” I tucked my chin in my coat collar and smiled.
“You do have extremely high standards. You picked me, didn’t you?”
“You picked me,” I answered and poked his shoulder. He grabbed my wrists and kissed me as if we were a couple of teenagers teasing each other over some silly trifle. “Come on, I should listen to some of his speech. I feel partially responsible for his being here.”
“You going to be all right?” he asked.
I nodded. “I don’t know if I will be as understanding with your father as I want you to be, but I think we should give him a chance.”
When we returned to our seats, our steps echoed against the silence of the audience. The general was talking about Matthew’s brother, Jim. “He died a hero’s death in the cancer ward of a Seattle hospital,” he said. Some of the men hung their heads, looked uneasily at each other. Then he spoke about his oldest son, Maxwell, still missing in Southeast Asia. Matthew sighed with impatience at the mention of his brother’s name.
His father used his brothers’ full names: Major James Van Fleet Bluestone and Lt. Colonel Maxwell Taylor Bluestone. I wondered if they had b
een named after some famous warriors, sealing their fates at birth. His eyes searched the back of the room where we sat. A knot of fear pulled at my chest.
His father kept his eyes on Matthew. “I’d like to recognize my youngest son who’s here today, Lieutenant Matthew Ridgway Bluestone. He was leading a Special Forces detail assigned to the same area as his older brother. The same day his brother was taken prisoner Matthew was wounded by enemy fire, and…”
I folded my hands and sent up a silent prayer: please don’t let him blame Matthew for his brother’s capture.
He continued, “…he was sent home. And I’m happy to have him here with me today. I’m proud of you, son.”
I raised my eyes to the holy spirits of the VFW hall and gave thanks.
But my father took the information about Matthew like a one-two punch. His shoulders drew forward, and he looked down at the floor. It had to be painful for him to realize the truth behind the terrible things he had said to Matthew when they’d first met.
Someone from the back of the room shouted, “What now, sir?”
The general stood straight, raised his fist, and said, “Keep fighting. God damn it, keep fighting. We’re Americans and we’ll never lose a war.” The men raised their hands in a salute, and he returned it with a click of his heels. “Disssssmisssed,” he bellowed.
I looked at Matthew, and he shrugged. I was sure whatever had been said after he’d left me last night must have been more than small talk. After all, his father had said he was proud of him, and I hadn’t heard them argue once on the long ride up to Oak Harbor. But it wasn’t my war to fight. I was just one of those civilians whose future depended on whether they could find peace in their relationship.
The men surrounded the general and shook his hand, asked for autographs. The conversation was restrained; so many of them offering their sympathies. My father nodded at us from across the room as he walked the general towards the door.
“Thank you, sir, for stopping by. We appreciate it,” he said. And then he shuffled back into the building as if he was recoiling from his embarrassment. I wondered if it would have been better if Matthew’s father had never come. But then my father wouldn’t have to face the mistake he’d made by judging Matthew too quickly.
Outside it was growing colder, and the icy rain stung my face. I worried about the birds that came to my feeders. In the cold months they emptied the seed within a few days. I could ask my father to check on them more often, but I thought I should leave him alone for awhile.
We pulled away from the VFW and headed towards the main road. “Matthew, could you drop me at my house? I’m staying on the island tonight.” I wanted to be home for the birds and for the peace I always found there. I needed the healing powers of my little house.
“I’ll take my father to the airport and come back.”
When we pulled up to my house, Matthew’s father got out of the car and embraced me somewhat stiffly as he surveyed my ramshackle little cottage.
“A safe trip, sir,” I managed to squeak out. I wanted to tell him how much I feared for both of them, but I had to believe they would take care of each other.
“See you at the wedding,” he said. Then he was back in the car, and they were gone.
The house was cold. I turned up the thermostat, heard the little furnace kick in. With my coat buttoned, I heated the water on the stove for the hummingbird food. It was only just after two, but the sky was already dim. I filled the feeders with seed, hung the sugar-water feeder on its hook, and then it was time to build a fire. I could stare into the flames and imagine answers to my unanswerable questions: would Matthew come back from Vietnam alive? Would Lilly survive her illness? Would the war — across the ocean and in my heart — ever end? I fell asleep on the couch, wrapped in my old, wool blanket as the freezing rain drummed against the window panes.
Chapter Twenty-Five
It was just after seven when Matthew walked in the door, put his arms around me, and kissed the top of my head. Then he walked to the kitchen window and stared into the darkness of the backyard. He seemed as if he were already on that long journey, on his way to the place he’d been moving towards since he’d learned of his brother’s capture. He still had untold miles to go.
“What happened on the drive to the airport?” I asked.
He turned from the window to lean back on the edge of the sink. “We talked. My father’s not the kind of man to ask for change, but I’ll try my best to make it happen. But, there’s other news. My mother’s in the hospital.”
I’d been so wrapped up in his father’s visit to the VFW and the trip that loomed on the horizon, I hadn’t thought about Lilly. “Oh no, what happened?”
“Her medication makes her dizzy. She fell on the church basement stairs on her way to her meeting and broke her leg. They’re keeping her overnight, but she’ll need your help.”
“How bad is it?” I asked.
“Clean break,” he touched his shin to show where she’d broken the bone. “She’ll be on crutches for a few months.”
I pushed his hair away from his eyes and kissed him gently. “I’ll make sure she gets to her doctor appointments, her meetings, run her errands.” I’d do for her whatever I would have done for my own mother, if I’d had the chance. “Don’t worry. I’ll take good care of her.”
We ate dinner on the living room floor in front of the fire, the radio on, listening to Elvis crooning how he can’t help falling in love. I twined my fingers through Matthew’s, leaned into the hollow beneath his shoulder. I fit him in so many ways, as if we had become extensions of one another. We held each other until the last log burned to ash.
“Should I get more wood?” I asked.
He shook his head as he pulled me up to my feet and led me into the bedroom.
When I stretched across the sheets, the chilly air of the room tingled against my fingers, sending goose bumps, chills, prickles the length of my body. Matthew slipped off my socks, took my cold feet between his hands until they were warm. He pulled off my blue jeans, gently tugging from the ankles and kissing my legs, my knees, my shins. The buttons on my blouse loosened as if of their own wishes with his touch, the sleeves sliding down my arms like rain off a petal.
I pulled his shirt from his shoulders and touched the outline of the familiar scar. I undid his belt, unzipped his pants, and pulled them down.
He climbed into the bed and slid in next to me. He traced the side of my face with his finger, burrowed into my tousled hair, outlined my ear with his nose, and whispered, “I love you more than anything.”
“Sometimes I can’t believe …”
“No more talk.” He touched his finger to my lips, and then he kissed me. He tasted salty like the thick sea air swirling outside the windows, proof he had become part of this place, too. I buried my face against his chest and could smell the smoke of the wood fire, the scent of my home, on him. Layers of skin and nerve and muscle inside me unfolded like a rare and complicated rose, delicate and strong. The warmth of a summer day rose up my legs to the small of my back, driving away the chill.
“Tonight belongs to us. Don’t think about anything else,” he said.
Telling me to not think, brought it all to my mind. I was caught again in my inescapable currents of worry. I tried to concentrate on the movement of his mouth, his fingers, but other thoughts pushed at my will: Bobby’s death, Lilly’s illness, his journey to the other side of the world. I held my breath as he slid his leg across mine, pushed against my hips. His hands rode slowly up my thighs, over my ribs, across my breasts, and up my arms, as if he were memorizing me. He wove his fingers tightly into mine, soft skin against the hard edge of bone.
I wanted him to make me forget the rest of the world, but there was only a temporary stillness that washed over me, letting my troubles momentarily slip under the bed as my heart rose to meet his. Liquid gold pumped through my veins, and tears of sweat rolled down my sides. The world rocked beneath us. Sighs rose above us like clouds,
floated towards the ceiling, and were gone.
I dug my hands into the small of his back and pulled him closer. I wanted him so far in me he’d never leave. Never get on an airplane to cross the ocean, never be any different than he was now, always be part of me. The man with the influential friends, famous father, expensive education, the impoverished heart. The man I wanted only to live with; couldn’t live without.
We were tied to each other with an equal, abiding bond. I’d once thought he needed me more than I needed him, but I’d been wrong. Wouldn’t our love for each other survive anything? Distance, time, loss? Some things are meant to be. I prayed for that sure and unbreakable tie between us to last forever, but I knew that love could be as tenuous as the sentiments of a song.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The door slammed behind me, and I dropped my books, jacket, backpack, and a partially eaten sandwich on the kitchen table. Louise was sitting in the living room with papers and books spread across the couch, the stereo on low and a can of beer in her hand. A pencil was balanced behind her ear.
“Hi, Diane.”
“I’ll see you later,” I said. “I’ve got to run over and check on Lilly.”
“Isn’t Lilly your boyfriend’s mother?”
“Yes,” I answered, surprised she knew about her, but then I realized Nancy’s midnight gab-sessions applied to Louise, too.
“Nancy said she’s sick.”
“She has cirrhosis of the liver, and she broke her leg a couple of days ago. I have to take her to the doctor, and make dinner for her, and do all the stuff she can’t handle.”
“Why don’t you stay at her place?” Louise asked.
“Her apartment’s all the way on Eastlake. Too far for me to get to class and then to work and if…” Any reasoning I’d come up with fell apart, nothing made sense. No matter how I planned to take care of her, I would never have enough time. I just couldn’t be in two places at once. If only I could conjure up two of me like that woman on the TV show about a witch with a magic nose did. “Gotta go,” I hurried towards my room.