The Hummingbird War

by Joan Shott

  “I’m sorry, but I’m still…”

  “Scared of ghosts?” he asked.

  I was startled by the sound of his voice. I might not have recognized him in body, but I knew that voice. “Something like that,” I said.

  “We’ll take it slow,” he said, pulling me back against him, his muffled words spoken over my shoulder and carried off by the punishing winds. “I promise, Diane, we have the rest of our lives to be together. I’ve dreamed about this for so long; us, our house, a family. You’re what kept me alive all this time.”

  The blood drained from my face, and I thought I might faint. I wanted to reach out for the captain, someone I knew better than the man in front of me, but he was standing too far away, giving us some privacy. Another officer walked towards us.

  “Excuse me, Lieutenant. You’re free to go home with your wife. We’ll call you tomorrow about the press conference.”

  Bobby saluted and I nodded.

  I couldn’t say what was in my head: Home? We don’t have a home. Wife? I’m not his wife anymore.

  Bobby kissed my cheek, his lips dry and rough. “Let’s go,” he said. He took hold of my arm with his hand and guided me away from the airstrip.

  Captain Johnson walked up to us and asked if he could offer a ride if I wasn’t up to driving. Bobby waved him off.

  “Thank you, sir, but my wife…”

  “I’ll be fine,” I said.

  “My wife can drive.”

  I swore Bobby held my arm tighter after I’d spoken, almost a pinch.

  When we got to the car, Bobby stopped and looked at the old Volvo. “Jesus, you still have this old wreck.” He walked to the passenger door and shook the handle, which was hard to use even with two good hands. “Goddamned piece of shit. I’ll get rid of this thing as soon as I can.”

  “Hold on, I’ll get that,” I said, finagling the loose handle until the door opened with a groan.

  As we turned south on the road from the air station, Bobby talked and I listened. “I dreamt about this place every night. It’s what kept me going when I thought I would never see you again.”

  He scanned the passing scenery, reached across and put his hand on my knee, and leaned his head against the window. “God, I missed you,” he said. “But everything’s all right now.”

  We drove in silence for miles. I hoped he was sleeping but didn’t dare to look at him. I tried to disappear into the lull so he might forget I was there, keeping my breathing shallow and steady and my hands fixed in place on the steering wheel. When we passed the last corner before the road to my house, I knew I couldn’t go on pretending to be invisible. I had to take the first step out of his life.

  “What did the doctors say?” I asked, hoping he was well enough to take care of himself. I’d never heard from his parents, and I didn’t think he had anyone else to help him. He needed to know he’d be on his own from now on.

  He cleared his throat. “What do you mean? I lost part of my arm. Not gonna get it back. Is that bothering you? Do you think maybe I’m not a whole man without my arm?”

  “No, please don’t misunderstand.”

  “Misunderstand? I know what you’re asking. You’re worrying about what I’ll do now that I can’t fly a goddamned jet, aren’t you?” His hand shook against his leg. His face was pale. “I’ll fly again. No one will stop me.”

  “I’m just concerned about you.” I slowed down at the entrance to the driveway and slowly maneuvered around the bumps and tight corners of the dirt road, worried the jostling of my old car might set him off even more.

  “Concerned? You didn’t seem so concerned when I stepped off that plane. You couldn’t even look at me. You want to tell me what’s going on?”

  I eased off the clutch, and the car stalled a few feet from the end of the driveway. “Can we go inside?” I asked.

  “Why the hell not? It’s good to see my house again,” he said. He tried to turn the passenger door handle, and when it finally gave in he kicked the door open wide enough to escape.

  I unlocked the front door. The house had the musty smell of closed windows and dank days. I hadn’t been back since Matthew had left for Vietnam. I thought of the hope we’d had for the safe return of his brother before he’d left. What would we have done if we’d known what would happen instead? I shivered at the repugnant thoughts racing through my mind.

  Bobby stood in the middle of the little living room and turned around. “Looks the same, I guess. I don’t remember much about the house, but I remember the things we did here.” He tried to grab me by the arm but I backed away.

  Before, when he had been forceful about my being his I’d blushed, happy to be desired. I’d thought that was the way a man behaved with a woman he loved. I’d been wrong.

  “Let’s start over,” he said. “I guess this is hard for you. Maybe we can take a walk down to the beach, and after dinner we’ll sit by the fire. I’ve been thinking about our first night together since the day I left.”

  “I won’t be spending the night here,” I said.

  “Where do you think you’re spending the night?” His sun-bleached eyebrows knitted together.

  I shoved my fists into my coat pockets and looked into his eyes. “In Seattle.”

  “You live here.” He pointed to the floor beneath our feet, to the house I loved, the place I didn’t want to live without but would have to give up as if it were part of my anatomy.

  “I have a new life now.”

  “You’re my wife. That’s your life.”

  “Not anymore.”

  “You can’t walk away from me.” He took hold of my arm and pulled me to him.

  “I thought you were dead.” The tears rolled down my face. “That’s what they told me. I’ve moved on. I’m not that girl anymore.”

  “What are you fucking talking about? What’s all this bullshit about moving on? Is that some code meaning you’re sleeping with someone else? What’s wrong with who you used to be? You used to be my goddamned wife. Listen, you…listen, Diane, I’m not going to let it happen, get it?”

  I shook my arm from his grip and stepped out of his reach. “Maybe we’ll talk again when you’ve had a chance to think.”

  “What the fuck do you think I did every day for the past two years besides think? I don’t need to think. You’re the one who needs to think.”

  “About what?”

  “Think about all you have to lose.” He stepped forward, and I backed up against the edge of the fireplace mantle. He put his face close to mine. I felt his breath on my skin, swore I could hear his heart racing.

  “I know what’s going on. I didn’t make it back here without having some brains in my head. If I could land a jet on a moving aircraft carrier in the middle of the fucking night, I’m smart enough to figure out what’s going on with your small life. If I can live through torture and starvation and brainwashing, I can survive some little romance you’ve gotten yourself into. It’s nothing compared to what I’ve seen, what I’ve lived through. I’ll get through it, and you’ll get over it.”

  “Get over what?”

  “Your affair with that long-haired, rich boy. The one who was so disappointed to see me at the prisoner exchange instead of his brother.”

  “Wait, listen to…”

  “They told me you were working for the SDS with him. They told me you saved his life in Chicago, made a plea for his brother’s release. They told me you were sleeping with him.”

  “Told you?”

  “They showed me a tape of you from that hippie mess in Chicago. What was it they said…the whole world is watching? I bet you didn’t think that world included me.” Something next to me seemed to have caught his attention, and his eyes locked on the mantle. “Look at this. What the fuck are you doing with this if you’re not screwing that guy?” He picked up the picture of Matthew that Lilly had given me. He opened the door and threw it towards the cliff, spinning it sideways like a child’s toy.

  “I’m not the same girl
you left behind.” I backed out the doorway and stood on the porch, my hands grasping the collar of my coat closed.

  “You stay away from him,” he said.

  “Bobby, you can start over…”

  “In the Navy we live by the principle, death before dishonor. You’re not going to dishonor me.”

  “Dishonor?”

  “You’re my wife, and I won’t let you divorce me. Nothing’s worse than dishonor. Don’t doubt me, because I have nothing left to lose.”

  As I turned my back and stepped off the last stair, I felt the air sucked out from under my feet as he slammed the door of my house.

  Chapter Thirty

  I willed the old car to start. On the fourth try it turned over, and I rumbled down the driveway, dancing between the clutch and the gas to keep it from stalling. If it failed me, I would hitchhike to my father’s garage before I’d ask Bobby for help. I rubbed the condensation off the inside of the windshield with my coat sleeve and drove as fast as the car could percolate over the hills and around the curves.

  Danny was finishing up with a customer when I pulled in. He took off his cap and made a small bow in my direction as the Volvo sputtered and died conveniently in front of one of the garage doors.

  “Hey, Diane. Your dad’s workin’ inside if you’re lookin’ for him.” He nodded towards the garage. “I don’t suppose you came here to see me.”

  “Sorry, but I need to talk to my father.” I shoved my hands into my coat pockets.

  “I almost forgot,” he said, handing me a folded piece of paper. “I took a message for you a while ago. Don’t tell your dad. Okay?”

  I unfolded the piece of paper. Matthew’s name and a phone number were scrawled across it. He must have waited at the air station in case I needed him. “Thanks, Danny.” I touched his arm and quickly pulled away. Would everyone who was physically whole remind me Bobby was not? I thanked him again and left him holding his cap in his hands, the crack in his heart just a little bigger, growing every time I denied him like the fissure in an old windshield.

  My father was bent over the engine of an immense, white Oldsmobile. The room smelled of gasoline, oil, and sweat. The chinking of metal on metal tolled from under the car’s hood.

  “Daddy? Can I talk to you?” I stuffed my hands deep into my coat pockets to stop them from shaking.

  He stood up slowly; surely doing his mind calisthenics — how should he treat me after the argument we’d had? Had he punished me enough with his silence? Was it right to be estranged from each other when it was almost Christmas?

  “What now, Diane? Did you come to your senses? Say what you got to say.” He wiped his hands on a rag and stuffed it into his back pocket.

  He obviously hadn’t decided to call a truce, but I couldn’t let that sway me. “Bobby’s home. I just drove him to the house.”

  “So why ain’t you with him like you’re supposed to be? He’s the one you need to be talkin’ to, not me.”

  “I told him I’m not going back to him. He knows about Matthew. Daddy, I’m worried.”

  “You always was a worrier,” he said, bending back into the car where I knew he felt sheltered from the talk of anything to do with feelings.

  “I don’t feel safe with him.” I was on the verge of tears, but took a deep breath and focused on the shiny chrome grill of the car. I wanted to concentrate on anything but the image of Bobby’s angry face.

  He looked up from the car. “He didn’t threaten you, did he?”

  “Not exactly, but he said I had a lot to lose.”

  “But he didn’t threaten you,” he insisted.

  “Don’t you understand that I love Matthew? I’m not going to leave him, and if Bobby hurts him, he’ll hurt me, too.”

  “Your husband don’t want to hurt no one. He’s just sufferin’ so bad himself.”

  I wanted to shake him by his shoulders. “Are you ever going to forgive me for what my mother did to you? I can’t live in her shadow anymore. Don’t you care about me, or am I just someone who reminds you of what she did?”

  He stood up straight and lifted the wrench in his hand. “You remember who you’re talkin’ to. Don’t you be disrespectful.”

  “Who am I talking to?”

  “I’m the father who brought you up…so watch what you say to me.”

  “And I’m your daughter. Stop living in the past and help me now.”

  I weighed my options in my mind, just like he did. On one hand, I wanted to give him some time to think about what I had said; on the other hand, I didn’t want to back down no matter how frightened I was. I decided to give him time to reconsider.

  “Can I leave my car here and get it towed tomorrow? It’s stalled on me once too often, and I’m afraid of breaking down on the interstate.”

  “Leave the goddamned thing and I’ll take a look at it. See ‘bout the valves. If that’s the problem, then it’s a gonner.”

  Promising to take care of my car was the best thing he could have given me. I’d seen him angry enough to refuse to fix someone’s car. That was a fate I feared more than anything.

  “I love you, Daddy,” I said, hoping for a hug or a smile.

  “You got a ride back?” he asked, wiping his forehead with his rag.

  “Yes.”

  “I figured.” He stuck his head back under the hood of the Oldsmobile.

  Inside the office, I used the phone to call Matthew at the number Danny had given me. He said he’d leave right away to pick me up, and I told him I’d wait at the restaurant across the street. I didn’t want to press my luck with my father. I said goodbye to Danny and headed out the door to Mae’s Bar and Grill.

  Blinking strands of Christmas lights drooped across the front of the restaurant, giving it a sorrowful appearance, as if the lights, the building, and everything in sight had seen better days. Were the lights really dispiriting, or was it my heart, too worn out to see the good in anything?

  I walked into Mae’s and looked for an empty booth, and when I didn’t find one I took a seat at the bar. Dozens of gaudy liquor bottles were lined up in front of a mirror that spanned the wall across from where I sat. On the radio, Judy Garland was promising years from now our troubles would be far away. I shook my head in disbelief, catching my cynicism reflected in the mirror. Half a dozen sets of eyes scrutinized me from the dining room. Mae walked up with a pot of coffee in her hand.

  “Well, if it isn’t Diane. I haven’t seen you in ages, girl.” She put her arm around me and kissed my cheek.

  “Hi, Mae. It’s good to see you.” I turned around on the stool and a woman in the corner quickly looked down at the newspaper she held in her hands.

  Mae placed the coffee pot on the bar and bent close to my ear. “I heard about your husband coming home. It was in the paper this morning. On the TV, too.” She nodded at the television set on a shelf over the cash register, stood up straight, and put her hand on her hip. “How are you doing, girl? This could tear a woman apart.”

  “I’ll get through it.”

  “I talk to your daddy ‘most every day, and he was sayin’ how you were doing real good in school and you met a man. He didn’t sound too crazy ‘bout him, but Ed’s a worrier. I know you’ll do what’s right. I can tell by lookin’, you’re all grown up now. You’re a fine young woman. Your daddy should be proud.”

  The mention of my father’s feelings towards me made me want to change the subject. “Do you still make your own vegetable soup?”

  “Some things never change, honey. I’ll get you some.”

  “That would be great.”

  “You got it. By the way, I hope your hubby will be okay. He always seemed to be lookin’ for something to make him happy.”

  “I don’t remember bringing him here.” I searched my memory for a time when Bobby and I had come to Mae’s, and I came up blank.

  “Well, let’s just say I knew him before you did. Came in for breakfast now and then. A few nights, too.”

  “Alone?”
r />   “No, ma’am, but that’s water under the bridge now, ain’t it?” She patted my hand and walked back to the kitchen.

  I let my eyes wander to the mirror and had to look twice when I saw the young girl I’d once been look back at me with an expression of clarity that could only come from wisdom. Bobby wasn’t who I thought he’d been, but neither was I. But I didn’t want to think about Bobby’s past. It was his future that mattered to me. And if he was a flawed man, hadn’t I been less than perfect, too, acting without thinking and leading us both to a place filled with unhappiness?

  Mae brought me my soup, and after I finished, she gave me a piece of her apple pie. “You waitin’ for someone, sweet thing?” she asked.

  “Yes, Matthew.”

  “That your man, the one your daddy was tellin’ me about?”

  “Yes.”

  “You love him, that’s plain to see.”

  “How do you know that?” My heart tumbled in my chest at her mention of my love for Matthew as if it was reminding me what I had. What I had to lose.

  “I can hear it in your voice when you say his name. Don’t give up the love of a good man. A chance like that don’t come around often enough.”

  “So you know by the way I said his name that I love him?”

  “I have the gift.” She smiled.

  “What about my mother?”

  “Your mom? What about her? That was what, fifteen years or so back when she passed?”

  “Did she say my father’s name as if she loved him?” A little spark of hope flickered in my heart. I hoped she’d prove me wrong, but I could hear my mother’s voice, telling me as a child how she wanted to send him packing. Him. I couldn’t recall her saying, Ed, or my husband or Daddy. She’d had it with him.

  “Now, that’s something I don’t really remember,” Mae said. “It was a long time ago.”

  “Oh, I think you remember. She didn’t, did she?”

  She kissed me on the cheek. “Merry Christmas. I hope everything works out.” She walked back into the kitchen.

  I studied the old photographs on the other wall: the Naval Air Station being built, old downtown, Ebey’s Landing and the gun turrets from the war. The pictures were clouded behind a yellow mask of old smoke and cooking oils, a testimony to how the past stays with us — hidden until you look for it.