by John Gray
“When you’re in the military and out in the field or in some desert, you can’t always get stuff to put in your coffee to make it sweet. So you learn to drink it black,” he said, taking a deep sip.
Raylan then placed the ceramic white mug down on the small round table between them and continued. “You didn’t upset me by asking, Chase. I just knew if we were going to have this conversation, I’d want a cup of joe. So.”
He reached up, touching the scar on his cheek, and continued. “How did this happen? You’re right, we are friends now, so, fair enough, I’ll tell you about the worst day of my life.”
Chase took a drink from her water bottle and leaned back in the chair waiting for the story.
“It was early April 2003, a couple weeks after we invaded Iraq. I’m a Marine. Notice I didn’t say was a Marine, because once you put that uniform on it never really comes off. Like a lot of young men, I joined up after Nine-Eleven and what happened here in the city. I grew up in Jersey City, just across the river, so I had a front row seat for the tragedy at the towers.”
Chase was silent, taking in every word.
Raylan continued, “So, April 2003 we are in Iraq—where exactly doesn’t matter—and my unit is taking on some heavy fire. Up ahead of us we see some Army boys driving right into the teeth of it and BAM, there’s an explosion, about a football field’s length in front of me.”
Chase interrupted, “And that’s how your face got hurt.”
Raylan shook his head, “No ma’am. I was safe from that blast, but then the mortars came, and everyone grabbed cover.”
“And a mortar hit you?”
“You know, this would go quicker if you let me …”
Chase smiled. “… finish. Yes. I’m sorry, Shutting up now.”
Raylan continued. “Everyone is grabbing cover and I see an Army truck flipped upside down and the fuel line is severed and spewing out diesel. You know, fuel.”
Chase leaned in closer as Raylan said, “I think I can see some movement from the truck, and I know once that fuel hits a spark, they’re gone, so without thinking I drop my pack and weapon and just sprint toward the vehicle. I get there and the driver and passenger are both buckled in upside down, one is groaning and the other unconscious. I got to the passenger first, the one groaning, so I unbuckle him and drag him, face down in the dirt, out and away from the truck. I run back for the driver and check but there’s no pulse. I could smell the fuel now, heavy in my nose, ya know, so I realize there’s nothing I can do but get out of there.”
Chase finally spoke, “And that’s when …”
Raylan, “Yes, that’s when the fuel ignited and hit me with a blast that knocked me back ten feet.”
Raylan stood up then to better explain the next part. “The flaming diesel doused my whole right side, but my helmet, boots, and uniform protected most of me. It was just here …” And then Raylan touched his face, adding, “…where the fire got me. Unfortunately.”
Chase didn’t say a word. All she could do was imagine the pain he must have been in.
Raylan took his seat again. “I woke up three days later in a hospital in Germany and wondered why nobody would bring me a mirror. My face actually looked a lot worse. I had five different surgeries where they take skin from your leg or back and graft it here. It got to a point where the improvements were so incremental, I told them I’d just have to live with it, you know,” he said, sighing.
Then he looked away, toward the street, not saying another word for a good minute.
Finally, he turned back to Chase, and said, “I know what you’re probably thinking, and no, I don’t regret going into the military or running toward the danger that way. I may have been young and impetuous, but I’m proud of my service.”
Chase squeezed his left hand. “You should be. And Raylan, I don’t think your face looks as bad as you think others see it. I’ll be honest: I’ve known you a year and I don’t even notice it anymore.”
Raylan nodded his head in agreement and said, “I know. That’s why I’m sitting with you now, talking about it.”
After another pause Chase said in a cheerful voice, “And you’re a HERO, Raylan. Oh my God, you saved that man’s life. He owes you, forever!”
Raylan chuckled at that thought and said, “Yeah, that’s not how I see it.”
Chase gave him a confused look. “You don’t. Why not? If you hadn’t pulled him out …”
“Yeah, I understand that, but …” Raylan stopped himself before continuing: “… there’s an old Chinese proverb that says, when you save a life, you are now responsible for it. I kinda feel that way. Whatever happens with that guy I yanked out of the fire, that’s kind of on me now.”
Raylan got up from the table and took his half-empty cup behind the counter to top off his coffee. Chase followed after him, thinking about what he’d just said, and then asked, “So if you really feel that way, why not track him down? He’d probably love to thank you.”
Just then Deb came from around the other side of the counter with her laptop open and said, “I have the worst headache.”
Raylan walked over and shut the computer before she could start typing and said, “Can we not today? Please. If you’re ever really dying, I promise to tell you.”
Deb smiled and said, “Probably just allergies anyway,” as she pretended to punch Raylan in the arm and started her chores.
Raylan turned his attention back to Chase and surprised her when he said, “I did. I mean, track him down.”
Chase was behind the counter now, and she pulled Raylan by the elbow away from customers who might hear. Quietly, she asked, “You did? How? When? What did he say?”
Raylan explained, “When I got out of the war and the service, the US government handed me some medals for bravery and then gave me a choice. I could take permanent disability and get a nice little check once a month for the rest of my life, or I could take one lump sum check and start my life over. I took the bigger check and bought this building, fixing up the apartment upstairs where you live and turning this space down here into a coffee shop.”
Chase nodded, “Okay, but what about the guy you saved?”
Raylan continued, “After I got my life settled here, that’s when I started looking for him. All I knew was he was a Screaming Eagle.”
Chase was confused. “A screaming what?”
“Eagle. They’re from the 101st Airborne in the Army. Their nickname is the Screaming Eagles. I knew he was one because of the tattoo on the back of his neck.” Raylan could see Chase wasn’t following along, so he reached his hand up.
“Right here,” he said, touching the back of his neck below the hairline. “He had a tattoo of a screaming eagle, so I knew he was with that unit.”
Once he could see she understood, he continued. “A general who I met in Germany at the hospital told me to get in touch with him if I ever needed a favor, so I called him up and told him I wanted to find the guy I saved. It was against the rules because of privacy issues, but he got me a name and address anyway.”
Chase’s eyes went wide, wondering what would come next. “And?”
“His name is Peter Philmont, and it turns out he lives here in Manhattan.”
Chase pushed Raylan with both hands in a friendly way. “Shut the front door!”
Raylan laughed. “I can’t. There’s a big rock holding it open.”
After a quick giggle from Chase, he continued. “His address was over on Park Avenue, Upper East Side.”
Chase considered this new information and replied, “Wait. What? He’s rich?”
Raylan nodded. “Yep. You ever hear of Philmont Petroleum?”
Chase shrugged and said, “I guess. They’re like Exxon or something, right?”
Raylan replied, “Not as big, but yeah, big enough. The guy I saved is a Philmont. What he was doing in the Army and in the middle of that war is a mystery.”
Chase thought a moment and shot back, “Why a mystery? Didn’t you ask him when you m
et him?”
Raylan grabbed up a dust rag and a bottle of cleaner to start wiping things down when Chase yanked them both out of his hands. “Will you stop cleaning for a second and talk to me?”
Raylan smiled. “I never met him,” he said. “I went over and talked to the doorman downstairs in their building—really nice building by the way. Anyway, he told me several of the Philmont family lived on the upper floors, and he told me Peter was the best of the bunch. Always happy, friendly, a great tipper.”
Chase was listening but her face told Raylan she still didn’t understand why he didn’t say hello to the man.
Finally, he touched Chase’s arm. “Listen. The guy I saved is doing great. And I swear, I was going to go up just to say hello but then I caught a glimpse of my reflection in this big mirror in the building’s lobby. I saw the scar and thought, I don’t want to put this guilt on him. It wasn’t his fault his truck got blown up and it wasn’t his fault this happened to me. It’s just … life.”
Chase thought a moment and said, “I get it. I do. You didn’t want him feeling guilty and you didn’t want him thinking you’re some charity case.”
Raylan nodded firmly. “Exactly. Plus, the whole point of finding him was to make sure he was doing okay, and obviously he is.”
Neither spoke for a moment, and Chase found her eyes wandering around the café and back to the older woman who was still petting the rescue dog Penelope, saying, “You see what’s going on over there between those two? I don’t think she’ll be complaining about your dogs anymore.”
The war hero with the brave heart and scarred face smiled and said, “I think you’re right.”
Both could sense their private talk was over, so Raylan said, “Thank you for asking and for listening.”
Chase paused, then said, “I have one more question. It’s about your name.”
Raylan just looked back, folding his arms, waiting for some snarky comment.
“I grew up with an odd name for a girl so I’m always curious when I meet people with odd names,” Chase said. “The only other Raylan I ever heard of was a character from an Elmore Leonard novel. Is it a family name?”
Raylan smiled. “If I told you, you won’t believe me.”
Chase was the one standing silent now, folding her arms exactly as he had done, waiting.
“When my mother had me at the hospital,” he explained, “she needed a C-section.”
Chase nodded. “Okay, so?”
He continued, “She was still a little woozy from the drugs when she filled out the form for my name, so her handwriting was off. The next day the nurse came in and asked her how little Raylan was doing?”
Chase stayed silent, still confused.
He was smiling broadly now. “She meant to write Raymond, but her scribble was mistaken for Raylan. Since she was going to call me Ray anyway, she said she kind of liked that it was different, so she never changed it.”
Chase laughed. “That’s wild. I love it! Thanks for telling me.”
As Chase turned to go back upstairs to be with Gavin, Raylan shouted after her, “Oh, and tell Oscar that’s fine with me! He can walk the dogs anytime he wants.”
Chase smiled and nodded without saying a word. As she approached the stairs her phone gave off a loud “ding” and a text message popped on the screen. It was Jennifer from college and revealed two words in all caps, STILL WAITING. What Chase didn’t know, what she couldn’t know, was that returning that phone call would change her life forever.
CHAPTER 9
Stonewall Jackson
The only time a cell phone wasn’t in Jennifer Donnelly’s hand was the five hours a night she slept, so when Chase’s name appeared on the screen, she picked up on the very first ring. “Hey Rockstar, thanks for calling back. How are you? Where are you?”
Chase was sitting on the couch in her apartment gently petting her dog, Scooter, with Gavin next to her, working on his laptop. “Hey Jen,” she began, “actually I’m in New York City, Manhattan. East side, a few blocks from the park.”
Jennifer, seated at a desk at the New Yorker magazine at 1 World Trade Center, blurted out, “You’re kidding me, here New York? Girl, I’m like a fifteen-minute cab ride from you. Why don’t we meet up?”
Chase looked at Gavin and said, “Sure, we can do that, but first, tell me what this writing job is.”
Jennifer opened a drawer and pulled out a light tan folder, tossed it on the desk in front of her, revealing a black and white photograph of a distinguished-looking older man. “Have you ever heard of Sebastian Winthrop?” she asked, while staring at the older man’s face.
Chase now pushed the speaker button on the phone so Gavin could hear the conversation too. And looking over at her boyfriend, she responded, “Sebastian Winthrop? It sounds familiar, but I’m not …”
Gavin quickly tapped Chase on the knee and said so only she could hear, “Real estate guy, very rich.”
Then he shouted toward the phone, “HE’S A RICH GUY, RIGHT?”
Jennifer, surprised to hear a man’s voice on the call, said, “That’s right, and this is?”
Chase interjected, “That’s my boyfriend, Gavin.”
Jennifer smiled and remembered Gavin from Chase’s novel and said, “Holy moley, the handsome farmer from Manchester? Who did the picnic by the stream and had that first kiss after the firefly show? Oh yeah, I know who Gavin is. HI, GAVIN.”
Chase playfully replied, “Okay, down, girl. So, what about Sebastian the rich guy?”
Jennifer got back on point, saying, “So my magazine wants a profile on Sebastian Winthrop, and since you are now a household name in literature, with a bestseller, we thought …”
Chase wasn’t sold on the idea immediately, asking bluntly, “Okay, so he’s rich. What’s the angle to the story?”
Jennifer started turning pages in her folder. She continued, “Well, the story, my dear, is he starts from nothing and then builds this real estate empire. He gets married and stays with the same woman for like a century, not trading up for a shiny new model like every other rich jerk does in this town, and then as he gets older, just starts giving everything away. And I mean everything. Scholarships, charitable causes, trusts for needy kids, you get the picture?”
Chase did, and was now wondering aloud, “He sounds like a great guy; do you think he’d give me an interview?”
Jennifer took off her black Oliver Peoples glasses and placed them gently on the desk. “Well, that would be tough because he’s dead, Chase,” she said. “What we’re looking for is …”
Chase cut her off. “An obituary. You want me to write an obituary for some rich guy I never met? Come on, Jen …”
Jennifer snapped back, “No. NO, absolutely not. We just want to know what made the guy tick. Why all the giving? Something must have motivated him.”
Chase thought another moment while looking at Gavin and finally said, “So why do you need me? You must have someone who covers that world down here, the rich and famous types.”
“Um, we do. Yes, we do,” Jennifer replied, adding, “But we’re having trouble getting any information from his point person on all things Sebastian Winthrop. Her name is Charlotte Jackson. They call her Stonewall Jackson.”
Chase shot a confused look at Gavin, who had stopped working on his computer and was intrigued by this conversation.
Chase then said, “I’m guessing they don’t call her that because she fought in the Confederate Army?”
Jennifer laughed. “Um, no, that’s her nickname because she’s tough to get through, over or around in any way. A real …”
Chase finished her sentence: “… stone wall.” There was silence on the phone line.
Chase then asked, “So why would she be any different with me?”
Jennifer stood up from her desk to stretch her legs and said, “People like talking to you, Chase, they always have. I tried with her, several times, but I’m more of a …”
Chase thought she was going to utte
r a word that rhymed with “itch,” when Jennifer continued, “… acquired taste, a bit too abrasive. And you, you’re like a soft little kitten. And such a brilliant writer.”
Chase felt her laying it on thick and said, “Easy does it. Any more buttering me up and I’ll have to get my cholesterol checked.”
There was now silence on the phone, and Jennifer knew that meant her college friend was thinking.
Finally, Chase spoke, “Give me her info and I’ll call right now. I can’t promise anything, but I’ll try to set something up with her. You want to meet in an hour so we can catch up and I’ll tell you how I made out with the stone wall?”
Jennifer agreed, and a moment later a text message arrived on her smartphone, telling her the exact address of the Fur-Ever Java café.
Fifty-eight minutes after the two college friends hung up with each other, Chase’s phone vibrated and the text read, I’m here in the café, Jen.
Chase changed into one of her favorite t-shirts. It was white with a Special Olympics logo on the front, and the back read, I jumped in a frozen lake and all I got was this stupid t-shirt. Back in high school she and her classmates had raised money for Special Olympics by taking pledges and doing a polar plunge in a lake near Seattle on New Year’s Day. Twenty years later, it still fit and looked nice with her faded jeans and black Vince Camuto boots. She even tied a purple ribbon in her hair for maximum cuteness.
When Chase bounded into the café with Scooter at her side, Jennifer was seated in the center of the room where she couldn’t be missed. To her left were a couple of construction workers on their twenty-minute break, and on her right was a familiar older woman, sitting with a dog on the chair right next to her. Chase waved hello to Jennifer, but her biggest smile was for the woman with the dog. It was Delores Wainright sipping a tea, while Penelope, the rescue Pug, was up on a chair close enough to put her paw in her lap. As she fed the pup treats from a fancy-looking bag, she gave Chase a welcoming smile.
“How are you, Jen?” Chase began, giving her best friend from college a warm hug.