path: root/15-RemembranceDay.rst

Episode 3.15, Remembrance Day
-----------------------------

Saturday at last! Joan rummaged sleepily in the refrigerator: no
milk. That's what she got for sleeping so late. She smiled,
remembering last night; Grace and Adam had come over with some videos
and snacks. Joan and Luke had commandeered the living room for the
evening, built a fire to drive away the damp chill of the November
evening, made popcorn, and the four of them settled in for an evening
of "serious, thought-provoking and educational British television."
Joan giggled as she remembered Luke saying that just before "Monty
Python and the Holy Grail." Apparently Luke had seen it before, but
Joan hadn't, and hadn't known what to expect. Joan giggled again.
Later on, during the Flying Circus video, Grace had started a popcorn
fight. It had taken them nearly an hour to clean the room up when
they finally called it quits for the evening, about three in the
morning.

As Joan continued to look for something for breakfast, Will's
minestrone soup simmered in the big soup pot on the back burner,
filling the kitchen with its aroma and making Joan even hungrier.
"Dad must have gotten up early and started it," Joan thought. "I
guess I could raid the soup for breakfast." Her stomach growled. "No,
better not. Too much junk food last night.

The doorbell rang. "I'll get it," Joan said, to no one in particular
-- was she the only one at home? She hadn't seen anyone yet, but
she'd bet that Luke was still asleep. Opening the door, she found
Friedman standing there. "Oh. Hi, Friedman. Come on in; I think Luke
might still be asleep. Go dump a glass of water on him or something."

Friedman stood there in the doorway, looking a bit embarrassed. "Uh,
I didn't come to see Luke."
"Well, who else? Like you came to see Mom? Dad? Kevin maybe?"
"No. You."
Joan stopped for a moment. "Friedman, if you're going to make a pass
or ask me out, the answer is No. N-O."
"No. No, that's not it. Although..."
"Friedman!!!!"
"Well, okay. It's about... Uh.. You know the 12th is next Saturday."
"Oh. Yeah."
"I was thinking... Maybe some of us could go out to the cemetery,
take her some flowers or something. And you... You were Judith's best
friend. I'm going to ask Adam and Grace and maybe Luke, but only if
you're interested in going."
"Yeah." Thinking about it, Joan nodded. "That would be great. Come on
in for a minute, Friedman. We shouldn't be standing here with the
door open. Mom is always on us about the heating bills."
"Thanks." They stood there by the door. "You still miss her, don't
you," Friedman said.
"I'll never get over it, losing her like that," Joan said, almost in
a whisper.
"I won't, either," Friedman said.
Joan looked at him intently. "It sure seemed like you got over Judith
last fall. One week it was Hamlet and Ophelia, and the next week you
are on the make again, like Judith never happened."
Friedman looked down. "Yeah. I'm ashamed of that. I think I was
running from it, from how I felt. I couldn't deal with it." Looking
at Joan, he continued: "Judith didn't even like me. I know that. But
I don't think I'll ever love anyone like I loved her. You, of all
people; you know she was special. All that Shakespeare -- I really
meant it. I still do:

"Doubt thou the stars are fire;
Doubt that the sun doth move;
Doubt truth to be a liar;
But never doubt I love,
O dear Ophelia..."

Joan smiled at him; he had tears in his eyes, and was even more
embarrassed.
"OK, I'm outta here," he said.
"You sure you don't want to dump that glass of water on Luke?"
"No. I've gotta go." Opening the door and stepping through, he turned
back and added, "Joan.... Thanks."
"See you around."
With that, he closed the door and was gone. Joan stood there a
moment, thinking of Judith. With a sigh, she walked back to the
kitchen.

Before she had opened the cupboard to see if there were any granola
bars left, the doorbell rang again. Joan smiled: Friedman must have
changed his mind about dousing Luke. She opened the door, starting to
say "Come on in, Freid..."

Standing there was a man in his late 50's. "Um... Excuse me, sir. I
thought you were someone else." The man stood there for a moment. He
was a bit under six feet tall, solidly built, with grizzled and
dirty-looking hair, wearing filthy jeans and an old Packers
sweatshirt, and a black knit ski hat. To Joan, there seemed something
slightly "off" in his manner, perhaps in his eyes. He kept looking
from side to side, as if he were afraid of something.

"May I help you, sir?" Joan prompted.
The man stood there, as if Joan's question had surprised him.
Collecting his wits, he said "Yes. I'd like to see Will Girardi,
please."
"He's not here." With a sudden fear, Joan realized that except for
the sleeping Luke, she was alone in the house. What did this man
want?
"Oh." He stopped for a minute, as if he hadn't expected that answer.
"Umm... Just tell him that Billy Caruso came by. Tell him... Tell Mr.
Girardi that I'll be back." With that, he turned and walked away.
Joan shut the door as quickly as she could without slamming it. She
bolted the lock, and leaned back against the door to catch her
breath.
--------------------------------------
Kevin was in the garage, considering what to do next on the boat,
when his cell phone rang.
"Hello," he said.
"Is this Kevin Girardi?" a woman's voice asked.
"Yes ma'am, this is Kevin."
"You probably don't remember me, but I am Louise Taliaferro. My son
Ricky played baseball with you in high school. I called your house
the other day and your mother gave me your cell phone number."
"Yeah. I remember you, Mrs. Taliaferro. You used to sit in the third
base stands with Mom. Yeah... Clear back to T-ball. Ricky and I used
to end up on the same teams most years. How's he doing these days?"
There was a moment's silence on the other end. "Kevin, that's why I'm
calling."
"What's wrong? Has something happened?"
"I don't know if you heard, but Ricky enlisted a few months after you
all moved away. He's... He's been hurt. He's lost both of his legs,
over in Iraq."
"Oh God."
"They've taken very good care of him. He's back in the States. He's
in Walter Reed Hospital."
"I'm really sorry. That's terrible."
"Kevin... This may be hard... Ricky is all right, as far as his
physical health goes. They've done some operations and have all the
shrapnel out of his intestines. He has a plate in his skull, and that
is okay. And some other things, little things I guess in comparison.
But he... He has given up. It's like he doesn't want to get well. He
just lays there in the bed and won't talk to us."
Kevin took a long moment and a deep breath. "Yeah, it's hard. Ricky
was like me. He was always an active guy. And now... At least I still
have legs, not that they do me much good..."
"Could you go visit him? Talk with him?"
"Well, yeah. Walter Reed is in DC. That's an easy drive from here.
But... Mrs. Taliaferro, after my accident I was like that too. Mom
and Dad tried everything and I didn't care. I'll go see Ricky, but it
probably won't help."
"Maybe seeing you, talking with you might help."
"Because I'm a gimp? Dad tried that; he hooked me up with one of his
old buddies that is in a chair and plays basketball. I walked out on
him. So to speak."
"Ricky always looked up to you."
"I think it needs to be the other way around. I'm nothing compared
with someone like him, someone that has put it on the line for his
country."
"Kevin, just go see him. Please."
"Of course I'll go. I'll do whatever I can. I wish I knew what would
help."
"So do we, Kevin. So do we."

Joan took her first sip of the minestrone. "This is scrumptious," she
said, "Even better than usual."
"Yeah, I love it when you fix this," Luke said.
"Luke, don't talk with your mouth full," Helen said. Luke nodded, as
he ate more of the soup.
Will smiled, glad that his efforts were appreciated. "Mom used to
make it a lot this time of year. You can still get good fresh
vegetables for it in November, and it sure took the chill off rainy
days."
"Pass the bread, please," Kevin said. Joan handed the basket to him.
"This is good, too," he said.
Will nodded. "I thought I'd try this. It's from Mallory's Bakery. We
like their cinnamon rolls; I think we'll have to add their Italian
bread to the list."
"It's good just to have everyone here," Helen said, smiling. "We've
been so busy. We don't have the whole family to supper enough
anymore." They ate in silence for a bit. Joan was the first to get a
second bowl of the soup.

Kevin asked, "Mom, did you talk with Mrs. Taliaferro?"
"Yes. She called Thursday, said she wanted to talk with you about
something. Something about Ricky."
"Yeah. She got a hold of me this morning. Ricky joined the Army, and
he got sent to Iraq, and his Hummer got blown up."
"No!" Helen said. The others all stopped eating.
"He's in Walter Reed hospital," Kevin continued. "Without legs.
That's why she called. It sounds like he's taking it about the way I
did -- badly."
"I always liked Ricky," Joan said. "He was cute. Is he okay?"
Kevin looked at her like that was a stupid question. Joan continued,
"You know, other than the legs. Is he going to live?"
"Mrs. T. says so. He's got some other stuff, but she says it's minor
in comparison."
"Pretty much anything is," Will said.
"But he doesn't want to live. Just like I was. She wants me to go see
him. I told her it won't help, but she's right; I need to go."
"I'll go with you," Will said. "How about Saturday?"
"No," Kevin said. "I need to do this myself."
"Kevin, I don't think you should drive by yourself all the way to
DC," Helen said, with a worried look.
"Your car is old." Will said. "What if you break down on the
Beltway?"
"Dad... don't do this," Kevin said. "You're treating me like I'm
helpless."
Will said, "We'd both feel better if someone went with you. And it's
not because you can't walk. I'd feel the same way if it was Helen
going and not you."
"It's not that far to drive. What's the big deal?"
"Okay. Okay.... you're right. You're a grown up and we need to treat
you like one," Will said, looking unhappy about it. "Do as you
please."
After a moment, Kevin said "Maybe I'll see if Andy can go. He knew
Ricky better than I did. Yeah, that would be good. I'll call him
after while."
Helen said, "Please tell Ricky that we wish him the best. Maybe Will
and I can go see him some other time."
Kevin nodded, with a smile now that the situation was resolved.

"Any other bombshells today?" Luke asked.
"Luke, that is sick," Joan said.
Looking embarrassed, Luke said "I didn't mean it that way. I meant,
any other major occurrences we should know about?"

"Will and I had a nice morning. The house was quiet when we got up,
unlike how it was about 2 o'clock this morning"
"Could you hear us?" Joan asked. "I'm really sorry. We were trying to
be quiet."
Helen laughed. "It's okay. We're glad you all were having a good
time." She continued, "Will started the soup and we went to the
grocery store, and had coffee at Mallory's, and a couple of their
cinnamon rolls."
"And you didn't bring us any?" Luke said.
Ignoring that, she continued, "It was really nice to have a morning,
just the two of us."

Joan said, "I was up before sleepyhead," looking at Luke. "Friedman
came by. He's organizing some people to go out to Judith's grave next
Saturday."
Helen reached over, putting her hand on Joan's; she looked at her
mother quizzically. "I dreamed about Judith last night," Helen said.
"Probably it was just that I was thinking about her yesterday, and
how it's been a year almost since she died."
"What did you dream?" Joan asked.
"Oh nothing, not really. It was just you and her sitting here at the
table in your pajamas like she had maybe stayed the night over here,
talking and laughing and eating breakfast. It was really just a
moment, and then it was gone."
"I miss her," Joan said. No one else said anything. Joan toyed with
her soup, no longer hungry. The others returned to eating.
"Oh. I almost forgot," Joan said, the memory startling her out of her
thoughts of Judith. "Right after Friedman came by, there was this guy
that came to the door, looking for Dad."
Will looked up and nodded, as if to say "Yeah, tell me more."
"He was kind of creepy looking. Said his name was Billy Caruso."
Will set his spoon down, exchanging a glance with Helen. "Yeah. I
know the guy," he said.
"I told him you weren't here. He said to tell you he'd be back."
Seeing the look on her parents' face, she asked "Is something wrong?"

After a moment's silence, Will said "Billy Caruso was in a liquor
store robbery back in Chicago, back about the time Kevin was born."
"Yes. I was still pregnant." Helen said.
"He killed Mike Soucek. My partner."
"Mary Soucek and I were in childbirth classes together. She lost her
baby. I think it was the stress. That hurt her worse than losing
Mike, I think. It would have been their first child and would have
given her something. She ended up with nothing."
Will said, "At the trial, after they gave the verdict, the bailiffs
had to haul him out of the courtroom. He was screaming at me.
"Girardi, I'll get you for this. I'll kill you, and your wife too.
You just wait. I'll be back."
"I'll be back," Joan said, looking horrified, "That's what he said:
"Tell Mr. Girardi that 'I'll be back.'"
--------------------------------------
Adam was coming from the art room. Grace caught up with him in the
hall: "You hear about Friedman?"
"Something about Judith, and Saturday at the cemetary, right?"
"Yeah. I thought Judith was ancient history for him."
Adam nodded. "I'm glad he remembers her. I do too."
"Yeah. Me too. But I hope he doesn't start spouting Shakespeare
again."
--------------------------------------
The telephone rang. Again. On the fourth ring: "This is the Girardi
residence. We're not available, so leave a message after the beep."
"Ummm.... Billy Caruso. Mr. Girardi, I need to see you. Some place
away from the station. I know where you live now, so I'll come find
you soon. Oh, and your daughter is a nice girl."
--------------------------------------
"Anything for me today?" Luke asked, as he dropped his backpack by
the door and saw Helen leafing through the mail.
"Let's see... Penn State, and Princeton, and Dartmouth, and here's
Maryland."
"Again. This will be three catalogs they've sent me."
"I don't suppose there's anything for me," Joan said.
Helen ignored her, going on with Luke's mail.
"A letter from Duke..."
"Good basketball team, but not my thing."
"Umm... here's a letter from MIT..."
Luke grabbed it from her hand, tearing it open with trembling hands.

Luke read: "We are pleased to invite you to register now for the fall
of 2006 under MIT's early decision program..." With a whoop, he began
dancing around the room, to Joan and Helen's amazement. "Yeah!!!!
MIT, here I come!!!!!"

"Already?" Joan said. "Aren't you, like, not old enough yet?"
"Sure I am," Luke said, stopping his dance. "I'm graduating this
spring with you guys, aren't I?"
"Well yeah. But you're... you're just a kid. You're not even
seventeen."
"A week and a half short. Might as well be."
Helen said, "Joan is right. Maybe you ought to wait for a year, maybe
go to Dawson and live at home."

Luke stopped short. "I don't believe this. MIT wants me, and you
won't let me go."
"It's not that," Helen said, searching for the right words, as Joan
looked from her to Luke and back. "You're just... young. Too young to
be that far away from home."
"I'm way more mature than Joan," Luke said.
"That may well be," Helen said. Joan's mouth dropping open, "Mom!!!!"
"But you're still not old enough," Helen continued, "A year at Dawson
would be a good transition..."
Luke interrupted her: "I'm plenty grown up enough to do this, whether
you like it or not. I have a full scholarship; I can move out and go
on my own."
Joan was trying to get their attention: "I'm almost eighteen. I'm a
grown-up."
"No you can't," Helen said to Luke, ignoring Joan. "They won't let
you in until you're eighteen. Not without our permission."
"What am I going to do at a 'podunk' college like Dawson? Twiddle my
thumbs all year? Play rock-paper-scissors with Joan?"
"We'll talk about this later," Helen said. "When your dad gets home."
Luke turned and stormed off in tears, stomping up the steps.

Will lay on the bed, still in his clothes. He watched Helen brush her
hair, as she stood in front of the mirror in her nightgown. She was
so beautiful! That was the least of it; she was honest, and strong,
and she always understood what was going on, even with the kids, when
they were being teenagerish like Luke had been tonight. And she was
brave, with the special courage of a cop's wife.

Helen lay down the brush, turned and saw Will looking at her. She
smiled, and came over to her side of the bed. She lay on her side,
looking at Will. "You're worried," she said.
"I don't like people shooting at me. But that's my job. What I can't
take is you and the kids being in danger."
Helen nodded.
"That creep. He comes to our house, talks to our daughter. Says 'I'll
be back.' Leaves phone messages. Here, on our home phone, not at the
station."
"We'll be OK," Helen said.
"He killed Mike."
She said nothing; Will continued, "He was my first partner. My
friend. We'd talk about the Bears, and the White Sox. And about you,
and Mary. We were both trying to figure out you girls, and not doing
very well."
Helen giggled. "Mary was so sweet, really just a kid. She and I were
trying to figure out you guys. We weren't making much progress,
either."
"He was maybe the only guy I ever knew that I could talk to about
anything. Whatever was on my mind, he'd listen. He'd make me laugh
about it, and it would be all right."
Helen took Will's hand.
"That day at the liquor store... we'd done all the training, but this
was our first time with the real thing, someone shooting at us. I
swung the squad car across the street to block it, facing the store,
in case he had a car there and made a run for it. Mike called for
backup and I got out and returned fire, taking cover behind the car
door. As soon as he got off the message, Mike did the same on the
passenger side. That Caruso slime had a Uzi; got it at a gun show and
had someone modify it so it would shoot full automatic. Every time
one of us tried to get off a shot, he'd let off a full burst. Just as
the backup got there, he hit Mike, and he went sprawling into the
street. He was gone. Just like that; some loser with a gun in a
liquor store, and Mike was dead. I'd never seen anyone die before,
and here was my best friend, splattered all over the street. Thirteen
bullets in him, the report said. I was crazy mad; I wanted to rush
the guy, and kill him barehanded. It was good that Otis was there; he
saw what I was going to do and ran over and grabbed me, sort of
tackled me into the car, when he could have gotten hit himself doing
it. 'Girardi, do your duty. Don't think about it now. Just do your
job.'"

Helen spoke: "I rushed over to their house as soon as I heard. Mary
was just sitting there at the kitchen table, not even crying. She
wouldn't say anything, just kept, scrunching up one of the blue
napkins and pulling it and wadding it up again. Her eyes... she died
that day, just as much as Mike did. And then when she had the
miscarriage... I wish I could have done something for her. Anything."

"You stayed by her through the funeral. You took her to the hospital
when the labor came. You stayed with her at night for weeks, until
Kevin was born."

"It wasn't enough."
"It's never enough. There's no answer for something like that." Will
continued, "You just have to go on. She has, you know."

"She never married again. She takes care of her mother and hardly
sets foot out of the house. She never really dealt with losing Mike,
and the baby."

"Don't blame yourself, Helen. You did all that anyone could do. You
were a friend."
--------------------------------------
Luke slammed his locker door as Joan came toward him. He had not come
down to supper last night. She had heard him and Dad shouting at each
other last night when Dad tried to talk to him in his room. This
morning he skipped breakfast; he tore through the kitchen, grabbing a
couple of power bars from the cabinet and almost running out the door
with his backpack.

She rushed to catch up with him as he headed to class. "Luke, I'm
sorry," she said, touching his arm. He brushed her aside. "Go away. I
don't want to talk to anyone." She stayed beside him as he pounded
through the hall. "Talk to Grace. Talk to someone," she said, as he
ignored her and walked away. "Don't be like this," she shouted at him
as he disappeared around the corner.

Grace came up beside Joan, watching Luke go. "Been a long night,"
Grace said. "We were IM-ing all night about it."
"What are we going to do?" Joan asked.
"Nothing," Grace said. "Nothing we can do. He's come up against a
brick wall, and he's got to learn that there's some things you just
have to live with."
--------------------------------------
The bookstore had been quiet all evening. Joan was checking over
stock lists at the register. She looked up, hearing a customer
approach the desk. She was an elderly Oriental woman, tiny and
dignified. She could not have been any more than five feet tall, but
she carried herself as if she were an empress. She wore a black
raincoat, and had gray streaks in her short black hair. Her eyes were
dark and solemn as she looked at Joan.

"Ma'am, are you ready to check out?"
"Yes, Joan. I found what I wanted."
Joan grimaced. "Oh, it's you. Where have you been?"
"Everywhere," the woman replied, smiling slightly.
"Figures. You do get around."
She smiled more broadly, now a wide grin. "Yes. Part of my job."
"OK, what do you have today?"
She laid a book on the counter: "Poems of the Great War." [use the
URL to link to Amazon, and check the title...]
"Cheery reading," Joan said. "Something lighthearted for when you've
had a hard day?"
"This one is good. It is by Wilfrid Owen," she said, opening the book
and reading:

Quote:
What passing-bells for these who die as cattle?
Only the monstrous anger of the guns.
Only the stuttering rifles' rapid rattle
Can patter out their hasty orisons.
No mockeries for them; no prayers nor bells,
Nor any voice of mourning save the choirs, --
The shrill, demented choirs of wailing shells;
And bugles calling for them from sad shires.

What candles may be held to speed them all?
Not in the hands of boys, but in their eyes
Shall shine the holy glimmers of goodbyes.
The pallor of girls' brows shall be their pall;
Their flowers the tenderness of patient minds,
And each slow dusk a drawing-down of blinds.

"Mr. Owen wrote truly."

"So what is it with you and war? Do you like death?"
"Let me read you another one."

Quote:
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs,
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots,
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame, all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of gas-shells dropping softly behind.

Gas! GAS! Quick, boys! -- An ecstasy of fumbling
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time,
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime. --
Dim through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.

In all my dreams before my helpless sight
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.

If in some smothering dreams, you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin,
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs
Bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues, --
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.

The woman closed the book. "You really think I want these things to
happen?"
"You let it happen," Joan said. "You have let millions of people get
killed in wars. Or crippled, like poor Ricky. Not to mention people
like Judith. Or my Dad's old partner. He and Mom still hurt over that
one."
"Billy Caruso had free will. So did Mark Soucek. Their free choices
brought their paths together that day. Mark chose to do what was
right; your father did, too, even though it put both of them in
danger. Billy chose to do what was wrong."
"You're big on this free will stuff. What about Hitler? And all those
people that died in the war he started, and in the concentration
camps? Millions of them."
"Yes. I was there. I have been on every battlefield since the
beginning of your species. And in every prison camp and field
hospital. And burial ground."
"Couldn't you, maybe, zap some of these people, make them stop
killing?"
"Joan, you know better than that. I am all about free will. I can
send people like you to tell them what they should do, and I have. Oh
yes, I have sent many... But I am not going to 'make' them do
anything. I choose not to be that kind of God."
"What about death? Why do you let it happen?"
"It's complicated."
"Yeah. That's what you always say. Can't you elaborate? A little?"
"Remember when Kevin used to play soccer?"
"Yeah. He was good at it, like he was at everything. But it was
sooooo boring. All those guys running up and down the field, and
standing next to Mom on the sidelines, listening to her gossip with
the other soccer moms."
"What happens when a soccer player gets taken out of the game for a
substitute?"
"He goes to the sidelines, maybe sits on the bench."
"But he's still there with his team, even though he can't go back in
the game again."
"Yeah."
"He's watching the game, and cheering his teammates on. Right?"
"Yeah."
"He's still part of the team, just as much as anyone on the field."
"Yeah."
The woman laid a $50 on the counter, and picked up the book.
"Keep the change, Joan. Put it in the till for Sammy."
"So that's my answer?"
The woman opened the door and walked out, waving over her shoulder as
she came past the window on the sidewalk.
--------------------------------------
"This is the Girardi residence. We're not available, so leave a
message after the beep."
"Ummm.... Billy Caruso again. Mr. Girardi, I'm still looking for you.
I'll come by next time I'm in town."

Joan lay in bed Friday night, sleepless. She was worried about her
dad; that Billy Caruso guy really had him shook up. And she was
worried about Luke. And she missed Judith. "I'm lucky; I have
friends. I wouldn't trade Grace and Adam for anyone. But Judith... it
was like she was a part of me, like she could read my mind..." With
such thoughts Joan finally drifted off to sleep...

Joan and Judith sat at the Girardi kitchen table in their pajamas
eating breakfast. The sun was up, shining brightly in the window.
"How's my crocus doing?" Judith asked, taking a bite of a donut. "The
one you brought home and put in your room."
"It's growing. That's more than I usually manage with plants.
"You do know what kind it is, don't you," Judith said.
"I have no idea,"
"Joan of Arc. I picked it out 'cause it made me think of you."
"Uhhh... did you know about me and... uh... why I was interested in
Joan of Arc?"
"I didn't know you were interested in Joan of Arc. I just knew your
name is Joan. That was enough connection to buy that kind at the
store."
Judith finished the donut, and reached across for another one. "So
you and Rove are back together."
"Yeah. You see all this stuff ?"
"Be nice to the boy. He's OK, even if he did cheat on you. Typical
male: guys are all worthless scum."
"I thought he was better than that," Joan said, absentmindedly
stirring her cereal.
"Well, now you know. If it makes you feel any better, he hated
himself for it."
"Good."
"Yeah. He was like a rabbit in a steel trap. He didn't know how to
get out. You know how he is. He's helpless when it comes to dealing
with people. Even with you."
"So you watched all of this?" Joan said.
"Well, some of it. I'm not God. I can only be one place at a time.
But I do keep an eye on you guys when I can. Better than watching the
soaps."
"I don't think I want to know."
"Relationships suck. But being alone sucks worse."
"Yeah. Tell me about it."
"Am I going to have to listen to more Shakespeare today?"
"I don't know. Probably."
"I still can't believe he memorized Hamlet. For me. That was insane."
"He was in love."
"Yeah. Right. All hormones and one kiss. Friedman is worthless scum
like the rest, fickle as the wind. But... when all is said and done,
my kind of guy." They both giggled at that. "Except he's still alive
and I'm dead." Judith added, "That's a problem, but he'll get over
it."
"Won't we all," Joan said.
"Yeah. 'Death and taxes,' my dad used to mutter. Trust me, death is a
lot more sure than taxes."
--------------------------------------
"Andy, I'm glad you could come," Kevin said as his friend settled
into the passenger seat and closed the door, which wouldn't latch.
"It needs more of a slam," Kevin said. Andy slammed it this time, and
it held. "The Gimpmobile has its quirks," Kevin added with a grin.
"Yeah. I hope it gets us there. Have you ever driven it this far?"
"Once. When I came out to see you."
"Wonderful. We'll probably get on the Beltway and the transmission
will fall out or something."
"Life's an adventure," Kevin said as he pulled out and headed down
the street to the Interstate ramp.
"Right about that. Let's see... To turn the radio on, you give it a
thump there?"
"That's it. Hope you still like country. The tuner broke and it only
gets one station now."
"I can tell this is going to be fun."
"Don't worry. The maintenance is up to date, and this baby runs like
a top." The engine coughed, as if for emphasis. Kevin laughed: "Well,
at least it runs."
"Yeah. You're making me more confident all the time."
--------------------------------------
Friedman put on his best shirt and a tie, looking in the mirror and
getting his hair just so. His hands trembled a little; this was
almost like going to the funeral again. Picking up a paper from his
dresser, he looked at it again, mouthing the words. It would have to
do.
--------------------------------------
Kevin and Andy rolled through Rockville on I-270, staying in the slow
lane. A sixteen-wheeler roared by after sitting on their bumper for
over a mile. "Speed limit is 55," Kevin said. "What's his problem?"
"They must think we're yokels from out in the country -- never seen a
big city interstate before," Andy said.
"Yeah. I'd probably be going 70 or 75 like they are, if the
Gimpmobile could do it. Fifty-five is about it, unless it's
downhill."
They rode on, negotiating a busy set of interchanges.
Kevin asked, "Did you know Ricky joined the Army?"
"Yeah. He signed up the day he turned eighteen, a couple months after
you guys moved away."
"He was always pretty quiet. He just played ball and went on his way;
never did all the crazy stuff we did. Never saw him at a party, not
once."
Andy said, "Most I ever got out of him was that Ben Franklin quote:
'Early to bed and early to rise.' He said he was in bed by 8:00 most
nights and up at 3:30 or 4, even on weekends.
"Great on the field, though," Kevin said. "Not much got past him at
short, and seems like he'd always scratch out a single when we had to
have it."
Andy said, "Never got any notice for it. Coach never gave him much
credit, either. He was into home runs, and Ricky couldn't hit it out
of the park if his life depended on it."
"I wish I'd known him better."
"Me too," Andy said. "Funny how you can go right on through with a
guy, from T-ball and Little League on up, and sort of take him for
granted, and never get to know him, not really."
"Yeah. I'll say this for him. I never heard Ricky say anything
negative about anyone."
"He usually didn't say much, period."
"His mom sounded pretty desperate on the phone," Kevin said. "About
like my mom must have been."
"He's their only child."
"I don't think that matters. Mom and Dad have Luke and Joan, and they
still were basket cases."
--------------------------------------
Joan watered the crocus in her room; today of all days it had started
to bloom, despite the dismal day outside. She smiled, thinking of how
Judith would like it that the flower picked today to start blooming.
Joan was glad of the dream she'd had last night about her. "I guess
there'll always be a connection," she muttered, looking up. "Just
like You keep telling me." She looked at the clock; almost time to
go. What on earth was she going to wear?
--------------------------------------
"Why are we stopping?" Andy asked, as Kevin signaled, slowed, and
pulled onto the narrow shoulder.
"Oil light's on."
"Here? On the Beltway?"
"Murphy's Law. It had to be here. Right where 270 joins the big
dance, and just four miles or so to our exit." Kevin grinned at his
friend, as he hit the button for the emergency flashers. "It does
this sometimes. That's why I keep a case of 50-weight in the back.
Glad you're here -- I can add the oil, but I have trouble getting the
hood closed."
Kevin started to open his door. A truck horn blared, as a
sixteen-wheeler roared by. "Uh.... Andy. Maybe you should do the oil.
I don't think I have enough room on this side to get out. Not without
ending up as road kill."
--------------------------------------
Helen brought the coffee over, and refilled Will's cup and her own.
He nodded his thanks, munching absentmindedly on his toast. She sat
down, smiling as she smelled the hot coffee, and took a sip.
"Why do I do this stuff?" he asked.
"What stuff?"
"Work. Being a cop. Chasing bad guys."
"You're still thinking about Mike, aren't you."
"Yeah. And that slimeball Caruso."
"And?"
"Maybe its time to quit."
"Why?"
"When it puts you guys in danger, that's it. I need to do something
else. That creep has called four times this week and keeps saying
he'll come get me. What if Joan answers the door again? Or Luke?"
Helen sat down her coffee cup.
"Honey, you know better than that."
"Than what?"
"We know there are risks. I know it, the children know it. Every day,
in the back of our minds, we know that you might not make it home.
That scares the crap out of me, and I know it does the children, too.
But we all want you to be who you are. And that's being a good cop.
If something happens to any of us because of that, that's OK too. We
are sure going to stand with you, and if that means some danger, so
be it."
--------------------------------------
"Is this the exit?" Kevin asked.
Andy glanced again at the map. "Yeah, this is it."
Kevin signaled and took the exit lane for Georgia Avenue.
"Kev, I'm scared about this."
"Yeah, me too."
"Like, what if he doesn't want to see us?"
"Could happen. We've come all this way. We'll just sit there if he
ignores us. I did that to a lot of visitors when I didn't want them
around. Everyone feeling sorry for me. I learned to tune it out."
"I mean, Ricky is a disabled vet. A hero. And we're just old
ballplayers. At least you have a connection."
"The gimp thing, yeah."
"I don't even have that."
"Lucky you."
"Yeah."

By this time, they had reached the hospital complex. Kevin drove
slowly, looking for a place to park. He had his handicapped permit,
but all of the handicapped places were taken. He finally found a
place, far out on the edge of the complex.
"Guess we'll get our exercise today," he said.
"Looks that way. At least it's not raining."
"Not yet," Kevin said, looking at the gray overcast.
--------------------------------------
Ricky was in a ward with seven other patients. The room had large
windows overlooking a courtyard, and would probably be cheerful on a
sunny day. Today it was gray, and dominated by the fluorescent
lights. Ricky was awake, and saw Kevin and Andy come in, but he
turned his face to the wall. Kevin rolled up beside the bed, and Andy
sat in the chair near the foot of the bed. They sat there in silence
for a few minutes; Ricky continued to ignore them.
"Kid, we're not going anyplace. In case you're wondering," Kevin
said. No response. "Well, we're here, if you decide to notice us."
They continued sitting there: five minutes. Ten. The ward was quiet.
Several of the patients were asleep. A couple of the others were
watching TV. There were the constant beeps and noises of the medical
equipment, and voices in the hall as people came and went. Kevin and
Andy sat, looking at one another and at Ricky. Andy made a motion as
if to ask, "Should we leave?" Kevin shook his head, "No." Ten minutes
became fifteen.

Without looking at them, Ricky said, "Go away. I don't want to see
anyone."
Kevin said, "No."
Looking at them now, Ricky said, "Mom put you up to this, didn't
she?"
"Yeah."
"She thinks because you're in a chair that you and I might have
something in common."
"Something like that, I guess."
"It sucks."
"Yeah."
"Now that we've covered all possible topics of conversation, you've
done your duty. Leave. Get out of here."
"No."
"I could ask the orderlies to throw you out."
"Yeah."
"Just so you'll know, you are not going to cheer me up. I'm way past
that."
"So we figured."
"Well, why are you here?"
"We came to see you."
Ricky smiled, bitterly. "And here I am, America's hero. Plate in my
skull, sponges in here where I used to have guts, not even able to
pee without a catheter. Just one hand that I can use, until they do
another half-dozen operations. And no legs. In case you didn't
notice."
"Yeah."
"Do you know any words besides 'yeah' and 'no?'"
Kevin smiled; "A few." He continued: "Ricky, this sucks. I know that
Andy and I, we can't do any good or change anything. But when we
heard about you being here, we had to come. If nothing else, we'll
just sit here."
"Misery loves company."
"Yeah."
"There you go again; you need to enlarge your vocabulary, Kev."
--------------------------------------
Out in the garage, Adam finished packing his backpack, making sure
there was plenty of padding around what he'd made. Last of all, he
took a little box from the work table, and slipped it in his pocket.
It was time to go; he'd better grab his coat. Maybe an umbrella too;
it looked like it might rain.
--------------------------------------
"So we had patrol, 0600 hours, and we drew the one Hummer that still
didn't have any armor. The mine was right next to the bridge. Ripped
us apart. I'm the only one they drug out that still had a pulse.
Lisa... And Ishmael and Freddy. They probably never felt a thing. I
didn't either, not then. Didn't wake up until Germany, and I don't
remember much of that." Kevin and Andy continued to listen. "They
flew Mom and Dad over. They were by my bed in the recovery room,
after they took the legs. That was when it began to sink in, when I
saw their faces."
"Yeah," Kevin said.
"God, this sucks. I don't mind it so much about me. It's them. They
don't need a cripple for their only child. I'm never going to be able
to do anything, just lay around and cost lots of money and have
everyone feel sorry for me, or pretend that I'm invisible."
The three of them were silent. There was nothing to say.

"Helen, go upstairs. Now."
"What?"
"Go upstairs. It's Caruso. Coming down the walk. No, I'm coming up
too; I need my gun."
Will hustled an unwilling Helen up the steps and into their bedroom.
"Stay here. If you hear anything happen downstairs, call 911."
The doorbell rang.
"Be careful, Will."
He had his gun now. "Always. I want to come home to you. That has
kept me alive more than once."
The doorbell rang again. Will walked down the steps, his gun ready.
The doorbell rang a third time.
Will stood to the side of the door, opened it quickly and took
position, ready to shoot.
Billy Caruso stood there, not moving, not saying anything. He was in
a battered gray overcoat, hanging open over the old Packers
sweatshirt he'd worn when Joan talked with him. His eyes were on the
gun in Will's hands. "Go ahead and shoot. I deserve it," Caruso said.
"What do you want?" Will said, still ready to shoot.
"Oh, put that away. I guess it doesn't matter any more. It won't
change things." Caruso held his hands out, palms up, as if to say
"I'm not armed." Will lowered his gun.
Caruso said "They let me out last month. 'Good behavior,' they said."
Will said "Yeah. I checked with the Illinois corrections people. I
can't believe they'd let a creep like you back on the street."
"I've been looking for you," Caruso said.
"So I hear."
"You get lots of time to think when you're locked up. Lots of time.
You remember things, lots of things you'd just as soon forget."
Will waited, still alert for trouble. "And?"
"Well, I had to face up to what I'd done. And I didn't like what I
saw. No, not one bit."
"You killed my partner."
"Yeah. A guy with a pregnant wife. Doing time doesn't even begin to
deal with it."
"No. I wish they'd executed you."
"Me too. It would have been easier than living with it."
"So why are you here?"
"I came looking for you, like I said. When I got out, my daughter
said I could come live with her in Philly. She's all grown up now and
has kids of her own, and a husband."
"I don't really care," Will said. "You can live under a bridge for
all I care."
Caruso nodded, and continued: "I got a job now, washing dishes at a
factory cafeteria. But that's not why I came here."
"Well, spill it," Will said.
"I know nothing I can do will change anything. Nothing can undo what
I did that day. But I have do to what little I can." He reached
inside his overcoat. Will raised his gun again. "Get your hand back
out where I can see it," Will said.
"Oh. Yeah. I guess you're right." Very slowly, Caruso pulled an
envelope from an inner pocket of his coat. Will lowered his gun.
"A couple of years ago, my mother died. I was the only child, so I
got her estate. Quite a bit, actually, a couple million dollars.
After I made sure my daughter and her family were set up all right,
there's still a lot left. Can you... could you see to it that it gets
to that woman, your partner's wife? And any family she has?"
Will looked at the envelope as Caruso held it between them. "You
can't buy your way out of what you did," he said.
"I know that. I know it won't really change anything, but I have to
do what I can. Here's the information, and the address of my lawyer
in Chicago that has the money. I've told him to do whatever you tell
him. He could put it in a trust to give her an income, or whatever."
"Why didn't you just have him do it directly? Why come to me?"
"I don't want her to know where this comes from. It would just open
old wounds. And if you decide it is more than she needs, you probably
know some other cops' families that need it. Just do whatever will
help people, that's all I'm asking."
He handed the envelope to Will, and turned to go.
"Hey Caruso," Will said. He turned back, looking at Will. "Good luck.
Good luck with everything."
--------------------------------------
Ricky smiled and said, "Guys, I'm glad you came."
"Yeah, we are too," Andy said.
"You especially," he said, looking at Andy. "I know Mom put Kevin up
to this, but you -- you didn't have to come. You're not a gimp."
"Sometimes I wish I was, instead of Kev. Or instead of you, now."
"No you don't. Don't ever wish to be like this." Kevin and Andy took
Ricky's good hand, held it, squeezed it hard. They began to leave.

"Can you do something for me?" Ricky asked. "Yeah, anything," Andy
and Kevin said at the same time. All three of them laughed at that.
"Lisa... God, we didn't even get to that. Lisa was... well, sort of a
girlfriend. Sort of. It was real on and off. And we'd had a fight the
night before and she wasn't talking to me that morning. If only... if
only I could take back some things, some of what I said."
Andy sat back down. Kevin wheeled his chair back around.
"She was a sweet girl, cute brunette from northern New York, a little
town close Fort Drum. Her dad had been career army, clear back to
'Nam, and she'd always been around military. He was so proud of her
-- I went home with her on leave, the one time we had a chance. And
now she's dead."
By this time, Ricky was crying, the tears running down his cheeks.
Andy reached across and got the box of tissues, and dried some of the
tears; Kevin held Ricky's hand.
"She's buried at Arlington. Could you guys go there for me? Take one
of those Veterans' Day flags, maybe. And some flowers. She loved
daisies. God, when she would put them in her hair... I can't believe
she's gone."
Andy was crying too. "Yeah. We'll do it."
"Spc. Lisa Macmillan. She'll be in the new section, where they're
putting the Iraq and Afghanistan people. Way off away from the
tourists."

They sat in silence for a while. Kevin asked, "Rick, you going to be
OK?"
"No," he answered, trying to smile.
"We'll come back. Arcadia is not that far away. And call me,
anytime." "Me too," Andy said.
"Yeah. Thanks again. Thanks.... Don't forget about Lisa. Tell her..
Tell her I love her. I always will."
"No. We'll take care of it. We'll head over there soon as we leave
here."
--------------------------------------
Joan stood by Rocky's grave. She had come early, so that she could be
there for a few minutes alone.

"Rocky," she said, "I only knew you for such a little while. I wish
it had been a lot longer. You were... you faced death well. A lot
better than I ever will. You saw it coming, and made it your friend."

She looked around, half-expecting to see him the way she had at his
funeral, but he was not to be seen. "It sucks that you died so young.
I know you're OK now and everything, but I still don't like it. Your
mom misses you. But I guess you know that."

She sensed that someone had come up beside her. Turning, she saw that
it was Adam. He was in a dark hooded raincoat, with his backpack.
"Hi," he said.
"Hi."
"I thought you might be here."
"Yeah."

They stood there for a bit. "I wish I'd met him," Adam said. "He must
have been a good kid."
"Yeah, he was."
"You okay?" he asked.
"No. Are you?"
"No."
Joan began to cry. Adam shyly took her hand. She held it tightly,
grateful for the contact.

After a long while, he said, "Jane?"
"Mmm-hmm?" Joan replied.
"I was wondering, you know, if maybe... " Adam faltered to a stop.
Turning to him, "Yes?"
"I want to go over to Mom's grave."
"Sure."
"That's why I came out early. I went over there, and I couldn't do
it, not by myself. Would you go over with me?"
Joan squeezed his hand. "Of course I will."

They walked hand in hand down the row of tombstones; Elizabeth's
grave was not far from Rocky's. Joan and Adam stood at the foot of
her grave for a long while. A cold drizzle began to fall. The bare
limbs of the trees on their left rustled as the wind picked up.

Adam spoke, so softly that Joan could not tell whether he was talking
to himself or to her.
"I remember when I was in kindergarten and we were supposed to draw a
house. All the other kids drew a kid house, you know, a box with two
windows and a door and a curl of smoke from a chimney. The teacher
loved it, and told them how good they all were. My house was
different. I got this idea that I'd show all the rooms at once with
all the furniture and the plumbing and the electric wires, all kind
of piled up in four or five dimensions, and all the people that had
ever lived there before us. The teacher frowned at me when she saw it
and said 'Now Adam. Be a good little boy and draw a house the way it
is supposed to be.' I didn't know what to do, so I started crying,
and the other kids made fun of me, all except Grace. She told them to
shut up. She hit one of the boys, and the teacher made her go sit in
the corner."

Joan held Adam's hand. She was starting to cry again.
"I took it home, all smudged where I'd cried on it. I didn't even
have to tell Mom what it was. As soon as she saw it, she said 'That's
our house, isn't it?' She hugged me, and hung it on the refrigerator.
It stayed there for years."

"I wish I'd known her," Joan said.
"She would have liked you. She saw lots of stuff that other people
can't see, and she would see what a good person you are."
Joan didn't know what to say to this. Adam took his hand from Joan's,
and reached into an inside pocket of his coat. He pulled out a little
cardboard box, what might have once been a box for a ring. "I made
this for you, Mom," he said. He opened it, and took out a tiny
sculpture: a woman surrounded by a nimbus of bright wires, looping
around her like ripples in a three-dimensional pond. Kneeling on one
knee in the wet grass, he set it gently at the foot of the tombstone.
"If there's ever any good ripples that come from me, you're the one
who started it."

Joan stood behind Adam, her hands on his shoulders. She was
awestruck. The little sculpture was exquisite, like a tiny jewel, or
a star in the night sky. Looking up, she saw that Grace was standing
there. As Adam stood up, Grace came over and hugged him, hard,
neither of them saying a word. Finally she spoke, "The others are
here. We'd better go."

The three of them walked toward the chapel, as the drizzle grew into
a steady cold rain.

"This is the third time we've crossed this bridge," Kevin said as
they crossed the Potomac in heavy afternoon traffic.
"I think we just need to get in that lane and we'll be able to get in
the place this time," Andy said. "Yeah, there it is. There's the
sign."
--------------------------------------
Friedman, Glynis and Luke stood inside the chapel waiting for them.
Joan went to Luke, taking his hands in hers. "I'm glad you came," she
said. Luke smiled, a little. "I'm sorry I've been such a grouch," he
said.
"It's OK. For what it's worth, I'm on your side. You would knock 'em
dead at MIT, now or anytime."
"Thanks. Thanks, Joan. That means a lot."
"Tell her about the admissions guy," Grace said.
"Oh yeah. I called the admissions office yesterday after school and
told them the situation. He said that the scholarship still holds,
even if I don't start until fall 2007. And he said I might as well
get some general studies courses out of the way at Dawson. They would
work with the Dawson people and make sure that the courses transfer."
"Luke, that's great news!" Joan said.
"I still want to go. It's not fair."
"Unchallenged," Joan said. "Life's not fair, is it?"
"No," he said, sadly shaking his head. "That's kind of what today is
all about, I guess. Life is definitely not fair."

The six of them walked down the drive toward Judith's grave. The
little group huddled together against the wind, now blowing steadily
as the temperature dropped. A few leaves, the last of the season,
swirled around them. They saw two people standing by the grave,
holding one another. "I wonder who that is," Grace said. The two
people heard the group and turned to see who they were. "Look, it's
Judith's parents," Joan said.

"Mr. Montgomery. Mrs. Montgomery," Joan said, as the group gathered
beside them. Seeming surprised that the young people had come, Mr.
Montgomery said "It is a dark day for this sort of thing. I'm glad
you came."
"We had to," Joan said, finding herself the spokesperson for the
group. "We haven't forgotten."
"Nor have we," Mrs. Montgomery said.
"We don't want to intrude," Mr. Montgomery said. "We've been here for
a while, and I guess we'll go now."
"Don't go," Joan said. "Stay here with us. We all cared about Judith.
We ought to all be here together."
Touched by Joan's offer, Mr. Montgomery said "Thank you. That is very
kind."

The tombstone read:

Quote:
Judith Montgomery
Beloved Daughter
March 9th, 1988
November 12, 2004

There were flowers on the grave, obviously from the Montgomerys. The
eight of them stood in a little group around the grave.

"We failed her," Mrs. Montgomery said. "We were so busy with our jobs
that we didn't have time for her. She made it hard for us to try and
get through, but that doesn't excuse us. We didn't try hard enough.
If only we could start over..."

Joan came over and hugged her. For a moment, Joan could think of
nothing to say. Slowly, she said "Judith is all right now. Everything
is all right."

"I wish I knew that," Mr. Montgomery said. "God, I wish I knew that."
Not knowing what else she could say, Joan kept her silence, and
hugged him also.

Grace spoke up. "Judith, you rocked. You broke every convention. You
turned everything upside down. We miss you, girl."

After a moment, Luke said "You have gone on into another continuum.
You see things now that our eyes are too dim to see. You hear things
our ears are too dull to hear. If there is a God, you must be seeing
Him face to face, and you must know the things that still mystify us.
We will come to you, but you can no longer come to us. Go gently and
be at peace, friend."

Glynis said "I didn't know Judith much at all. But I wish her well.
And I'm here for all of you... all of you, my friends." She turned
away, shy at having said what she said.

Adam set his backpack on the ground, opened it, and pulled out
something wrapped in a cloth. He motioned for Joan to help him, and
the two of them unwrapped it.

It was Judith, whirling on one foot in a wild dance, her arms
outstretched and her hair flying about her. She had a huge smile on
her face as she looked skyward, as if she were caught up in a moment
of fierce joy.

"Here. You should have this," Adam said.
They looked at the sculpture, and at Adam. "We can't take this.
It's... it is stunning," Mrs. Montgomery said. "You should sell this;
it would be worth a lot of money."
"No. I can't sell something like this. I made it for Judith. I was
going to leave it here, but you should have it."

Joan added her voice: "Yes. You should have it. I think Judith would
want it that way." Adam pressed the sculpture into Mr. Montgomery's
hands. Reluctantly, he took it, cradling it carefully in his arms.

Joan began to speak. "You saved my life, Judith. Back there at crazy
camp, I was losing it. I was going insane, and didn't believe in
anyone or anything anymore. But you drug me back up and made me keep
on living." Looking down at her feet, Joan continued, "I wish I had
been there for you. I was too wrapped up in myself last fall, and
I... I wasn't paying enough attention to you or to anything. I didn't
see what was happening to you, not until it was too late."

Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out three balls. "I still have
the juggling balls. I... I try sometimes, for you. But I just can't
do it, not without you." Sobbing now, she said "I miss you so much! I
wish you were still here with us." Grace and Luke hugged her and held
her as she turned away, trying to hide her tears. Mrs. Montgomery
came over, shyly, and took Joan's hand. "Thank you for everything,"
she murmured. "You were there for Judith when no one else was." Joan
smiled through her tears and nodded.

"I was crazy last fall," Friedman said, while this was going on. "No,
I've always been crazy." The others smiled. "Judith, you were crazy
too. You were a blaze of light, too bright to bear... I guess maybe
too bright to last on this earth."

After a moment he continued, "You weren't exactly falling for my
boyish charm. Not even for my Hamlet. And that's OK. But I hope you
realized that I really did love you."

Looking at Glynis, who seemed uncomfortable with his remarks,
Friedman continued, "I've moved on now. We all have, because we must.
But we will remember you, always."

Looking around at the group, as if unsure whether to say more, he
continued:

"Judith, now you sleep. 'Perchance to dream?'
Or is it a formless night without morning,
The end of a 'tale
Told by an idiot,
Signifying nothing?'

Was I no more than a pest?
Or do you dream of me, as I of you,
Awaiting a morning where
Even love stillborn
is honored?"

--------------------------------------

There were rows of graves, some of them fresh, all in military
precision with identical white markers. Many of them had little
American flags from the crowd of visitors for the Veterans' Day
ceremonies the day before. Kevin and Andy were alone in the cold
rain, except for an old woman down the way in a black raincoat but
bareheaded, kneeling in the wet grass and weeping silently by a fresh
grave.

Quote:
Lisa A. Macmillan, Spc. U.S. Army
Operation Iraqi Freedom
August 18, 1984 - September 4, 2005

Kevin rolled up to the marker, leaned over, and planted the little
flag by it, next to one that was already there. Andy gently laid the
little bouquet of daisies on the mound, where grass was just
beginning to grow back.

"Lisa, friend of our friend," Kevin said, softly. "We don't know if
you can hear us, but Ricky misses you. I think he wishes he were
dead, too."
"He wants you to know that he loves you," Andy said. "He's a good
guy, and we hope you'll think well of him."
"We wish you well, wherever you are. May you have rest, and peace."

The old woman stood, slowly and with effort, and with a last look at
the grave began walking their way. She nodded to them as she passed,
her black-and-gray hair soaking wet and plastered to her forehead,
her face wrinkled, her Oriental eyes dark and sad, and red from
weeping. They returned the nod and watched as she slowly made her way
down the row, tiny and fragile-looking in the rain.

--------------------------------------

The rain fell steadily, harder now than before. Joan and Adam walked
slowly along the sidewalk, holding hands and sheltering under his
umbrella. Their breath was now making clouds of steam, as the
temperature continued to drop. Each of them was lost in thought, glad
simply to have each other's company. They were almost to the Girardi
house before Adam spoke:

"I was thinking... you know, the other part of a year ago."
"Yeah. I was thinking about that too."
"It was good."
Joan looked at Adam, and smiled. He smiled back, his little smile
that she loved. "You were so handsome. I thought my Prince Charming
had come to sweep me off my feet."
"You were beautiful. I've tried to draw you, what you looked like
that night. I can't. I don't have any way to measure up to it."
"That was such a good time," Joan said.
"I really thought things were going to be OK," Adam said, softly,
"Like I'd finally found someone, and we'd be together forever."
"Yeah, like the old stories: 'And they lived happily ever after.'
Hasn't happened."
"No. I wish it had."
They walked on a bit. Adam broke the silence: "I hate that I screwed
things up."
"You weren't the only one. We both screwed up. I sometimes wish we
could go back a year, back to that night. And before Judith died. I
wish we could bring her back."
"I wonder if we'll ever be like we were a year ago. Seems like
another universe or something."
"I guess not," Joan said. "It's like being a child, maybe. We can't
go back there again." She stopped and turned to Adam. "But we're
where we are now. And we can go on from here, the best we can."
"Unchallenged," he said softly.
Adam kissed her, a shy little kiss on the cheek. "I love you."
She smiled at him. "I love you too." Gently, she reached up and
touched his face.

They embraced in the cold rain, kissing tenderly and long as the
early dark of November deepened around them.