Читать книгу The Top Gun's Return - Kathleen Creighton - Страница 12

Sammi June set the computer on Hibernate, shut it down, stretched, then shoved back her chair and bent over to slip on her running shoes. She tied the laces and grabbed up her fanny pack as she stood, shaking the cramps out of her legs. She was halfway out the door, buckling on the fanny pack as she went, when the phone rang. She said a bad word and thought about ignoring it; she was starving, and on Sundays the cafeteria’s hot food line closed early. And frankly, after working on that stupid psych paper all day, she was not in the mood for yogurt.

But then a little shiver ran through her, and before she could stop it came the thought: What if it’s my dad?

She went back into the room, closed the door carefully behind her and picked up the cordless handset from its nest in the pile of comforter and discarded clothing on her bed. She punched the button and said, “Samantha June’s Funeral and Pizza Parlor, how may I help you?”

“Hey,” said her mother’s voice.

“Hey,” said Sammi June. Her knees gave out unexpectedly and she sat down on the bed. “So, where are you?” Her hand, the one holding the phone, had started to shake, so she lay back in the jumble, pillowing her head on one arm.

“I’m in Landstuhl. Right now I’m in my room in the guest house. Hon’, I’m sorry I didn’t call earlier—”

“’S’okay, I’ve been working on this stupid paper all day, anyway. I was just going out to get something to eat.” And she rushed on without pausing for breath, “So, is Dad with you?”

She heard her mom take a breath. “Not right now, no. He was, but he left about half an hour ago. He had to go back to the hospital. Hon’, I’m so sorry—”

“The hospital! What’s wrong? Gramma said he was okay.”

“No, no—it’s nothing—there’s nothing wrong, he just has to stay in the hospital so they can monitor him for a little while longer, that’s all.”

“But you’ve seen him.” Sammi June pressed the phone hard against her ear.

“Yeah…” Her mom’s voice sounded very gentle, the way it did sometimes when she was totally exhausted after a gut-wrenching day in the NICU where she worked. Then she added in a brighter tone, “Hey, we had dinner together—fried chicken and peach cobbler,” and Sammi June could almost see her mom trying to straighten up and put on a happy face for her. Which really bugged her. I’m not a child, she thought. Jeez, Mom, like I need for you to sugarcoat everything for me.

“So,” she said, putting it right out there, “how is he?”

“He’s okay. He’s…pretty good, considering,” her mother said, too carefully. Sammi June wanted to yell at her.

“Well, what does he look like?” She felt like she was suffocating. Even after she realized she was holding her breath, she couldn’t seem to let it go. “I mean, you know. Does he look…” Like my dad? Like the dad I remember? Like, of course he doesn’t, stupid. Duh, he’s been in a prison camp for eight years. Finally she settled for, “Has he changed a lot?” And then, eyes closed, she waited, pleading silently. Don’t lie to me, Momma. I’ll never forgive you if you lie to me. Don’t treat me like a child.

After what seemed like forever, she heard her mother take another careful breath. “Well, he’s…thin.”

“He always was,” said Sammi June, struggling to breathe.

“No—” there was a little rush of laughter “—really thin.”

“You mean like…concentration-camp thin?”

“Oh—Lord. Well…” Her mother was laughing still, but in a way that made Sammi June wonder if she was crying at the same time. She felt a sob pushing against her own throat, but was determined to keep it there. “No, not that bad. Just…way too thin, is all. And his hair’s got a lot of gray in it, especially at the temples. It looks kind of good, actually. You know—”

“Distinguished,” said Sammi June, and cleared her throat. “Does he have any—you know…scars? I mean, did they—” But she couldn’t bring herself to ask.

“I don’t know,” her mother said quietly. “He…doesn’t like to talk about…what happened to him. He has a knee injury—he’ll probably have to have surgery for that, eventually. Right now he’s using a cane, but he says that’s just temporary. Honey, we have to give him time, that’s all. We have to be patient.”

“I know…that’s okay, I was just wondering. So—what happens now? Are you gonna see him tomorrow?”

“In the evening, yes, I think so.” There was another little laugh. “Tomorrow I’m going shopping, actually. I have to buy him something to wear. He hasn’t got any civilian clothes at all.”

“No way.” Sammi June pushed herself upright. “Okay, this is cool. This is your big chance, Mom. Europe’s way ahead of us. Promise you’ll get him some really stylin’ stuff, okay?”

Her mom laughed. “I’m gonna try. Listen, you better go on and get something to eat, now, okay? I just wanted to let you know what’s going on. Everything’s okay. We’ll call you tomorrow when he’s here, I promise.”

“Sure, that’s fine.” Sammi June hugged herself and the phone and wished she could stop shivering. “Uh, Momma? Is there…do you think there’s any chance he might still call tonight?”

There was a little pause before her mother said gently, “I don’t know, honey, he was pretty tired when he left. Late as it is here, I think you should just go on and get yourself something to eat. We’ll call tomorrow, for sure. Okay?”

“Yeah. Okay. Sure.”

“Okay then. Bye-bye, honey. Love you.”

“Love you, too, Momma. Bye.”

For a long time after she pressed the disconnect button, Sammi June sat on the bed, holding the phone cradled to her chest and rocking herself. She no longer felt the least little bit like eating.

And in her room in the guest house in Landstuhl, Germany, Jessie set the phone back on its cradle and picked up the Teddy bear. After gazing at it for a moment, she wrapped her arms around it and cradled it against her heart.

Does he have any scars?

She didn’t know how to tell Sammi June that the worst of her daddy’s scars were most likely deep down inside him, where nobody could see them.

At eleven o’clock next morning, Lieutenant Commander Rees arrived in a European model Ford to take Jessie shopping. He took her to a larger town near the air base where, he said, most of the families of base personnel did their shopping. Before turning her loose in the shops, however, he took her to lunch at a small bistro that served mostly Italian food, including pizza. Normally Jessie was very fond of pizza, but it was going to be a while before she stopped associating the smell of Italian food with the heartstopping terror of that phone call from her mother, telling her that her husband had come back from the dead after eight years.

She ordered a small antipasto and a diet soda, and since the weather was unusually sunny and warm for April, they chose one of the small tables outdoors on the sidewalk.

Lieutenant Commander Rees didn’t mess around. He stabbed a fork into his baked ziti, then asked Jessie straight-out how things were going with her and Tristan.

Jessie, being a true Southern woman, was all set to smile brightly and assure him that everything was Fine, just fine, but for some reason, didn’t. Maybe it was something to do with the lieutenant commander’s air of authority and self-assurance, which all military officers seemed to have, in her experience, and the fact that Jessie had barely known her own father growing up and was wanting to confide in somebody strong and wise, but all at once she found herself blurting out the truth.

“I don’t know,” she said. Her throat closed and she stared bleakly at her salad. “I don’t know how it’s going.” She took a breath and belatedly fought for control. “I’m a nurse, I feel like I ought to have a better handle on this than I do. Hey, I’m used to taking care of tiny little babies. What do I know about how to deal with…with—”

“I’m not gonna lie to you,” the lieutenant commander said in his brisk military way, matter-of-factly munching a bite of ziti. “Lieutenant Bauer’s got a rough road ahead of him, and so do you. It’s not gonna be easy.” Jessie nodded miserably, and after a moment he wiped his mouth with his napkin and went on. “The fact is, some POWs have an easier time adjusting than others. And sometimes their marriages don’t survive the strain. Now, Mrs. Bauer, your husband is a man with a good, strong character to begin with—if he wasn’t, he’d never have survived what he did as long as he did. If I were a betting man I’d have to put my money on him to make it back all the way. But that doesn’t mean it’s gonna be a cakewalk. He’s gonna need you to be strong. And, he’s gonna have to reach down inside himself and find some strength maybe he doesn’t know he has.”