Five Days Grace (40 page)

"Wartime," he said. "Lots of combat tours. This is what happens."

"No, I think it takes more than that," she said. "We're doing the condolence call today, aren't we?"

He nodded. He'd told her before that one of the medics who died had parents who lived two hours from there. Visiting the other families could wait, but he'd feel wrong about being so close to the medic's parents and not going to see them.

Sometimes these visits turned into this whole big thing, a community honoring a fallen soldier, which Aidan felt was certainly deserved. But Ethan Porter's parents simply weren't up to it. His father was being treated for cancer and had asked that they keep this quiet. Aidan was grateful for the fact that he'd have to face only Ethan's parents and a grandchild they were raising—not Ethan's child, but his sister's.

"You don't have to do this," Aidan said, giving Grace one last out.

She just looked at him. "What did we say before I left that first weekend? That we're going to be the kind of couple who take care of each other. There will be so many things you have to do in the Navy that I can't be a part of, but this isn't one of them. If you're going, I'm going."

Which had the power to make him smile, just a little bit, even then. "I absolutely love it that you look so pretty and soft, but have such a toughness deep down inside."

"So, you say things like that just because you like to see how tough I am?"

"No, it's... I've never really let myself lean on a woman, Grace. I never imagined that I would. So, this is new to me."

"Well, get used to it. I'm going to be here. Not just for the fun stuff or the easy ones."

"Yes, ma'am," he said.

She offered to let him drive, probably thinking—correctly—he could use the distraction of having to pay attention to the road, and she sat beside him calmly, her left hand lying flat on his right thigh just above the knee. It was a warm, soft touch, a connection, that he found immensely comforting, reassuring. He was not alone in this. Having her here was the only thing that made him believe he might actually be able to do it, face Ethan's parents.

"They'll want to hear the story. About that day on the mountain," he warned Grace. "Probably in more detail than what I told you. You can imagine, it's not going to be easy for them to hear or for me to say. But this is about them, not me."

"I understand," she said. "I'll be there for you, and you'll be there for them. You'll do what you have to do."

"They might be angry. You never know with these things. But they get to say whatever they want, whatever they need to say."

"And I shouldn't say anything to defend you, you mean?"

"They get to say whatever they need to say."

"Okay."

The drive went both too fast and too slow. Along the way, he just wanted to get there, to get this over with, and once they arrived, he was filled with a kind of dread deep in his gut that he hadn't felt since he was on that mountain in Afghanistan. If he hadn't been trying to hold it together for Grace, he probably would have turned the car around and left right that minute. It took all he had in him, but he kept moving, getting out of the car, opening the door for her.

The house was mostly a blur, except for the American flag hanging from a pole on the porch. Mr. Porter appeared in the doorway before they could ring the bell, his wife behind him, and a pretty little girl of three or four peeking out from behind Mrs. Porter's leg.

They went into the house, Grace staying close to his side. They shook hands, exchanged polite greetings and sat down. Mr. Porter thanked him for coming. Mrs. Porter was kind, apologetic, but crying softly. Pictures of a smiling young man in uniform hung on the wall and sat on the table in the corner, a young man vaguely familiar to Aidan. He hadn't known him well before the crash.

They made small talk for a few minutes, and then Aidan got the question. What was it like that awful day their son died?

He started reciting his story, watching the helicopter approach, seeing an RPG strike, the helicopter coming down.

"I keep wondering what those moments must have been like, knowing their helicopter had been hit, that they were going to crash," his mother said.

"He would have been concentrating on doing his job, ma'am," Aidan told her. "He knew they were going down, and he was their medic. He'd have his supplies close at hand and in his head, he'd be going through the kinds of injuries he'd expect to see from a hard landing and the protocol for treating those injuries."

"Really?" she asked, as if that hadn't occurred to her.

"Yes. That's what we do. We keep going, assume we're going to make it. He had soldiers in his care. I know he took that very seriously."

"They told us he survived for a while after the crash," Mr. Porter said.

"Yes, he did. When I got to the wreckage, he was conscious and working on another soldier who was bleeding from a head wound. There was a strong smell of aviation fuel, so we started pulling survivors out and onto the ground. As I was helping Ethan get away from the wreckage, the helicopter exploded. We were thrown some distance."

Aidan tried to block out the blinding flash of light, the feel of that force against his body, picking him up off the ground and throwing him forward, the impact of the ground crunching into his hip and shoulder. It was a flash of memory, nothing more, but a powerful, unsettling one.

He'd come to with an overwhelming ringing in his ears from the blast, the dull, dry taste of dust filling his mouth, a deep hit of nausea from the trauma to his body and the disorientation that comes from not knowing exactly what happened at first or how long he'd been out.

But this wasn't about him, so he tried his best to block that all out and do nothing but tell the story.

"When I regained consciousness, Ethan wasn't far from me. He believed his back was broken and was really mad that he needed to stay still and couldn't do more to help at that point."

"He would hate that, when there were people who needed help."

"Yes, ma'am, he did. But he knew a lot more than I do about treating critical wounds, so I brought them to him. We talked through their injuries, and he told me what to do. So he was still helping people, just not doing as much as he wanted at that point."

"That's our boy," Mr. Porter said.

"We settled in at our position, because we knew there were enemy troops out there. We had air cover for a while, until they ran low on fuel and the dust started kicking up. I think the helicopter fire must have taken most of them out, because there were enemy soldiers who showed up, but not many, picking through the wreckage. We'd been thrown some distance away, and managed to find some cover before they arrived, so we stayed quiet and hidden. Starting a firefight with so many critically wounded men we couldn't move..."

"Of course not. You just don't do that," Mr. Porter agreed.

"By morning, Ethan and I were the only ones still alive, and he talked a lot about home, the two of you and his sister, his niece. He loved you all very much, said he'd had a wonderful childhood, that he knew he could be a handful at times and was sorry for all the grey hairs he'd caused you over the years. And he wanted me to give you this."

Aidan held up a small silver coin with an Apollo rocket etched into it, handed it to Ethan's mother, and she clasped both her hands around his and held on as she wept.

"He used to want to be an astronaut, fly the space shuttle," his father said. "We went to Florida one summer when he was a kid and took him to Cape Canaveral, got to see the shuttle go up, see some of the rockets and a capsule from the Apollo flights. He really liked that, got that coin there and thought it was his lucky piece. It's good to have it back."

"You were right there, by his side, when he passed away?" Ethan's mother asked when she finally stopped crying.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Was he in a lot of pain?"

"Honey, he had a broken back, probably a severed spinal cord," Mr. Porter said, but he was looking at Aidan. "When you're paralyzed, you can't feel anything."

"That's right, sir. The paralysis, the blood loss, the adrenaline pumping through your veins... It's all a kind of anesthetic. Your focus narrows on what you have to do to survive, and there really isn't room for much else. He was a brave young man. You should be very proud."

"We are, son. Thank you."

"Yes, thank you. For being with him in the end. That means a lot, that he wasn't alone over there," his mother said.

"I'll never forget him," Aidan said.

They talked for a while about favorite memories of their son, a bit about his sister, who had left them with the granddaughter to care for. It wasn't easy, but they were happy to have her, especially now that Ethan was gone. Aidan watched the little girl. Heather was shy, but clearly taken with Grace, especially her hair. She wanted to touch it, and then she wanted her own hair up like Grace's. So Grace took her hair down and used the pins from hers to put Heather's up. It was the only time Grace had taken her hand off Aidan since they'd arrived.

He was doing okay, was going to get through this, but then Grace wasn't there anymore. Heather and Mrs. Porter took her into the kitchen with them, leaving Aidan alone with Ethan's father. Then the hard questions started.

"What was your mission that night son? Something important, I hope? And don't lie to me. I want the truth."

"A weapons pipeline, an important one."

"Did you shut it down?"

"It's still a work in progress, sir, but I think, in the end, we'll get it."

"And my son did his duty?"

"Yes, sir. You couldn't have asked more of any soldier in his position."

"And how are you? I knew a lot of guys who never made it home from Vietnam. It's never easy."

"No, sir."

"Don't even try to make sense of it, because you never can," the man said. "I haven't. Not in all these years of trying."

God.
Aidan closed his eyes. Even after all this time?

"I did all I could to get him home to you alive," he said finally.

"Of course, you did. But unless I'm mistaken, nobody asked you who got to live or die that day, did they?"

"No, sir."

"Well, there you go. They never asked me, either. It wasn't up to you. Wasn't up to me. Wasn't up to my boy. That stuff you said about him talking about us, that was true?"

"Yes, sir."

"Because even if it wasn't, I appreciate you saying it to my wife."

"No, he said it."

Mr. Porter nodded. "He was a handful when he was little. I was forty-two when he was born, didn't think we'd ever have another child, and then, there he was. Never stopped moving, wasn't afraid of anything, and I wasn't as fast as I used to be, had a hard time keeping up with him. Don't you and that pretty girl of yours wait as long as we did. Have your kids while you're young."

"We're not even married yet, sir."

"Well, what are you waiting for, son? It sounds like you're damned lucky to still be here. If you learned anything at all, you should know not to waste time."

"Yes, sir. Grace and I just met seven weeks ago."

"Well, I saw the way she looks at you. She'll say yes, when you ask her."

"I hope so, sir."

"You'll be okay. A man has a good woman by his side, he can get through the hardest things in the world. Now you go do your best to put this behind you. Consider that an order from an old army sergeant."

* * *

Grace drove when they left, pulling over five minutes later at a little park that was empty to let Aidan get out and breathe, take a walk if he wanted to. She could tell now when he needed that. He paced back and forth, never far away from her, and he looked just devastated.

So she went to him and held onto him while he shook, sucked in air and tried to calm down.

When he finally pulled away from her, he looked uncomfortable for a moment and then so sad.

"What? What is it now?"

"It's time. I have to go back, baby. To Virginia. I'm sorry—"

"Already?"

He nodded. "The last seven weeks have been the best. Best of my life."

"Mine, too," she said.

"It's just the beginning, Grace. Right?"

She nodded, tearing up at the thought of him being so far away.

"I have to see my surgeon who did all my orthopedic work. I need a new physical therapy evaluation. I have to see my CO about what the hell is going to happen to me."

"Okay. It's..." Oh, she didn't want him to go, was grasping for any reason he might need to stay. "What about the threat? Someone back there threatened you. Are you going to be safe there?"

"I will. Absolutely."

"How do you know that?"

"We officially ID'd the source of the threats yesterday."

"Oh. That's a good thing, right?" Because he didn't look like he thought it was. How could this not be good?

"It was a kid, Grace. A fourteen-year-old who studied enough al-Qaeda messages to make it sound like one of theirs, but it was sent from a computer in Virginia near the base. That's the part that really freaked a few people out for a while, until they figured out what was going on. It gave my CO an excuse to get me out of there, and then he took his time closing the investigation, so I could stay away. The kid's father was one of the men who died in the helicopter crash." Aidan shrugged and forced a smile. "He blamed me. Or he just didn't think it was right that I came back and his father didn't."