Kansas Troubles (39 page)

“No one knows the whole story about my Silver Star. We were ambushed that day—me and Dewey and Sal and this fat old colonel from Maryland. The colonel was just along for, as he put it, the ‘life experience.’ He wanted to see what his boys were going through. Our lieutenant told us to take him out, hump him around for a few days until he got tired and dirty and couldn’t take the leeches anymore, then bring him back. We walked him in circles for two days, telling him we were scouting for snipers. He had no idea we were just screwing with his head—letting him play soldier. Sal got word over the wire that some Vietcong had been spotted, and we’d better get our asses back to the main camp. We were ambushed trying to get the colonel back. We never did see them. It was crazy, like bushes and trees were trying to kill you. There must not have been that many, because after a couple of hours they stopped firing. We’d either capped them all or they ran off. But the colonel, Dewey, and Sal had all taken a hit and were out. I remember standing there, staring at them, thinking, What do I do now?

“Sal jabbed me with the butt of his M16. ‘You gotta get ’em out,
mano
,’ he said. ‘I’m
todos para la chingada
.’ All messed up. They’d got him in the legs. ‘Take them to that clearing about half a mile back,’ he said. ‘I’ll call and tell them it’s a colonel. Those
puercos
will get a chopper there with no shit asked.’

“ ‘What about you?’ I asked. He nodded at Dewey and the colonel. ‘They’re out, man. I can still protect myself.’ He held up his rifle. So I did what he said. I carried Dewey out first, then the colonel. I had to drag him, he was so big.

“ ‘Don’t forget me, man,” Sal said when I came back for the colonel. ‘Don’t let that chopper fly without me.’

“ ‘I won’t,’ I said.

“The chopper was waiting when I got the colonel there. Sal was right; because it was a colonel, we got service on a silver platter. They yelled at me to get in, and I screamed, ‘There’s one more.’

“ ‘No time,’ the medic yelled back. ‘They’ve spotted a mess of Vietcong advancing. Orders are to fly with what we got.’

“I jammed my rifle in his throat and told him I’d hunt him down and kill him if he was gone when I got back. I ran back for Sal. That’s when I got this.” He touched his right hip.

“It slowed me down, and by the time I reached Sal, they’d already gotten him. He took a round right in the skull. There was skin and blood and pieces of bone everywhere. There was so much blood. I swear I couldn’t believe a human being had that much blood inside him . . .” His voice caught. “There was one of them left scavenging. He was pocketing the gold Saint Christopher’s medal that Sal’s grandmother had given him. I told him to
didi mau
. Get out. This kid couldn’t have been more than sixteen years old. He just stared at me with these black empty eyes. Then he held up his hands to show he was unarmed. I pointed to the medal he was holding. He threw it back down on Sal’s body, turned around, and started walking into the bush. Then, without thinking twice, I fired a round into him. I threw Sal over my shoulder and carried him to the chopper.” He took a ragged breath and looked back out over his father’s headstone. “So Señora Quintera got her son’s body, an unarmed Vietnamese boy got shot in the back, and I got a Silver Star. Like Dewey said, a regular John Wayne movie.”

I laid my hand on his arm. “It was a war, Gabe. They had just killed your friend. What you did was . . .” I paused, trying to think of the right word, remembering how I felt when Dewey pointed that gun at Gabe. “Understandable.”

He shook me off. “
I shot a kid in the back
, Benni. And I was given a medal simply because the person I happened to save was a colonel. Do you realize how political those medals are? Do you think I would have gotten it if I’d left him there and saved Sal first? Do you know how many times I’ve wondered if what I did was the right thing?”

“What you did was right, Gabe,” I said. “I know you. You didn’t save the colonel because he was ranked higher. You saved him first because he was the most helpless. What Sal told you was right. When you left him, he was still able to protect himself.”

He turned hard eyes on me. “That’s why I don’t care about that medal. It’s just a fancy way of saying you killed people. That’s all.”

We stood for a moment staring at each other. “One more thing,” he said.

“What?”

“About my drinking.”

I took a deep breath, wondering what other revelations he was about to pour out. I had said I wanted him to open up to me, and like a dam’s overflowing floodgate, it appeared to be coming out all at once. “What about it?”

He leaned over and ran his fingertips over his father’s engraved name. “You know my father died of a heart attack.”

“Yes.”

“A couple of years ago I went in for a physical exam. The doctor jumped all over me because my cholesterol and triglycerides were so high and my blood pressure was in another stratosphere. After reading my medical history, he said if I didn’t quit living on junk food, start exercising, and learn to handle stress better, I’d be visiting my father sooner than I’d probably prefer. That’s all it is,
querida
. Nothing earthshaking. I just want to live a longer life than my dad.”

“Diet, exercise, and stress. Well, two out of three isn’t too bad.”

He pulled me to him, laughing softly under his breath. “I was doing fine on handling stress until I came to San Celina.”

“Experts say that certain kinds of stress can actually prolong your life.”

“Well,” he said, nuzzling the top of my head, “it may not prolong it, but it certainly makes it more enjoyable.”

I kissed his neck and asked, “Are you ready to go back to the party now?”

“Not quite yet. I’ve got one more place to show you before we leave Kansas.”

We drove out of Derby on a small southbound highway. The sun had already set, and everything was that soothing lavender color that makes dusk my favorite part of the day. The humidity, for a change, was low, and though the air wasn’t as crisp and fresh as San Celina’s, for the first time since arriving in Kansas, I didn’t feel as if I were suffocating. Of course, the events and revelations of the day might have had something to do with it, too.

He pulled up in front of a red pipe gate that led into a heavily wooded area. A square, hand-painted sign said “Picnic Grounds—VFW Post 7235.” The gate was closed with a huge metal padlock. Gabe hopped out, went over, and studied it closely.

I rolled down my window. “What are you doing?”

“I wanted to show you the picnic grounds. We used to sneak in here when we were teenagers. You can drive down to the river.”

“It looks like we’re locked out.”

He continued studying the lock. “We used to be able to pop this open when we twisted it the right way.”

“Gabe, that was twenty-five years ago. It couldn’t possibly be the same lock.”

He gave it a sharp twist, and it popped open. He grinned at me. “This is Kansas, Benni. People here don’t throw out things as long as they still work.”

We drove through a small clearing where we passed some redwood picnic benches, a replica of a covered wagon, and a faded hand-painted sign stuck in a moldy hay bale that said “Haunted Valley.” In the tall grasses surrounding us, the pale glitter of fireflies sparkled like a tiny Disney parade.

“I think they used this for some kind of Halloween fund-raiser,” Gabe said, driving deeper into the trees. We came to another, smaller clearing where he turned off the engine. “The river’s not much further, but the ground’s a little soggy. I don’t want to take a chance on getting stuck.”

“So,” I said, unbuckling my seat belt, “you seemed very proficient with that lock back there. Am I right in guessing I’m not the first girl you’ve brought here?”

He leaned over and kissed me. “How about if you’re the last?”

“I could live with that.”

“Actually, you’re the first girl I’ve ever brought here in this truck. My dad would never let me drive it.”

“This is the first time you’ve ever driven it?”

He gave an embarrassed smile. “Actually, the second. The first time was the October after my dad died. I took the keys out of Mom’s purse, and Rob and I and two six-packs of beer went dragging Douglas.”

“Dragging Douglas?”

“Douglas Street in Wichita. Back then, it was the place to cruise your car and be seen. On the way back, I hit a slick spot out on the highway and drove it into a ditch. That’s the thing that finally convinced my mom I might be better off staying with my uncle Tony in California.”

I ran my hand down his thigh. “Fate. If that hadn’t happened, we probably wouldn’t be together right now.”

He covered my hand and pressed it into his leg. “Probably not.”

“We should get back. Everyone’s going to wonder where we are.”

“Let them wonder.” He brought my hand up to his lips and nibbled on the back of my wrist. “I think I’d like to sit here a little longer.”

“Oh, I see your hidden agenda now.” His lips moved higher, to the crook of my elbow.

“Nothing hidden about it,” he murmured.

“Well, I always did have trouble resisting a good-looking cowboy in a pickup truck.”

He made a disgusted sound in his throat, pulled off his hat, and threw it to the floor. “I meant it when I said I wouldn’t be wearing these clothes after tonight, so you can just put that thought right out of your head. I might own a truck now, but I am not a cowboy. I don’t think like one, don’t eat like one, don’t walk like one, and certainly don’t talk like one. Never have. Never will.”

I ran my fingers through his coarse black hair. “Gee, that’s too bad, ’cause where I come from there’s this sort of tradition.”

“What’s that?” he asked suspiciously.

“When a cowboy gets a new truck, it’s not officially his until he makes love to his woman in it. What do you say to that, Friday?”

“Yeehaw,” he replied.