The Reunion (11 page)

I
t was Saturday morning. It worked out that Dave’s Houston trip ended on a Friday, so he was able to take the weekend off. A hungry, ambitious reporter named Jeremy Arlo took over Dave’s wire editing job on weekends and whenever Dave was out of town. Jeremy’s regular job was writing local stories, human interest mostly. He was going to love this new development.

Dave sat at the breakfast table in his mother’s condo, waiting for her and Jake to join him so he could share his big news. He smiled as he read his name on the gold debit card John Lansing’s accountant had given him. Dave had checked—all the money John had promised was already in the account.

The debit card only weighed a couple of ounces, but Dave felt a much greater weight on his shoulders because of what it represented. He’d come to care about John, and he didn’t want to let him down. He really wanted to make this reunion happen for him and his two veteran friends. If Aaron Miller was alive somewhere, Dave would find him.

Dave set the debit card on the dinette table then said another quick prayer of thanks. This opportunity was amazing. It was like God had answered a prayer Dave didn’t even have the faith to pray. He was actually going to be able to write this book now, something that had been brewing in his heart for almost twenty years.

He remembered the exact moment the idea came, just a few weeks after the first Gulf War. The troops had won an incredible victory—in two months’ time. He and his mother lived in Chicago then. The city threw a parade to honor the returning troops. They both stood in front of the television, watching the whole thing unfold down Michigan Avenue. Crowds cheered and waved banners, expressing their patriotism and gratitude.

Then an amazing thing happened.

His mom had just finished saying, “Our boys didn’t get this, you know. Your father’s friends, when they came home from Vietnam. They got treated terrible.”

Dave looked down at her. Her lip was trembling. He put his arm around her. As they watched, a large group of Vietnam vets began marching in procession right behind all the Desert Storm troops. And the crowds cheered and waved at them just as loudly. Dave saw tears streaming down many of those old soldiers’ faces. He started choking up; so did his mom.

Something seemed to change in the country then. A healing had begun. The nation that had turned its back on these troops when they were young now realized the terrible injustice they had inflicted upon them. It was time to welcome them home, time to honor them for the valiant sacrifices so many had made.

That was the moment Dave had decided to write his book, to honor the heroes of the Vietnam War, and to try to connect more with his father, with the war that had parted them.

“Okay, Davey, I’m here. What’s up?” His mother’s voice jolted him from his thoughts. He turned. She was walking down the hall from her bedroom, still in her bathrobe. She set her coffee mug on the dinette table.

“I really want to tell you and Jake together.” He stood up and walked toward Jake’s bedroom. “Jake, you almost ready?”

Jake’s door opened. He was dressed in his sweats, holding his Panthers duffel bag. “This going to take long, Dad? I’ve got to be down at the gym for practice by 9:30.”

“Won’t take five minutes, I promise. Just some news I want to tell you and Grandma.”

Jake followed him back to the dinette table. “Is it about your book?”

“Yeah.”

“C’mon, Davey, the suspense is killing me,” his mother said. “I could hardly pay attention to my devotional.”

He and Jake sat beside her around the table, and Dave told them the whole story. Afterward, he picked up the debit card. “Here’s the golden card.”

“Davey, that’s wonderful. It’s like you won the lottery.”

“Not quite, Mom. But it’s a pretty big deal.”

“Wow, Dad. That’s sweet. It’s almost like he’s hiring you to be a private detective. You have any idea how you’re going to find this guy?”

“I’ve done some investigative journalism before. I have a few threads I can pull.”

“I’m so happy for you, Davey. I been praying for your book thing every morning.”

“Thanks, Mom, I appreciate that.”

“So when’s this thing start?” Jake said.

“Right away.”

“What about your job at the paper?” he asked. “Can you do both at the same time?”

Dave sighed, shook his head. “That’s where it gets a little sticky. I don’t see how.”

“You’re going to quit the paper?” his mother said.

“Not quit, Mom. I’m hoping Harry won’t freak out when I tell him. I’m going to ask for a leave of absence.”

“For how long?”

“I’ll start with three months. But that’s just a guess. I figure I’ll need at least two months for my book.”

“You think you can find this Vietnam vet in a month?” Jake said.

Dave shrugged. Jake looked at his watch, then stood up. “This is so cool, Dad. Can I tell the guys?”

“Not just yet. I need to talk to Harry first. I’m hoping I can reach him today. I’ll call you when the coast is clear.”

“I’m real happy for you.” Jake came over and gave him a shoulder hug, then pecked his grandmother on the cheek. “Gotta go.” He hurried out of the kitchen and out the front door.

Dave’s mom got up from the table. “I’m going to make some more coffee. Want some?”

“I don’t think so. I’m going to call Harry, see if I can meet with him this morning.”

“You think he’ll be mad, maybe let you go?”

“I hope not. I have no idea where it’s going to end up, though. I’ve got plenty of money for the next few months from this.” He held up the debit card. “But when I’m through, there’s no telling how long it’ll take for me to get a book deal. Or
if
I’ll get one. Publishing is tricky. I’m probably going to still need my job at the paper when I’m done.”

“Don’t you worry about that. I just know you’re going to get your book published. You’re such a good writer.”

“Hope you’re right. But there’s already a lot of good books about it on the shelves.”

“But there’s none of them written by Davey Russo. Those people are going to love your book.”

Dave smiled. He had at least one guaranteed fan. “There’s one thing I need to mention. I didn’t want to say it in front of Jake just yet. I may be doing some traveling on this project. Are you going to be all right with that?”

“Me? Don’t worry about me. I’m all set here. I got Sally and Mary to keep me company, and the other ladies at the church. And Jake is here.”

“You think Jake will be okay with this? I didn’t tell him yet, but he seems like—”

“Jake will be fine. He’s doing real good now. And he’s so busy with all his friends and his basketball games.”

“Well, I’m going to make sure I schedule my trips so I don’t miss a single one.”

“He’ll like that. You’re not going to be gone for Thanksgiving, right?”

“Not a chance.”

“Well, you go do this. We’ll be fine.”

Dave put the debit card back in his wallet, got up, and gave his mom a hug. “I’m going to call Harry, then get a shower. I’ll let you know how things turn out.” As he walked down the hall, he started tensing up.

He was dreading the call to Harry Warden.

D
ave walked through the newsroom, winding through the cubicle section. He saw Harry up ahead in his office, staring at his computer.

“Hey, Dave.” It was Jeremy Arlo, the reporter who covered for Dave when he was away. “How was the trip?”

Dave stopped by his cubicle. “It was good.”

“Read your stories about the basketball team. Too bad they got knocked out of the tournament so early.”

“They didn’t seem too shaken up. I think they were jazzed just to be there. It was pretty exciting.”

“Will you be back at it Monday?”

What should he say? No, he wouldn’t be back? “Actually, I’m not sure yet,” he said. “I better get in there. Got a meeting with Harry.” Jeremy nodded then turned back to his computer. Dave walked up to Harry’s glass door, knocked twice, then entered.

“Have a seat, Dave. Just let me clean up this last paragraph.”

Dave sat in the office chair closest to the window and watched Harry peck away with his index fingers. A few moments later, he sat back in his chair. “Now that was a piece of junk. I might have to let that new girl go. She’s fresh out of college, can’t stand to just write what I tell her. Wants to turn everything into a masterpiece.”

“Maybe she’d be better off writing for a magazine.”

“That’s good. I’ll use that when I give her the bad news. So . . . what’s up? I’ve only got about twenty minutes.”

Dave didn’t know where to start. He leaned forward, put one arm on Harry’s desk. “Something unexpected happened on my trip.” It was straightforward, a decent headline.

“Which part?” Harry said. “The basketball tournament part or the Vietnam hero part?”

“The Vietnam hero.”

“Oh?”

“You know this was just supposed to be an ordinary interview, one of dozens more I had planned.”

“Yes.”

“And I told you it would be months before anything came of this, because I’m having to do this in my spare time, using my own money.”

“I know this too.” Harry’s eyebrows drew close together.

“Well, something’s come up that’s changed all that.”

“What do you mean?” He sat up in his chair.

“The Vietnam hero I interviewed, I told you he was a millionaire oil executive, right?”

“I think I remember that.”

“You should have seen his house, by the way. It was . . .” Dave could tell Harry wasn’t in the mood for side stories. “Well, I didn’t actually even hear his war story while I was there.”

“What did he do, offer you a job?”

“Not exactly.”

“You’re leaving me,” he said. “I mean, the paper.”

“Not exactly.”

“Well, c’mon, Dave. What are you saying?”

“I thought I had twenty minutes. I’ve only been talking two.”

“I said twenty minutes when I thought you wanted to talk business as usual.”

“All right, I’m sorry, Harry. I didn’t plan on this. Nobody could. It’s actually pretty crazy.” Dave told Harry the whole story. He tried to put it as gently as he could, hoping to leave the door wide open after his leave of absence.

“When’s this thing supposed to start?” Harry said.

“If we can work it out, I’d like to start on it right away.”

“You can’t even give me two weeks?”

“If you need it. Of course I will. But you and I both know, Jeremy out there is chomping at the bit to do my job. He’s been working out okay, filling in for me, hasn’t he?”

“He’s all right. He doesn’t have your instincts, still have to review everything he does. If I give him the wire desk, I’ll need to get someone to take his place.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. He’s single. It’ll stretch him, but I bet if you ask him, let him know it’s only for a few months, he might be willing to do both jobs and just pocket the extra money. You might have to pawn off some of his smaller assignments on others, but I don’t think it would be anything close to a personnel crisis.”

Harry sat back in his chair again. “You sure this is only going to be a few months?”

“Not totally. But I think in a month, I’ll be able to give you a firmer time line. I know how much time I’ll need to finish my book research. The variable is finding this guy, Aaron Miller.”

“And I can take you completely off the payroll?” Harry said. “I’m going to need to pay Jeremy more if we do this.”

“You can take me off starting Monday.” Dave knew Jeremy Arlo would jump at this thing. He just hoped Jeremy didn’t learn the job too well and leave Dave stranded when his leave of absence was up.

“Well,” Harry said, “I guess that’s it then.” He shook his head. “I knew when I hired you it was only a matter of time before I’d lose you to something better.”

“You’re not losing me, Harry. We’re talking a few months.”

“We’ll see.”

Dave stood up; so did Harry. Dave stuck out his hand. Harry shook it. “You’re still my boss, Harry.”

“Not exactly,” he said. “If I were still your boss, I’d say get back in here Monday, first thing.”

O
ver the next several days, Dave worked through a checklist of search ideas; some he’d created from his days as an investigative journalist, some from things John Lansing had said about Aaron Miller.

But every lead he’d followed led to a dead end. He was sitting now at a Panera Bread not far from his mother’s condo.

The problem wasn’t finding an Aaron Miller; the problem was there were hundreds of them nationwide. Before hearing John’s war story, Dave had never heard the name before. But there were fifty-eight Aaron Millers in Houston alone, fifty more in Atlanta, forty-five in Miami. Every major city in the southeast had about that number.

But who was to say his Aaron Miller was even living in the southeast? All John knew was that Aaron had a Southern accent. Dave had assumed he might live in a major city, because John said Aaron had been living out on the streets at some point. More homeless people lived in big cities than small towns.

But who was to say which city? Most homeless people didn’t have a listing in the White Pages. Or carry a cell phone. Or have an address. And John’s information was over two decades old.

And who was to say Aaron Miller was even alive anymore? Dave had read a study that said the average life span for a homeless man was forty-five years. Aaron could be dead right now.

Is that what Dave should be searching for? Evidence of Aaron’s death?

He got up to refill his coffee for the third time then looked at his watch. Houston was an hour back in time. John had given him his private cell number, with permission to call anytime. But John said he’d better get comfortable leaving voice mails. Dave pulled out his cell phone. If John could remember what city Aaron was from, that would narrow down Dave’s search from hundreds of people to possibly a few dozen.

But he wasn’t that optimistic. He remembered a conversation he’d had with John, standing in his massive foyer. “Aaron was a private kind of guy,” John had said. “He never opened up to anyone. And to be honest, we didn’t work too hard at getting him to share. We weren’t exactly touchy-feely types.”

Dave decided he had to try, see if he could flush out a few more details without irritating his benefactor too much. He dialed the number and waited for the voice mail message.

“Hello . . . Dave? Is that you?”

“Mr. Lansing, I didn’t expect to reach you.”

“Then why’d you call?”

“No, I meant I expected your voice mail.”

“Well, you got the real deal, but I only have a minute. What’s up? Make any progress?”

“Not exactly,” Dave said. “I’m mostly eliminating the counterfeits.”

“There a lot of Aaron Millers out there?”

“A ton of them.”

“He’s the only one I ever knew.”

“Me too,” Dave said. “I’m thinking if I could narrow down the scope of the search, get a fix on what city he might be from, that would eliminate a mountain of wasted time.”

“I’m not sure I can help you with that, Dave. Like I said, I don’t recall Aaron ever mentioning where he was from.”

“Could you tell me at least what part of the South he might be from? There’s different kinds of Southern accents.”

“He wasn’t from Texas, I know that. But I’m not sure I know enough distinction between the others to be of any help.”

“Did he ever talk about his family? Did he have a wife or any kids?”

There was a long pause. “Hmmm.”

“Is that a yes?”

“I do recall Aaron talking about his wife once. Yeah, I remember now. It was near Christmastime. Aaron was holding on to this photo he’d just gotten in the mail of his two kids, real young, from what I remember. But that was in ’68 or ’69, so they’ve gotta be about . . .”

“Probably my age,” Dave said.

“Yeah, sounds about right. Anyway—I can’t believe I didn’t tell you this—about twenty years ago, after one of our reunions, I hired this private detective to try to find him. But I wasn’t doing as well then, and he charged an arm and a leg. I had to cut him loose. But before I did, he found Aaron’s son. It didn’t go anywhere, though. The kid was in college then, law school, I think. He said he hadn’t seen his dad since he was five and had no idea where he might be. I think that’s when I found out Aaron had been living out on the streets. His boy told my private eye that. But he made it real clear, he wasn’t interested in helping us find Aaron and he couldn’t help even if he wanted to. His mother told him his father was just some homeless drunk and they had no idea where he was.”

Dave sighed. Then he thought of something. “Did your private detective say where he found Aaron’s son or what his name was?”

“He did, but kids go out of state for college all the time.”

“I know, but at least it’s something.”

“Well, he was going to Baylor. I remember, because that’s in Waco, about three hours north of here. I was surprised, because I was pretty sure Aaron wasn’t from Texas. But then I let it go. Like I said, the boy wasn’t living with Aaron, hadn’t seen him for years. So Aaron could be anywhere.”

“You’re probably right,” Dave said.

“Well, I’ve got to be going. Call me if you need me, any time,” John said.

“Oh wait, the name,” Dave said. “Do you remember what his son’s name was?”

“Uh . . . yes. Steven, or Steve. Steve Miller. I remembered because of that rock band by the same name. Keep in touch.”

Dave had stayed long enough at Panera Bread to get close to the dinner hour. He called his mother to let her know he wouldn’t be home.

“That’s okay,” she said. “Sally called an hour ago. She asked if I’d like to go out shopping with her. I’ll call her back and tell her to come get me. Then we’ll just get something out, the two of us.”

“What about Jake?”

“He’s got a late practice, then some of the guys are going out for pizza after.”

That worked out. “I shouldn’t be out late, but I did want to mention, I might be flying to Texas tomorrow.”

“Really?” she said. “To meet that oil man, the one who gave you the money for your book?”

“No. I’m working on a lead for the man I’m trying to find. This time I’ll be flying into Dallas.”

“President Kennedy got shot there.”

“I know.”

“You need me to drive you to the airport?”

“No, I’ll be fine. I’ll just leave the car in the parking garage till I get back.”

“But you have to pay for that.”

“I got that gold debit card, remember?”

“That’s right.”

He could almost see her smiling on the other end.

“Well, just let me know your plans when they’re steady. You’re coming back in time for Thanksgiving on Thursday, right?”

“I definitely am. This might just be two days. Leave on Tuesday, back on Wednesday.”

“It’ll be expensive buying tickets at the last minute,” she said. “Especially on a holiday week.”

“It’s not a problem, Mom.”

“Okay, then. You have fun.”

“I’ll try. But I’ll see you tonight. Probably get home before you will. But I might not see you in the morning. I’m going to try and book an early flight.”

“See you then.”

He hung up as he walked to the counter. He ordered a bowl of soup and a sandwich. After refreshing his drink, he picked up his food and went back to the same booth. As he ate, he checked flight times from Gainesville to the Dallas–Fort Worth area.

After talking with John, Dave had decided to search for attorneys named Steve Miller practicing in the larger cities in Texas, starting with those closest to Baylor University. Houston was three hours away, but Dallas and Fort Worth were only an hour and a half. There were only a handful of attorneys named Steve Miller to wade through.

He could try calling them, but he had the money to make the trip and thought he’d get better results if he was there on the ground. So tomorrow, he’d fly in, rent a car, make some calls, and see what turned up. It was a long shot, but a long shot was better than no shot.

Even if his efforts proved futile by the end of all this, he’d have a month’s worth of expenses to show how hard he tried.