The Reunion (7 page)

O
ne week later, Dave Russo got on a plane to Houston, along with his son’s high school basketball team. Jake had ridden to the airport on the team bus; Dave followed behind them in his car.

On the plane, it still felt like he was following them. He could see Jake’s head fifteen rows in front of him, sitting with his friends. Because Dave had booked his flight later, there weren’t any seats even close. But that was okay. He was glad Jake had made the team and that he’d made some good friends. The depression Jake had been fighting ever since his mother died seemed firmly in the past.

Dave knew he was just feeling sorry for himself. But knowing this didn’t make it go away. He wanted to get closer to Jake. And they had been, right up until Jake made the team. But Dave knew what came next. Jake would get even tighter with the friends he’d made on the team and keep making new ones. He’d finish high school this year then head off to college. Four more years would go by. Somewhere in there he’d meet the woman of his dreams and go nuts over her.

Of course, none of this was wrong. It was all good and healthy stuff, the kind of things a parent wants to see. Jake wasn’t on drugs or running with a bad crowd; he got decent grades at school.

So why was Dave depressed?

The plane hadn’t reached its cruising altitude, which meant they couldn’t turn on their electronic devices yet. He waited for that announcement so he could pull out his laptop and distract himself with work. He tried to care about an article on the best places to ski in New England, but every few minutes he’d look up the aisle at Jake.

Had it really been four years since Anne died? When he’d gotten the call from his mom, Dave had been stunned. It didn’t seem real. He’d booked the next flight down from Atlanta, worried sick about Jake the whole while. They had talked a few times on the phone, but after only a few sentences, one of them would start crying and they’d have to end the call. When he talked to Jake, the last thing Jake had said was, “Just get here . . . soon.”

Anne, Jake’s mom, was the woman Dave had met in college and went nuts over. If he’d had any sense, he’d have stayed nuts over her. She was a great lady, a good wife, and an even better mom.

He didn’t know who cried more at her memorial service—Jake for all he’d lost, or Dave for what a fool he’d been. He sat there in her church, listening first to the pastor then to one friend after another get up and tell him all the things he’d already known about her but had taken for granted.

It tore him up inside.

He’d let their marriage slip away. Sitting in church that day next to Jake, he knew he was through choosing his job over his family. Jake was all that mattered now. Finding a way back into his life.

One day, maybe a week after the memorial service, a breakthrough came. They had been talking about things that barely mattered for so many years, Dave didn’t know how to talk heart-to-heart with Jake. He could see how much Jake was hurting, and all he kept thinking was how he wished Anne were there to talk him through it.

Dave said, “Let’s take a walk, get some fresh air.”

“Where?” Jake said.

“How about down by the creek, where we used to go fishing?”

“I don’t feel like fishing.”

“Me neither, but maybe the fresh air will do us some good.”

“I guess.”

It was about two blocks away. They didn’t say much at first, but Dave could tell Jake was warming up to him being home. He knew Jake had some good talks with a few people already; a couple with his grandmother and one with the youth pastor at church. Those talks seemed to do Jake some good. Dave had expected him to be mad at God for taking his mom. If he was, Dave couldn’t see any sign of it. “How you doing today?” he asked as they navigated the path through the woods toward the creek.

“Okay, I guess. I still feel numb mostly.”

“I know what you mean.”

“You feel that way?” Jake asked.

“Mostly, yeah,” Dave said. “It doesn’t seem real.”

“Will it ever?”

He put his hand on Jake’s shoulder. “I think so, Jake. It’ll take some time, I guess.” But he didn’t know. How could he? His father had died, but he was too young to even remember. He’d never lost anyone close to him before.

When they got to the spot, they sat down on the same flat rocks they’d always sat on when they fished. The water flowed around and over the rocks as strong as it always had. The same trees stood along the banks where they had always stood.

Everything was familiar, and nothing was.

“Can I ask you something, Dad?” Jake was looking down at the water.

“Sure, Jake, anything.”

“It’s kind of personal.”

Dave sighed. He had wanted this, to get personal. But he was afraid at the same time. “That’s all right.”

Jake looked up. “You seem to be crying since Mom died, almost as much as me.”

“I guess that’s true.”

“Can I ask you why? I mean, I know why I’m crying. But you and Mom, you’ve been divorced a long time.”

“We have, but you know we got along pretty good. All the years since.”

“I know, but . . . did you still love her?”

Dave couldn’t help it. Tears filled his eyes.

“See, you’re doing it again.”

“I know. You’re right.” Dave let out a sigh, hoping it might give him some control. “I did still love her. But not the way I should have. You did. You were a great son. And she loved you so much.” Tears escaped down his cheeks. “But see, I wasn’t a great husband. No . . . I was a lousy husband. I should have never left your mom.”

“Is that what happened? She said it was mutual, that you both had just grown apart.”

“She was being nice. We did grow apart, but it wasn’t her fault. I let this stupid job take over my life.” He picked up a stone and threw it hard at the water.

“Which job?”

“All of them, really. I just wanted to make it in the big leagues, become the best reporter working at the best paper making the most money. But your mom, she didn’t want that. She just wanted to live here. Raise you here, have a few more kids here. She got tired of moving every few years, and me never being home.”

“She still loved you, you know?” Jake wiped the tears with his sleeve. “She never even dated anyone else all those years.”

Dave lost it then. He had never dated anyone else, either. Not seriously. It never felt right. He always thought he and Anne would get back together somehow, and he wanted to be able to say he’d always stayed true to their vows. But here he’d wasted all those years they could have had together. He just hung his head and sobbed.

After a few minutes, he felt Jake’s arms around him. Jake was crying quietly, resting on his back. When Dave got control of himself, he wiped his tears and looked up. “Jake, I want you to know something. I am so sorry I left you and your mom. It wasn’t her fault. It was all mine. I can’t do anything to get her back, but if you’ll let me, I’ll try to be the best dad to you I can be. For all the years we have left.”

A pinging sound interrupted Dave’s thoughts, then a male voice came over the plane’s intercom. “We’ve reached our cruising altitude. Feel free to use any approved electronic devices. The captain has turned off the seat belt sign, so you can move about the cabin if you’d like. But please keep them fastened while in your seats, in case we run into any unexpected turbulence.”

This announcement came just in time. He was bent down, wrestling his laptop from the case under the seat, when he heard a familiar voice in the aisle. “Hey, Dad, how’s it going back here?” It was Jake.

“Doing okay, I guess.” He looked up and smiled. “I guess you guys are having a hard time squeezing into these seats.”

“Especially Tommy Haynes. He’s our center.”

“He’s six-five, isn’t he?”

“Six-six now. His knees are literally up by his face.”

“You doing okay? I mean . . . with the flight?” He and Jake had talked this through already, how Jake felt about flying since his mother had died in a plane crash. Jake nodded. “So where you going,” Dave asked, “to the restroom?”

Jake looked down at the empty seat next to Dave. “No, I came back here to be with you. I figured once we landed, we wouldn’t get much time together. You know how crazy it’s going to get.”

“Oh.”

“Is that okay? I see you reaching for your laptop. Do you need to get some work done?”

Dave looked down at his laptop bag then up at Jake. “Are you kidding? Here, I’ll move over.”

F
our days later, the basketball tournament complete, Dave saw Jake off at the airport for his return trip to Florida. Jake’s team hadn’t actually played at all that final day. The Panthers had won their first game, lost the second, then were eliminated on day three. It was hard for Dave to even write about that third game.

After the first quarter, the Panthers never got closer than twenty points. Jake got to play seven whole minutes there at the end. He’d only made the second string, which meant he only got in the game when his team was twenty points ahead or twenty behind. At the buzzer, Jake looked into the stands and found Dave. Seeing the smile on Jake’s face, you’d never know his team had just been thoroughly trounced and eliminated from the tournament.

Because they had, Dave and Jake got to hang out together on day four. They’d stayed with the team the whole time, watching the finals, but no one seemed to mind Dave tagging along. He suspected the guys had known he was there reporting for the newspaper back home; they wanted to see their names in print.

Dave had all their names woven into the stories he’d sent back to Harry, and quite a few pictures as well. That was the real purpose of the trip, for the paper, anyway. So the folks back home would buy up all those extra copies of their sons, grandsons, and cousins playing basketball in Houston. But for Dave, it was about spending time with Jake. It still affected him, days later, thinking about that moment in the plane when Jake chose to sit with him over his friends.

Today, Dave started Phase II of his trip.

He was still in Houston, driving south down the I-610 loop for an interview with John Lansing, the former Vietnam War hero and present oil executive. The GPS on Dave’s rental car led him off the interstate, through an upscale business zone, then through the exclusive Bent Oaks neighborhood where John and his family lived. Some of the homes on this gorgeous oak-lined street were extremely nice; the rest were mansions.

John Lansing’s house was just ahead on the right. As Dave pulled into the driveway, he got the sudden impression that he had rented the wrong car. The green Ford Fusion didn’t deserve to be parked in front of a place such as this.

He stood a moment, gawking. The house was bigger than most of the yards in the subdivisions back home. A banner of ivy draped across the front, neatly trimmed around the French windows and over a double front door made of polished bronze. After ringing the doorbell, Dave half expected to be welcomed by an old English butler.

Instead, it was Mr. Lansing himself, wearing a big Texas grin, a plaid long-sleeved shirt, and dark blue jeans. He was taller than Dave had imagined. “There you are, Dave. Right on time. I like that. Come on in, come on in. Any trouble finding the place?”

“No trouble at all, sir. Just followed the GPS.”

“You’re going to have to find a way around calling me sir,” he said, “if we’re going to be spending the day together. It’s the house, isn’t it? A little intimidating to some folks. I’ve lived here so long, I don’t even think about it anymore. But you work on calling me John, okay?”

Dave looked around the foyer. Shining marble floors, dueling staircases on either end circling upward to a balcony that wrapped around the room, bordered by a black ornamental iron railing. A crystal chandelier hung suspended from the ceiling.

Just the foyer intimidated him.

“Follow me,” John said. His boots clicked as he walked across the floor away from the front door.

“You don’t mind if I record our conversations?” Dave said. “No one will see them but me. It’ll just allow me to catch everything you’re saying better, including your expressions. Make it easier to put the story together later.”

“Ah, I don’t care. Not planning on sharing any state secrets.” They walked through the foyer then through a wide hallway lined with family pictures. On either side, doorways opened to massive rooms. They turned left at the last one. Dave guessed it was the library. A wide stone fireplace occupied the far wall.

“I thought we’d meet in here,” John said.

Dave looked down at an array of dark leather sofas and armchairs centered in the room.

“Sit anywhere. Doesn’t matter.”

Dave waited until John sat, then picked an armchair nearby. A thick wooden coffee table stood between them.

“Evelyn’s out shopping for the day. I let the staff have the day off. All our kids are married, so it’s just you and me. There’s some iced tea there in that pewter pitcher. Help yourself.”

“Thanks.” Dave poured himself a glass. That’s when he noticed something else on the coffee table, right in front of John. A box of tissues. John didn’t seem to have a cold. He saw Dave looking at it.

“Guess you’re wondering what that’s here for. They’re for me. I hardly ever talk about the story I’m about to tell you, except with my two war buddies. We just got together a few weeks ago for a reunion. We do that every couple of years. I told them about your book idea. We thought it would make sense to go over the story while we were together, make sure we got the details right. The thing is, try as hard as I might to keep it together, there’s just certain parts that get to me.”

Dave set his video recorder on the coffee table between them and pulled out his pad of questions. The questions were all based on the assumption that he was there to interview John for winning the Silver Star in Vietnam in 1967. He got the impression John had other plans for their time.

“So how’s the book coming along?” John leaned back on the leather sofa.

“So far, so good. I haven’t actually begun writing it, though. Just an outline.”

“I’ve read a few good books on Nam in recent years,” John said. “Problem is, the better ones take me right back to things I spent a whole lot of time trying to forget.”

Dave knew from interviews he’d already done that this was going to be a challenging time for John. He reached down, took a sip of iced tea. He wasn’t sure how to ease into his first question. “It was your first tour where you got the Silver Star, right?”

John nodded. “My first tour was between 1966 and ’67. But really, Dave, you don’t want to interview me about that. It’s a decent story, but I’ve got one you need to hear that’s way better. It happened during my second tour. The fellow I’m talking about did way more heroic things than me. Actually, I wouldn’t be alive now if it weren’t for him. Me or my two friends.”

“Really?”

“He saved our lives during this one firefight in 1969. Almost got himself killed doing it.”

“So, who is this guy? What’s his name?”

“His name is Aaron Miller. He won the Congressional Medal of Honor for what he did that day.”

“Really? The Medal of Honor.” The man’s name rang a faint bell. “I think I’ve heard of him.” Dave took out his interview list and scanned the pages. “Here it is, halfway down page three.”

“You’ve interviewed him?” John was almost yelling. He leaned forward in his seat. “You know where Aaron is?”

“No, I haven’t talked with him yet. He’s just on my list of hopefuls.” As Dave looked back at the page, he saw he had almost nothing on the man. Which was probably why he was on page three. “So, he’s the guy?”

“Yes, he’s the guy. Aaron Miller.” John sat back again. “I’m going to tell you his story, Dave. Because that’s the story you want to write about. And when I’m through, I guarantee he’s going to move from page three to the top of page one.”

Dave was definitely intrigued. “Does he have anything to do with the offer you’re going to make me? The one I won’t be able to refuse?”

He smiled and nodded. “Yeah, but that will have to wait until after I tell you his story.”