Walking Wounded

by Lauren Gilley

  June 1950

  On June 25, 1950, communist North Korea invaded South Korea. North Korea advanced with Russian tanks and weapons, and American-allied South Korea was woefully unprepared to meet the assault. What followed was, in short, a shit show.

  July 1950

  Will was working for Alan Ware, Leesburg’s most notable and trusted accountant, and he’d asked Will to commute to split time between home and college so he could stay on and help him with the business. He’d lost his secretary to motherhood back in the spring, and his other young student had gone off and enlisted, needing the money. Will was his only employee at the moment.

  Truth be told, Will didn’t mind. The office wasn’t busy most afternoons, and he could work on his homework at his desk. He spent three days a week At Georgetown University, bunking with a classmate, and drove home to spend the rest of the week working. And he got to spend evenings with Finn and Leena, going to the movies and dances, having milkshakes. He was their official third wheel, and people around town had stopped questioning it. Most of his dates went horribly, and Leena had quit trying to set him up with her friends.

  Speaking of Leena…

  He was at his desk in the front window of the office one day when he spotted a familiar figure walking toward the door, her hourglass shape encased in a fitted dark dress that did amazing things for her legs. He didn’t stare at his best friend’s girl, he didn’t. She came into the office with a notch between her brows and a frown tugging at her mouth.

  “Leena, hi.” Will started to get up from his desk, but she waved him back down. Came to perch on the edge of it.

  “Mind if I smoke?”

  “No.” He offered her the lighter in his desk drawer, but she already had one, hands shaking a little as she lit one up and took her first drag.

  He didn’t smoke often, and when he did, Finn usually instigated it. But there was something alluring about the way Leena crossed her legs, tucked her elbow into her side and held her cigarette aloft, blowing a thin stream of smoke through her lips. It added to her mystique.

  “Something on your mind?” he asked.

  She took another drag and slanted a look toward him as she exhaled. “You’ve seen it in the papers?”

  “Seen what in the papers?”

  She huffed out a sound that wasn’t a laugh. “Korea. The communists invaded it.”

  “That’s too bad for them.”

  “No, Will. The communists invaded, and America’s going to do something about it.”

  It dawned on him slowly, and then all at once. “Oh shit. Pardon my French.”

  “Fuck your French,” she hissed. “You know what this means.”

  And he did. Since the War ended, there’d been no rallying cry to arms. No reason for Finn to go enlist. He still wanted, still talked about it obsessively. But what was a soldier without a war?

  Will swallowed a rising knot of panic. “He hasn’t said anything to me yet.”

  “He will, though. Will.” She leaned in close to him, lipstick smudged from the cigarette. “When he tells you that he’s signing up, you have to tell him not to. He can’t go off and fight some war in Korea. He can’t. I can’t–” She cut herself off with a shivery sigh. “Will, please. He’ll listen to you.” He’d never seen her afraid, but that’s what she was now, fear like dark diamonds in her eyes. “Promise me,” she said.

  What could he do?

  He nodded and said, “I promise.”

  ///

  Will’s mother baked a two-tiered chocolate cake for Finn’s twentieth birthday and Leena handled all the invitations. Friends and family turned up at the Maddox house and Will was sent out in the Chevy to collect Finn from work at the grocer’s.

  Will found his best friend behind the store, shirtsleeves rolled up, sweat gluing his dark hair to his forehead, huffing his way through a shipment of canned peaches as he moved them in one crate at a time.

  A grin split his face when he spotted Will. He let go of the crate he’d been about to lift and rested a hip against the side of the truck instead, wiped his damp forehead on his sleeve and pushed his hair back. “You finally decide to get out from behind the desk and work a real job like the rest of us?” he joked.

  “I dunno. It sure pays real money, even if it isn’t a real job.”

  “I’m just trying to help you find your hidden talents.”

  “Lifting?” Will moved to sit on the tailgate of the truck. Finn slumped closer, leaning all his weight against the bed, knee knocking against Will’s. “Nah, that’s not for me. These big ol’ hands just get in the way.” He held them out as proof and Finn snorted.

  In the last two years, Will had started to fill out. When he saw his reflection in windows now, he was surprised to see a broad-shouldered, well-muscled young man who didn’t look like anyone you’d want to mess with. His large hands fit his frame now, and his wrists were no longer knobby, but capable.

  Finn pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and wiped his face and neck, grimacing when it came away dark with grit. “What time does your mama want me there tonight?”

  “Seven.”

  Finn nodded and tucked the handkerchief away. “Sounds good.”

  “You’ll want to clean up,” Will admonished without heat. “Don’t come to my mother’s door looking that filthy.”

  Finn stood rigid, clicked his heels together, and sent Will a mock salute that seemed crisp and studied, and not like horsing around. Will could envision it so easily: the sharp corners of the uniform, the shining brass, all Finn’s unruly hair sheared off and his expression blank beneath burning eyes. Finn had a capable way of moving, maximizing effort, graceful in his execution of everyday tasks, from stacking crates to lighting a cigarette. Like someone who did every single thing with total purpose and concentration, making it look easy as breathing. It wasn’t hard to envision him with a rifle in his hands, a helmet slipping down over his forehead. Will could hear the exact timbre of his voice if he was giving orders to his men, because Finn wasn’t the sort to stay at the bottom of the heap for long.

  All of that must have shown on Will’s face, because Finn dropped the pose and his brows knitted together. “What?”

  Will swallowed. “Don’t do it, Finn. Just don’t.”

  Finn didn’t ask what he meant by that; he knew. He sighed deeply and sat down on the tailgate beside Will. Their thighs pressed together, the unconscious intimacy of best friends. “Can I at least explain?”

  Will swallowed again, a lump fast forming in his throat. “Yeah, go ahead.” His voice came out wobbly.

  Finn took a breath. “I’ve been reading the papers. And I drove to the school one day to talk to one of the history teachers about it.”

  “You went to Georgetown?” Will was surprised – and maybe a little miffed that Finn had been there and hadn’t looked him up so they could grab lunch.

  “Yeah. Pretty smart guy – Robinson, you ever had him?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “See, the thing is, it’s real bad over in Korea. We let the communists have everything north of the 38th Parallel, but they’ve decided that’s not good enough; they want it all; they want to spread communism. Bastards.” He spat onto the pavement for emphasis. “So they’re just invading. Killing babies and women and doing all sorts of horrible shit. The Americans evacuated, but the Reds came in and killed all the South Koreans that worked for the Americans.”

  “I haven’t seen that in the papers,” Will said, weakly. His stomach churned.

  “You wouldn’t. Professor Robinson’s got a buddy who works in the White House, that’s how he knows. North Korea wants the whole island, and when you get them, you get all the communist countries. They’re like this.” He laced all his fingers together to demonstrate. “They want the whole world to be communist, one country at a time.”

  “Well, maybe we ought to just wait and worry about that when they start wanting to make us commies. Maybe we just let ‘em have Korea.”

  “No, see.” Passion gr
ipped Finn, bright under his skin, hands curling into fists in his lap. “That’s the wrong attitude right there. That’s what everyone thought about Hitler. Appeasement. Just let him have what he wants and he’ll settle down. Only he didn’t settle down. And he bombed the damn hell out of London. And he put Jews in gas chambers, and he–”

  Will raised his hand. “I take your point.”

  “If someone steps out of line, and you let them get away with it, they’ll do it again and again.”

  It was like dealing with schoolyard bullies, Will thought hysterically. What had his father always told him? Hit back, and they’ll quit that nonsense. Well, sure, hitting back was fine when it was Jimmy Paulson on the playground. But what about when the bully was another country? War happened, that’s what. World Wars.

  “There’s American boys dying over there, Will. They’re gonna need more boys.”

  “And why does one of those boys have to be you?” Will snapped, angry suddenly. He turned to his friend with heat clawing inside his chest, frustrated and terrified and wanting to shake him. “You’ve been trying to run off and get yourself killed in a war your whole life. You’re obsessed with it! Why? Is your life so worthless you just can’t wait to throw it away?”

  You could have heard the grass growing. After his words, those furious, bitten-off syllables he hadn’t even meant to utter, a thick silence fell between them, solid enough to touch.

  One corner of Finn’s mouth twitched and he glanced away, down at his hands. “Dad,” he said, quietly, after a moment, “said a long time ago that he didn’t want me to know what war was like. Wanted to ‘spare’ me, he said. ‘I’d give anything for you to not have to go.’”

  “War did things to your father,” Will said, voice gentle now. He felt ashamed by his outburst. “His leg’s not the worst of it. It hurt him inside.”

  Finn nodded. “And it made him a miserable son of a bitch, yeah. But there’s not anything he could change about that. It was the War, and everyone had to play his part.”

  “There’s no draft, not yet. This isn’t a part you have to play if you don’t want to.”

  Finn’s gaze traveled down the length of the alley, toward the busy street at the end. “We’ve got good lives, don’t we? We got jobs, and money in our pockets, and cars to drive, and girls who–” He glanced over at Will with a quick, teasing grin. “Well, some of us have girls who think we’re tolerable.

  “And the reason we have that – all of that – is because people older than us fought to keep it. What if no one fought Hitler? Where would we be right now? What if we didn’t hit back when the Japs bombed us? What would America look like today?”

  Finn sighed, like what he was about to say was heavy in his chest. “There’s always going to be wars, Will, and we’ll always have to send people out to fight them. My old man couldn’t take it. He came back wrong. But I…I’m stronger than him,” he said, just a whisper. Ferocious and sure. “I know I am. And if I’m strong enough to take it, isn’t it better that I go and fight, and let the gentle boys stay home this time? Somebody’s gotta fight, and I can take it. So it seems only fair.”

  Later, when he examined this moment in his memory, Will would realize that something fragile broke inside him that day. Because in that moment he realized the truth about Finn. Reckless, joyful, pack-leader Finn, always wanting a laugh and an adventure, didn’t see himself as any of those things. In his own mind, Finn was a weapon, and he saw himself as useful in a world where spilled blood watered the roots of freedom.

  He wanted to gather Finn against his chest, wrap him up tight, and never let go of him.

  He said, “If you’re going to war, I’m coming with you.”

  Finn shook his head, expression sad. “Nah. You’re one of the gentle ones.” His smile couldn’t reach his eyes.

  “That’s horseshit. We’ve always done everything together. Why not fight commies together, too?”

  “Well,” Finn said, eyes brightening. “Why not?”

  ///

  That night at the Maddox house there were guests in their party finest, cake and punch and finger sandwiches. There was music and lively conversation.

  At one point, on his way to the kitchen, Will ran into Leena and she shooed him back into the corner behind the stairs. She had a punch glass in one hand and held the other in a way that could have been a threat, pink-polished nails aimed at his heart. She lifted a manicured brow. “You talked to him?”

  Will nodded and it was an effort to get his tongue working. “I did.”

  Her eyes swept him, down and then up, lingering on his face, her own impassive. “Good,” she finally said, and stepped away.

  It was a shame, Will thought, that Leena wasn’t off to fight the commies. The poor bastards wouldn’t stand a chance.

  At eight o’ clock, Helen set the cake out at the head of the table, its frosted top studded with lit candles, waving and spitting wax. The room erupted into a hearty rendition of “Happy Birthday,” and Will watched Finn’s eyes move around the room, taking them all in.

  He landed on Will last, and held his gaze a moment. Then he winked, leaned forward, and blew out all twenty candles in one breath.

  8

  “You’re in a good mood,” Luke observes when they’re buckled into the Jeep and headed back to the apartment.

  Hal’s smile flashes relaxed and happy in the blue of the dash lights. “Yeah. It was a good day. Low stress. Good weather. The ideal work day, you know?”

  “No,” Luke says, fighting his own smile. “I never have an ideal work day.”

  “Hey.” Hal takes a hand off the wheel and wags a finger at him. “Sitting in front of a roaring fire and talking sounds pretty good to me.”

  “Talking to Will Maddox, though.”

  Hal snorts. “True.”

  “So it was a good day.” Luke doesn’t want that smile to go away just yet; it looks so good on Hal, happiness.

  “Good day,” Hal echoes.

  Luke tries – really he does – not to think about what Will said. About your boy. He leans over and twists the volume knob on the radio, so music fills the car. Hal sings along, off-key as hell.

  In the building elevator, Hal says, “So, hey, I was thinking you could come out to the gym with me. Meet the guys.”

  A hard shiver steals across Luke’s skin, part fear and part preemptive dislike of whoever these “guys” are. Gyms and guys who spend lots of time in gyms have never been his friends…unless you count Hal. Mr. Universe over here.

  “You know I don’t work out the same way you do.”

  Hal makes an unimpressed sound. “Do you hear me saying you need to? Just come with. Do a little something. I don’t care. And then we’ll grab breakfast and go to Matt’s after.”

  Luke glances over at him, his face still tan and healthy-looking in the elevator overheads. “It’s important to you,” he guesses, confused.

  “Yeah.” And that’s all Hal says.

  “Fine. I’ll go.”

  “Good.” Hal looks pleased as the elevator dings and they step into the hall.

  When they’re inside the apartment – door locked safely, key put away, warm lights filling the small space and somehow making it seem larger – Luke makes an attempt not to watch Hail hang up his jacket, strip off his suit coat, and unknot his tie. He fails.

  Hal says something about changing clothes and Luke goes to the couch, throws himself down with a tired breath and fights the bourbon fumes in his brain. He needs to do some actual work before he gives up on the evening and crashes. His fingers fumble, stiff and slow, as he gets out his tablet and his voice recorder. Thinking about what Will said – your boy – he pulls out his earbuds too and plugs them in.

  “You know what’s really good,” Hal says as he emerges from the bedroom, dressed in threadbare sweats and a clinging white undershirt. Oh Jesus, Luke thinks to himself, and forces his eyes away, off into a bland corner of the room that won’t stimulate every nerve-ending in his body. “T
he new Mad Max. Have you watched it?”

  Since the only thing more expensive than an evening at the movies these days is a Blu-Ray copy of a movie, Luke hasn’t. “No.”

  Hal sits down next to him, much too close for a couch this wide. “You wanna watch it?”

  The alcohol plays tricks on Luke’s eyes; makes him think there’s a hopeful spark burning in Hal’s gaze.

  “Actually, I should do some work stuff,” he laments.

  “Oh. Oh. Okay. That’s…” Hal scuffs his socked feet across the rug. “Yeah, of course.”

  “Lucky you, you don’t have homework like me.” Luke elbows him in the ribs as he hooks his recorder to his tablet and starts the download.

  “Yeah,” Hal says, quiet. “Lucky me.”

  ~*~

  Hal takes a water bottle and a paperback off the shelf into his room with a soft, “G’night.”

  Luke throws him a bourbon-smudged smile and tries to get his brain to cooperate once he’s alone. Work. Work, work, work.

  It takes two minutes to realize he’s not sharp enough for divvying tonight’s interview into competent sentences of analytical text. He’s staring at his tablet, pouting at his own dim reflection, wishing he’d taken Hal up on his offer to watch a movie, when the Skype notification chimes through his earbuds. Linda.

  “Look, it’s my favorite future Pulitzer winner,” she says when she appears on screen, bright-eyed and fresh at ten p.m.

  “Don’t tease me with impossibilities,” he says, deadpan.

  “You don’t even want to win a Pulitzer.”

  “You’re right. I want an Edgar Award for my brilliant debut mystery with subtle sci-fi undertones.”

  “Don’t quit your day job, kid.”

  “I ought to sue you,” he says on a sigh. “Hostile work environment. Horrible cruelty. You’re damaging my self-esteem.”

  She laughs and passes manicured fingers through her perfect bob. “How’s the story coming?”