Last Salute

by Tracey Richardson

  “Laura never talked about the dangers, she only talked about the good things, about the progress being made, about what it was like to help the Afghan people. She told me how humble they were, how thankful. That was what she and I talked about a lot, the helping part, the medical part, and not the fighting. I never wanted to think about that part, and I think Laura knew that. You know, she never forgot about her hometown. She came back here for a few days before her deployment last fall.”

  Trish remembered how Laura had looked then. Confident and cocky, like the deployment was nothing. But there was a nervous energy about her too. They drove by the old Wright family home on their way to dinner, and Laura was uncharacteristically full of chatter and nostalgia about old times. All through dinner too, she couldn’t stop talking about the old days—that championship year she had on the basketball team, her mother’s vegetable garden that never seemed to grow anything but weeds, the first time she took her mom’s car out alone, the time the two of them had soaped the windows of the home of their most hated teacher. Other, more intimate memories too.

  “Jesus, Trish, remember that afternoon we played hooky from school and my mom walked in on us in bed?”

  “How could I forget! Oh my God, that had to be my most embarrassing moment in my life ever. Still is! I could never look her in the eye for a long time after that.”

  Laura laughed so hard there were tears in her eyes. “Kinda hard to go back in the closet after that. Good thing we didn’t even try.”

  “Your mom knew all along we were more than just friends.”

  “Yeah, she probably did. She was pretty cool about it. Much cooler about that than she was about me joining the army. Man. Ever notice she never kept a picture of me in my uniform?”

  Laura had grown quiet then. Sad maybe, or just reflective. The conversation moved on to another topic, but Trish sensed that Laura had a bad feeling, a premonition perhaps or maybe some regrets. In any case, she didn’t want to talk about it, and neither did Trish. Now she wished they had discussed it, even if it wouldn’t have changed the outcome.

  “Maybe,” Pam was saying, her voice trembling again. “Maybe it was her way of saying goodbye to the place. I guess we’ll never know, but I’m glad she had a chance to visit the city one last time, to see some old friends, to think about the old days. Sometimes…memories are the only thing we have left.” Pam sniffled, wiped a tear from her cheek. “I’ll always have my memories of Laura. She’ll always be in my heart.” She paused again, closed her eyes, wiped another tear. She was being so damned brave. “She was the best big sister anyone could ever have. I love you, Laura. Thank you.”

  With that Pam dissolved into a cascade of tears. Instantly Camille sprang to her side, helped guide her down the stage’s few steps. Trish rose too, helped Camille escort Pam to a chair in the front row. Pam continued to cry into her wad of Kleenex and Trish slipped her arm around her trembling shoulders. “She loved you too, Pammy. So much.”

  * * *

  It’d been the hardest day of her life, greeting the hundreds of people who’d come to pay their respects, then the speech, then thanking people again at the late lunch. Up to now, she’d thought her mother’s funeral had been the toughest day of her life, but that paled in comparison to this. Parents were supposed to die first; sisters weren’t, at least not yet. And she hadn’t been alone for her mother’s funeral. She looked at Trish, lingering as the final group of people prepared to leave. How could she have contemplated doing this without Trish’s help? She wanted to ask Trish to accompany her to Arlington for the burial because she couldn’t bear the thought of having to sit alone through “Taps,” the folding of the flag, watching Laura slip away forever. Her medical training had taught her that when you needed help, when you were struggling, it was important to ask for help.

  “You doing okay?” Trish asked quietly.

  Pam shrugged and swallowed the words she wanted to say. She knew Trish would come to Arlington if she asked, but it was too much to ask, especially of someone who hadn’t been a part of her life and Laura’s for such a long time. She didn’t want Trish to do it out of pity or guilt.

  Camille materialized by their side. A couple of dozen soldiers wanted to head over to the private bar at the American Legion Hall down the street for a drink and an impromptu wake, she informed them. Did she and Trish want to come along? It would mean a lot to the soldiers to have Laura’s family there.

  Pam felt duty-bound to go, to show solidarity with the soldiers and to thank them for coming. She could also use a drink, but she wouldn’t stay past one glass of wine. She wasn’t one of them, and she didn’t want to be around them if they became rowdy or maudlin. She told Trish she could cab it back to her house if she didn’t feel like joining her.

  Trish nodded tersely, said she’d see her back at the house. Pam knew that Trish was too angry at the army to sit in a room full of soldiers and socialize with them. Trish’s anger and bitterness, the depth of the feelings she still obviously had for Laura, surprised Pam a little. She assumed Trish had moved on a long time ago, but now she wondered if she ever had. She seemed not only single, but completely unattached, completely devoted to her job. She was still young, not even forty. Too young to be stuck in the past. The thought saddened her.

  Beer flowed like a rampaging river, and so did the stories. The soldiers laughed and cried, talked about Laura and the other comrades they’d lost. Funny stories mostly. Like the time Laura won an impromptu dance contest to a Lady Gaga song, showing moves that even the youngest soldiers didn’t have. There’d been a food fight once too, and Laura had gotten them all to stop by suggesting that anyone who didn’t leave the dining hall in thirty seconds was going to be signed up to donate blood—that she’d personally drag them off to the lab. (And she would have, they agreed.) They told more serious stories too about how she’d patched them up, made them feel instantly better with her flawless doctoring skills. She could give a needle that felt like little more than a mosquito bite, could stitch a cut without leaving a scar.

  Pam sipped her wine, her head reeling. It was good to hear the stories, to see how much Laura was loved and respected. The army was a family, she could see that plainly. But the uniforms, the obvious world she wasn’t a part of, reminded her of how drastically Laura’s path had diverged from her own. They were both doctors, both gay, shared the same DNA, but really, they’d not had much else in common over the last few years. Their personalities were vastly different. Where Laura was adventurous, Pam was cautious. Where Laura was happy to go wherever the wind blew her, Pam was a planner, a planter of roots. And yet there’d been a strong sisterly bond between them—one they didn’t have to talk about or nourish. It was just there.

  “I should have known. I should have felt something,” Pam said despairingly to Camille, who was sitting next to her, nursing a warm glass of beer.

  “Should have known what?”

  “That something had happened to her. You know, when she died. I should have felt it.”

  “It’s okay,” Camille soothed. “She wasn’t alone, and that was the main thing.”

  “Did she…” Pam took a deep breath to calm herself. She hadn’t wanted to know the details before, but now she did. Some of them, at least. When she was first given the news, part of the denial was to block out the details of Laura’s death. That it would be less real if she didn’t know the details. But it was real, and she couldn’t accept it until she knew what had happened. “Did she suffer?”

  “No, she didn’t. A broken neck. But there was other damage. From the impact. A lot of broken bones. It was instant.”

  Okay, so it’d been fast. She probably hadn’t known what hit her, though she’d have known the helicopter was going down. She wondered what Laura’s last thoughts had been, what had been playing through her mind as the chopper scissored to the earth. Probably she just hoped to survive and for the others to survive as well. Or maybe there’d been a moment of resignation, of quiet acceptance that it prob
ably wasn’t going to turn out well.

  Gently, Camille told her more about the crash, about the attempts to resuscitate Laura and then the careful transport of her body in all the stages of bringing her home. She told her how, the next morning after the crash, an Afghan family Laura had once helped showed up at the gates of the base, mourning Laura.

  “They gave me something, something they wanted the family to have.” From her pocket she pulled out a beaded bracelet in colors of orange and red and gold. “They said that because of her, their daughter would live to see many more sunsets.”

  “It’s beautiful!” Pam slipped it over her left wrist and held it toward the dim ceiling lights. This was better than a medal because this was from someone Laura had helped and meant something to. Yes, it was much more personal than a medal and much more rewarding. Tears brimmed over. “Thank you, Camille. And if you ever see them again…”

  “I probably won’t, but I understand.”

  “I wish I knew more about what Laura was doing over there. She didn’t say a lot about it, but I want to try to understand.” I need to understand, she added to herself, because if I don’t, I will always resent her sacrifice.

  “She was keeping a journal over there. Said she’d always meant to keep a journal the other times she was deployed, but she hadn’t until this time.”

  “Do you think she knew it might be the last time? That she wouldn’t be coming home?”

  “She never said anything like that to me. If any of us ever feels that way—and we do—we don’t talk about it. It’s like a disease you don’t want to spread to others. You don’t want to show your fear or any negativity. You don’t want anything to become a self-fulfilling prophesy.”

  “This journal. Where is it?”

  “It’s with her possessions. It will be shipped to you from the base. It’ll probably take a month or so.”

  Just as well, Pam thought. Maybe by then she’d be strong enough to read it.

  “I have her letter,” Camille said softly, reaching into her pocket but not removing it until Pam nodded.

  Pam accepted the plain white, sealed envelope, its corners curled, and stuffed it in her coat pocket. She didn’t want to think about it right now and she certainly didn’t want to read it in front of these strangers. She suddenly needed to get out of here, away from the laughter and the crisp uniforms and the eyes that had seen far too much in their young lives.

  Camille said she understood and told her a car would be around to pick her up first thing in the morning for the trip to the airport.

  On the cab ride to Trish’s, Pam considered the news that Laura had been keeping a journal. What had she written about the mission? Did she only list the things she was doing on a daily basis or did she write down her thoughts? Her opinions? Did the journal explain what drove her to live such a nomadic but extremely risky lifestyle? There was something lonely about the idea of never setting down roots, yet Pam was lonely too, and she wasn’t living a nomadic life.

  She had never meant for her life to be this solitary, had always been quick to blame her aloneness on her busy life as a medical student and now a resident. She’d assumed Laura lived a fairly solitary life too, but what did she know? Laura probably had lots of friends, lots of lovers, people and an existence Pam knew nothing about. A rich and full life, perhaps, and one that was so different from Pam’s that Laura had decided not to share much of it with her all these years.

  “I didn’t know her,” Pam whispered into the hug Trish gave her at the door upon her arrival. “And I can’t stand that thought.”

  “Nonsense. You knew her better than anyone.” Trish settled her on the sofa and retrieved two glasses of wine, bringing the bottle with her and setting it on the coffee table.

  “No. You knew her better than I ever did. Better than anyone, probably.”

  Trish snorted. “Sleeping with someone doesn’t necessarily mean you know them.”

  That was true. Pam had slept with a total of four people in her life, none of whom she could say she knew very well.

  “I remember thinking,” Trish continued after a long sip of her wine, “a long time ago, that Laura wanted a life with me. That the army was just a means to an end. But I was wrong. When she chose the army over me, I realized I hadn’t known her as well as I thought.”

  “Maybe it wasn’t that simple. Maybe Laura hoped she could have both you and a life in the army.”

  “If she did, she was naive. I could never have lived with the don’t-ask-don’t-tell mentality—keeping our relationship a secret. It would have been impossible to go back to the closet after being out in our senior year in high school, then college.” Trish stared at her glass for the longest time. The gravity of their shared sadness was heavy and ominous, like the loud ticking of the antique clock on the mantel.

  “You never got over her, did you?”

  Trish shook her head. She began to cry softly, and the fact that she didn’t try to stop her tears honored Pam. When everyone else is gone, give me your tears, Pam thought, remembering fragments of a poem. Their tears were safe with one another.

  It was obvious Trish still loved Laura, had never stopped being in love with her. “Oh God, I’m sorry,” was all Pam could say. She’d been so overwhelmed by her own grief that she hadn’t realized the extent of Trish’s pain until now. She put her arms around Trish and pressed her against her, absorbing her sobs, letting her tears stain her blouse. She’d never known that kind of love before, but Trish obviously had, and she was suffering for it now.

  She stroked Trish’s head, the soft brown waves of her hair silky between her fingers. Trish always did have the nicest hair, naturally wavy, just below her collar these days, still so soft and luxurious. Pam couldn’t help but inhale the lemon and mint scent of her shampoo, remembering a time when she’d been a kid, sick in bed with strep throat, and Trish had rubbed her back and read her a bedtime story. She remembered at the time how Trish smelled like all things good and comforting. Like love. Like home. She still smelled of those things.

  “I’m sorry,” Trish finally said, pulling away and refilling their glasses. “You must think I’m incredibly emotionally stunted. Stuck in time or something. How pathetic.”

  “No, not pathetic. I’m jealous.”

  “You are?”

  Oops. She hadn’t quite meant to say it like that. She knew her face was growing warm and not just from the wine. “Who wouldn’t be jealous of that kind of love? I mean, to be able to love someone so deeply.”

  “So you haven’t?”

  “Nope.” The fact that she’d never been in love had never much bothered her before, but it did now.

  “Come on, be serious.”

  “I am, unfortunately.”

  Trish seemed to contemplate this. At least the change in topic had put an end to her tears. “But surely you must have had plenty of girlfriends over the years.”

  Pam laughed bitterly. “Yeah, right. What makes you think that?”

  “Like, duh, Pam, you’re only gorgeous and smart and successful. Women must be tripping over themselves to get to you.”

  “Well, if they are, they’re not being very obvious about it.”

  Trish sipped more wine, her eyes sparking. “More like you’re not noticing, would be my guess.”

  Pam could play this little game. “If anyone should have women lined up around the block, it should be you, babe.” Okay, so she was getting a little drunk, but it felt good to speak her mind.

  “Well, now that is some little fantasy. I haven’t even had a date in almost two years.”

  “What?” Trish had to be kidding. Hell, if Trish had been her teacher back in high school, she’d have gotten into big trouble. “Now you’re just messing with me.”

  “No, sadly I’m not.”

  Pam finished her glass of wine and grew bolder. “Is it because of Laura? Because you never got over her?”

  Trish shrugged, refilled their glasses. “Maybe, I don’t know. That’s what Rosa
says.”

  “Who’s Rosa?”

  “My best friend. Actually, she’s the last woman I dated.”

  “You’re best friends with the last woman you dated?”

  “Yup. Tried dating for over a year, but she swore I just wasn’t into her, and she was right, I guess. We stayed friends. She swears I just won’t give anyone else the chance to even compare to Laura. Pretty pathetic, don’t you think?”

  “Hell no. I’ll tell you what pathetic is. Pathetic is never having a relationship that lasts more than a few months. Never finding anyone that even remotely stirs my heart. I kind of got to the point where I figure there’s no point in even trying anymore.”

  “Oh, Pam, you have to at least try. Love visits all of us eventually. I just happened to have had it early on in my life. The bitch of it is knowing what love can be like and then never finding it again. Guess Laura kind of ruined me.”

  Okay, now she was really getting drunk, but what the hell. She’d never have a moment like this with Trish again. She grinned, mischief and bravery bubbling up in her blood. “Well, Laura may have ruined you, but you ruined me, Trish Tomlinson.”

  Trish, glassy-eyed from her own inebriation, eyed Pam speculatively. “What?”

  “Yup. Ruined this young teenaged heart. From the time I was ten until…” Crap. Okay maybe there was no end date, no shelf life to this silly childhood crush, but she couldn’t tell Trish that. And the crush truly was silly. Completely baseless. And juvenile. “God, I don’t know, until you and Laura broke up, I had the biggest killer crush on you.”

  “You did?”

  “Yup. I would have jumped off cliffs for you. Got kicked out of math class once for doodling your name in my notebook. Don’t tell me you never figured it out.”

  Trish looked pleased—thank goodness—and not all condemning or grossed out. “Okay, I sort of figured you did. You were a bit puppy-like around me.”

  “A bit! Jesus. You were so sweet, you didn’t even try to swat me away. I mean, how did you ever stand it?”