What's Worth Keeping

by Kaya McLaren

  “Oh, you’ve got to know your scales. No one likes learning scales, but it’s like eating your vegetables and taking your vitamins. You’ve got to do it!”

  Paul laughed. “One day when I move here, will you teach me?”

  “Sure.” Then Mr. Martinez looked outside. “Storm’s passed. Thank you.”

  “Why are you thanking me?” Paul asked. “You’re the one that did me a favor.”

  “I don’t like thunder and lightning. Reminds me of bombs.”

  Paul winced as he looked down and nodded.

  “I could tell it reminded you of bombs too. And I knew what you would do if you went back into that house by yourself because I’ve done it. Here is what I’ve figured out: music. And I don’t mean writing songs about it or anything like that, although that might work for some people. What works for me is losing myself in a difficult piece of music—something that requires all of my concentration. I had to learn to be gentle with myself at first when I couldn’t concentrate well—just keep asking myself to try this little part one more time, just this little part. But eventually my capacity to concentrate increased. Being able to play beautiful music was really just a great side effect. The main goal was simply to harness my mind.”

  Paul listened intently. He needed to hear this—every word.

  “Your eyes look better now—not so shell-shocked. You haven’t been sleeping over there, have you?”

  “No. Tomorrow was going to be my first night. I’ve been sleeping at Rae’s. She’s employing my daughter this summer and I didn’t want to infringe on her autonomy when they come back from this week’s trip, but it doesn’t matter now. I have to go back to work sooner than expected. If I go tomorrow, I’ll have a little time to prepare for the week ahead.”

  Mr. Martinez scribbled out a name and number of someone and handed it to him. “That’s my son. He’s a carpenter. He does good work. Hey, do you need to borrow a chain saw?”

  Paul took him up on it and returned to the house to cut the large branches that pierced the roof, hoping he could tarp the roof before returning to work; but in the meantime, he put a call in to a tree service.

  Parts of the ceiling hung down, still attached but barely. Looking at those pieces made him shake. Still, he pulled the cord to start the chain saw’s motor. He held the saw in his trembling hands for a moment before making his first cut. As the moments ticked on, he found himself conflicted by the chain saw—the way it vibrated in his hands, the smell of the two-stroke engine and sawdust, its loud noise. All of that was different from the scene at the federal building, which was comforting, but still, it was too much for his nerves. At some point, he realized this task was pointless anyway, because finishing the job would require standing on a ladder with a chain saw, and he no longer thought he was a superhero who could take those risks.

  He turned off the chain saw and returned it to Mr. Martinez.

  “If it seems like a war zone in there and takes you back, play music. Play it really loud. I’ve got CDs you can borrow. Andrés Segovia. You would like him. Most incredible guitarist of our time.”

  “That sounds like good advice. Thanks,” Paul said on his way out.

  Only when he was prepared to leave did he notice a wire draped over his car. A utility truck from the power company was just pulling up, but he didn’t want to wait inside the house. Instead, he returned to the house for his flashlight and started walking the mile or so up to Rae’s house.

  The scent of rain on hot sagebrush rose up and filled the air with bright, astringent notes. Underneath it was the smell of wet, hot pavement, a smell he didn’t much care for, but if he smelled a little longer, he picked up the scent of pine needles, bark, and earth. The air smelled different here than in Oklahoma City, and he liked it.

  In the distance, one train whistled and the other one answered, the pitches of their whistles different for some reason. He wanted to call out to Amy like that and longed to hear her answer back.

  When he reached Rae’s house, he noticed the horses. Most were huddled under a lean-to shelter, but one stood on the edge of the fence, looking in his direction and sniffing the air. They had come back a day early. He had not picked up his things as he had intended to do the next day in an attempt to leave no trace. Evidence of his presence was there. He stood in the rain on the gravel driveway at the edge of the trees, wondering what to do. If he turned around and walked back to a motel, he would be stuck with wet clothes. And Rae would worry.

  Just then, he noticed Rae walking down the driveway toward him. He was going to have to act normal—even though it was weird to just stand in the rain the way he was.

  “Hey, Paul,” she said, much the way she might talk to someone on a bridge, ready to jump. “What’s going on?”

  “A big tree fell on my house. So, I’m a little … uh, rattled.”

  She walked a little closer to him and, studying him, said, “Yeah, I’ve seen that in your eyes before.” She slowly reached out and put her hand on his elbow. “Come on. How about a hot bath? You can get warm again. Wouldn’t that feel good?”

  And so, he followed her to the house. Carly was upstairs in her room, so he slipped into the bathroom, grateful to be unseen by her.

  Carly

  With the needy guests that week, Carly hadn’t had time to write her mom a letter. Now, she sat on her bed, a piece of stationery positioned on the back of a book, pen in hand, at a complete loss of what to say.

  There was a gentle knock on her door, and then Great-Aunt Rae walked in and shut the door behind her. “Hey, I want to tell you something,” she said quietly. “Your dad is here.”

  Her stomach clenched. Had he come to take her home already? She didn’t want to go.

  “I don’t know the whole story. I just know I found him in the driveway pretty shook up. I haven’t seen that look in his eyes since you were a baby.” She waited for Carly to understand. Almost whispering, she asked, “How much do you know about that?”

  Carly shook her head. “Not much. Mom said he helped people. Dad doesn’t ever talk about it.”

  “I’ll never forget when I saw him for the first time after that and saw the expression in his eyes. Oh, I thought we’d lost him. I’d seen it once before, but not him.…” As she searched for the right words, she studied the raindrops hitting the window. “I’m going to tell you the rest of my Sam story because I want you to understand something about your dad. It won’t mean anything to you if I tell you that your dad was like Sam when Sam came home if you don’t know what he was like before, so I have to start there.”

  Carly put the book, paper, and pen down on the bedside table, then crossed her legs where she sat on her bed, settling in to listen.

  “After the summer we met, during a little break between summer tourist season and fall hunting season, Sam and I set off on our own private packing trip for four days. We went up this secluded river valley to the end of a box canyon where there was a waterfall. I was riding this big trusty bay named Winston, and wearing a duster that Sam had outgrown a few years ago. He had loaned it to me for the season and it still smelled like him. I was so happy, just listening to the sound of horse hooves and the sound that sprinkles of rain made when it hit the duster as I rode. Sam rode in front on Marty, a young bay that was almost black. That horse was so funny because he would swing his head back and forth whenever Sam sang.”

  Carly laughed. “Really?”

  “The ranch guests loved it.” Great-Aunt Rae smiled and then looked down at her hands. “It was so nice just being by ourselves, not having to pretend we didn’t love each other. And the low clouds made the world appear very small, as if we were the only ones in it. Time nearly stood still in the very best, most peaceful way.

  “When we got to where we were going to camp, we tied the horses and walked up the narrow river to the little falls, and there Sam said my name and then, unable to find more words, simply dropped to his knee and offered me a ring. In that moment, everything made sense—everything.
The reason I’d had such a strong compulsion to run from home into the wilderness of Montana. The reason I’d always been drawn to horses. Everything. My whole life made sense for that perfect moment. I kissed him and put that ring on and I just couldn’t stop smiling. Sam stood and squeezed me as if he never intended to let go. Later, I would realize that was a clue, but I’d missed it.

  “For four days we were in paradise. I will leave out all the really juicy parts.”

  Carly swore she saw her great-aunt blush just then.

  “Sam made a sweat lodge for two by lashing a small tent frame together with sticks and twine, and laying a canvas tarp over it. While the rocks were heating on the edge of our campfire, he got a bucket of water from the stream and put it inside. Then, with two long sticks, he carried in the rocks. We crawled inside in our birthday suits and tossed handfuls of water onto the hot rocks so that the sweat lodge filled with steam.”

  “Wait. I thought you said you were going to leave out the really juicy parts.”

  “Oh, I have, kid,” Great-Aunt Rae said with a naughty smile, and then looked out the window again. “I remember we just stared at each other like we knew we were experiencing a miracle. That’s what true love feels like—like a miracle unfolding. It was beautiful. And then … Okay, this part is going to seem like too much information, but I want you to understand how profoundly tender he was. With soap and a washcloth, he bathed me. He was so tender and utterly devoted. That’s the part I want you to get. The part where he was able to connect with me so deeply.” She paused to shake her head. “I remember he had said, ‘I am etching this into my memory. I never want to forget how beautiful you are right now.’ And you know, that had been another clue, but I missed that one too because I felt the same way. I never wanted to forget that moment either. When it was my turn to bathe him, what I remember feeling was pure reverence.”

  Carly knew silence was the only response.

  “That was such a phenomenal trip. When the sun had come out one afternoon, we braved the icy waterfall, standing under it for only seconds at a time”—Great-Aunt Rae closed her eyes and leaned her head back—“letting the falls massage our scalps and our shoulders, then we warmed each other up. We were in Eden.

  “Well, we were until the final morning. As we were packing to go, Sam took me in his arms and said, ‘Rae, there’s something I need to tell you. I don’t want you to feel like I was keeping a secret from you. I just wanted these days with you to be pure … without any cloud hanging over us.’ He took a big breath and I hoped to God he wasn’t going to say what I thought he was going to say, but he said, ‘Rae, my number’s been drawn.’

  “He was talking about Vietnam. I remember looking in his eyes as my heart shattered, and then I looked off into the distance behind him for a path we might take to just disappear until it was safe to come back. But I knew that wasn’t who he was. It was as good as done. He held me and promised to come back, telling me all the reasons he would be okay—he had spent his whole life in the woods and had been hunting since he was a kid. He kept assuring me that he would be okay. But you have to understand how many men my age did not come back. So many men. I tried to be brave about it all, but I cried the whole way back.

  “For two years we wrote letters, and then one day, it was his time to come home. It was a miracle that he lived—that anyone did. It really was. I have no idea how he survived every minute of every hour of every day for those years. I can’t imagine the things he witnessed and was asked to do. I just can’t imagine.

  “But I’ll tell you this. I knew the first time I saw Sam again. I knew even before he said anything. When I greeted him and hugged him … when I sat next to him in the back of his parents’ car, I knew for sure. But I don’t think I knew that it wasn’t temporary.

  “For those two years, he often wrote about how he wanted to go back into the mountains on horses with me … how he was going to find peace there … so, we set out on horseback—the same horses, but this time Marty didn’t sway to Sam’s singing. Instead of peacefully plodding down the trail like he always had, Marty was distracted, agitated, and jumpy … as if he thought every stump was a bear, every large rock a wolf, and every fallen tree a cougar … or, maybe he didn’t think those things at all. Maybe he could see Sam’s memories or knew what Sam was anticipating. I don’t know. Maybe he simply smelled Sam’s anxiety and stress. Sometimes Sam would break out in sweat. But either way, Marty undeniably knew as well as me—and maybe even more than me—that Sam was different. And Sam knew that Marty knew.

  “We rode up to the top of a ridge, intending to follow it to the top of a taller ridge, but Sam was understandably tired from the trip and tired from fighting his anxious horse, so we stopped and dismounted. I noticed that instead of standing out in the middle of the open clearing where the view was best, like most people would, Sam stood near tree trunks along the edge, scanning his surroundings constantly. He jumped toward me when a pine cone dropped off a tree as if to shield me from its imaginary explosion. Then he tried to pretend he hadn’t.”

  Carly rested a hand on her great-aunt’s back as she continued.

  “He untied a canvas tarp and a blanket from the back of his saddle and laid it down under a tree, and I knew that he had imagined this very moment for two years and that he was trying his best to follow his own script. None of it felt natural. It all felt forced and awkward. In his letters, he wrote about wanting to ride into the places that were ours and made him feel like himself … how he just wanted to hold me there and listen to the songs of familiar birds instead of exotic ones and smell the earth … how he just wanted to feel the peace he could only feel there and only feel with me. But we were both realizing he couldn’t feel peace anymore—not anywhere, not with anyone. I think he had really thought that when he flew away from Vietnam and came back home, he would leave it all behind. And I guess that’s what you have to believe when you’re fighting a war. I think it was a real shocker to him the day he came home to find he was haunted. I remember lying down next to him, resting my head on his chest, hoping love poured out of me and into him like medicine. I mean, my love for him was so immense … I was sure that it alone could heal him. But as the days passed and I saw no effect, I began to lose faith and I questioned whether he still loved me.”

  Now, Carly rested her head on Great-Aunt Rae’s shoulder and reached for her hand.

  “One day, he pushed me away completely, telling me he was not the same man, that he was a different man now, that he didn’t want to be, but he was. And he told me I couldn’t keep waiting for him to come back because he was never going to be like he was. I told him I loved him just the same, but he said that I couldn’t possibly because even he didn’t like who he was now.

  “I told him I would never leave him. In that moment, I completely understood how dogs stayed with the people who kicked them … that kind of devotion. But … he just shrugged and said, ‘Okay. I’ll leave then.’ And then he drove off. And I knew. I could feel it. Something very bad was about to happen.

  “I ran up to his parents’ door, begging his dad to go look for him and bring him back, but his dad thought he needed space. He said that soldiers usually didn’t come home all at once—that often their body led the way and their mind caught up later. He didn’t say that sometimes their minds never made it completely home.” Great-Aunt Rae bit her lip. “I still wonder about that … about what happens to hearts when minds don’t come home … whether hearts die or simply go into a deep coma when minds cannot make sense of the darkest aspects of what human beings can be.

  “Anyway, that night, Sam got drunk and drove off of a mountain road. I don’t know whether it was an accident. I suspect it was on purpose. I think he wanted to set me free so I wouldn’t waste my life tethered to such sadness. I wonder whether he looks down from heaven and sees that I never fell in love again. I wonder whether he’s been up there, all healed and peaceful, just waiting for me. Sometimes in my sleep, even after all these years, I have drea
ms where we’re back in that steamy lean-to or standing in the small waterfall, and that ring is back on my finger. I don’t know whether that’s his way of visiting me and fulfilling the destiny he left behind, or whether they’re just the cruel effect of memory. I sure hope that there’s a place where all the parts of broken people come back together again, back into something whole and happy, and that they have the opportunity to reclaim their destiny somehow, but I don’t know how it all works.”

  Great-Aunt Rae had been speaking quietly so her dad wouldn’t overhear, but then she lowered her voice even more. “Anyway. Your dad’s experience was a little different. Two weeks instead of two years. But two weeks is a long time to dig through rubble and find dead people. During the first day, he found a few that were still alive, but as the days went on…” She didn’t need to finish. “You weren’t old enough to remember your dad before the Oklahoma City bombing, but your mom told me once that he used to play his guitar and sing her songs when she sat in the bathtub. And here’s the thing about your dad’s case. It wasn’t like he could get on a plane and leave it all behind. It happened in his home. And all the horrible crime scenes he’s seen in all the years before and since, all that happened in his home. How do you come home when all of that happened where you live? So, I know you’ve probably spent the last few months thinking of your dad as this big, mean authoritarian, but appreciate that he’s a soldier that can’t come home from war. And appreciate that seeing your mom go through what she went through wasn’t likely easy for him either. Be gentle with him, because even though you think he’s indestructible, he’s actually quite fragile.”

  “Okay,” Carly whispered.

  Great-Aunt Rae put her arm around Carly and gave her a squeeze before she stood. “I wish you had known him before,” she said quietly before opening the door, walking out, and shutting it behind her.