by J. J. Murray
“Yeah,” Angela said. “But don’t you think you should run that by Mr. and Mrs. Simmons first?”
“Oh yeah.” Matthew dialed the Simmons. “Gloria, Matthew McConnell. I’ve got some outstanding good news . . .”
Getting Timothy out of the apartment on Monday morning wasn’t as difficult as Matthew thought it would be. Timothy marched straight from the apartment into a taxi.
“We’ve been going on short walks,” Gloria told him as taxi moved off.
“And my legs are killing me,” Timothy said, taking his wife’s hand. “I get winded so easily. I am so out of shape.”
“You do all right,” Gloria said. “We shouldn’t be in a rush at our age anyway.”
The taxi crossed the Williamsburg Bridge and headed into Manhattan and up First Avenue, retracing Matthew’s walk from Victoria’s apartment only three weeks before.
I had the wrong woman—check that. I had the wrong women on my mind then. I have the right woman on my mind and in my heart now. I wish Angela could have come with us today. She is such an important part of all this, but I couldn’t convince her to close her shop even for a few hours. I don’t blame her. That blizzard seriously dented her receipts. And mine, sort of. A pair of Knicks-Heat tickets for Paul set me back more than five hundred bucks, and the seats were behind the basket and five rows up. It was worth it, though, because here we are.
The taxi pulled into the VA hospital parking lot on East 23rd Street a few blocks from Bellevue, the legendary public hospital known for its psychiatric services. Matthew didn’t want Timothy to end up at Bellevue if this meeting didn’t go well.
They took an elevator to the tenth floor and sat in Dr. Wick’s waiting room, where his secretary gave Matthew evil looks.
Matthew smiled at her. I’m here. We’re here. Whatchagonna-doaboutit now?
“The doctor will see you now,” she said precisely at 7:30.
“Have a nice day,” Matthew said to her as he walked past her desk.
I couldn’t resist. I wish I had a smiley face sticker to give her.
Dr. Wick’s office was an anally organized industrial white and gray, with a utilitarian desk, two chairs, and wide gray filing cabinets. Dr. Wick did not rise from his desk but just sat there, shining his glasses on his sleeve, his thick gray hair as unmoving as his lined face. He reminded Matthew of Dale Dye, an actor who plays army generals, captains, and colonels in the movies.
Timothy and Gloria sat in the chairs in front of Dr. Wick’s desk. Matthew stood at the window looking out at the East River.
“Well?” Dr. Wick said.
Matthew turned. “Well, what?”
“You’re on the clock, McConnell,” Dr. Wick said.
Excuse me? Matthew narrowed his eyes. “I thought that you were going to examine Timothy today, Dr. Wick.” Isn’t this your office? Isn’t that your job? Aren’t you supposed to be in charge?
“Fifteen minutes isn’t long enough for any psychiatrist to do a thorough examination of any patient,” Dr. Wick said. “Dr. Penn should have told you that. You wanted this meeting, so it’s your show. Get on with it.”
If I had thought to bring the tape of our initial meeting, I’d play it now. “You don’t want to speak to him?”
Dr. Wick stared at Timothy. “I want to see what you have prepared.”
I have nothing prepared.
I sucker-punched the guy into taking this meeting, and he just counterpunched me. I may as well come out swinging.
Matthew left the window and stood in front of Timothy. Sorry, man. I have to put you back in an operating room somehow. “Timothy, describe what you witnessed in the OR at Woodhull Medical the day you had your meltdown.”
“It was a motorcycle accident,” Timothy said. “A man’s leg was in shreds.”
“What did this incident remind you of?” Matthew asked.
“A soldier with peach fuzz on his chin who didn’t have much left of his legs,” Timothy said.
“And where and when did you originally see this soldier?” Matthew asked.
“At Landstuhl two years before,” Timothy said softly.
“Do you remember the soldier’s name, Timothy?” Matthew asked.
Timothy’s eyes glazed over.
“What was the soldier’s name, Timothy?” Matthew asked.
Timothy looked down.
I’m losing him. Forgive me, Timothy. This is for you own good. “Knock his ass out, Simmons, that’s an order!”
Timothy sat bolt upright.
Gloria flinched.
Matthew got in Timothy’s face. “Soldier, did you hear me? I told you to knock his ass out! That’s an order!”
Timothy looked up at Matthew. “Yes sir. We need to restrain him better, sir. He keeps getting his arms free. He’s strong as a horse, sir.”
“Restrain his ass now, soldier!” Matthew shouted.
“Yes sir, right away, sir,” Timothy said.
Matthew noticed Dr. Wick shift in his seat. We have his attention, and I intend to keep it. “Don’t let them take my legs!” Matthew shouted in Timothy’s ear.
Timothy didn’t turn. “They’re gonna help you, man. Rest easy.”
“Don’t let them take my legs!” Matthew shouted again.
“They’re gonna try to save them, kid,” Timothy said, his voice shaking. “They’re doing the best they can.”
“Don’t let them take my legs!” Matthew shouted again.
“Rest easy, kid. Rest easy, Homer . . .” Timothy blinked his eyes rapidly and looked at Gloria. “I remember his name. Gloria, I remembered. His name was Homer Kuhn. He was a Marine Corps corporal from Ohio, from North Star, Ohio, the smallest town in Ohio. He was the only survivor when his Sea Stallion went down on a humanitarian mission to drop supplies in Afghanistan.” He looked up at Matthew. “They had to take both of his legs. I stayed with Homer in post-op. When he woke up . . .” He looked at Dr. Wick. “When he woke up he screamed and had to be sedated. And then he said, ‘You let them take my legs. Why did you let them take my legs? I told you not to let them take my legs.’ ”
“Did the patient at Woodhull Medical lose his legs?” Matthew asked.
“I don’t know,” Timothy said. “They took me out of the OR before they even started the operation.”
I needed to establish that the mere sight of anyone’s damaged legs started Timothy’s meltdown and that he didn’t have to see a missing limb to lose his mind. “Timothy, describe your dream.”
Timothy’s eyes glazed over again. “I’m in a field filled with bloody arms and legs and there’s a boy with peach fuzz on his chin screaming at me to find his legs.” He looked at Gloria. “I see Homer Kuhn in my dream plain as day, Gloria.”
“We’ll write to him,” Gloria said, wiping at tears. “Maybe we’ll go visit him, too.”
“I’d like that.” Timothy focused on his hands. “So I’m trying to find Homer’s legs in my dream, but I can’t find any that match. Homer was about six-five, and none of the legs were long enough. ‘Rest easy, rest easy,’ I keep saying, but Homer keeps screaming,
‘Find me a new set of legs, Lieutenant! Find me a new set of legs!’ ”
Matthew saw Dr. Wick write something down. That’s a good sign.
“Thank you, Timothy.” Rest easy, man. Matthew turned to Gloria. “Gloria, you’ve known Timothy longer than anyone else in this room. How has he changed since his return from Landstuhl?”
“He’s not the same man I danced with at our senior prom, that’s for sure,” Gloria said. “That man was young and unafraid of anything. He’s not the same man I married. That man spent his life outside with his children. I could never get them to come inside when I called the first time. ‘Just a little longer,’ he’d tell me. ‘They’re kids. They need to play.’ ” She looked down. “And he’s not the same man I’ve shared a bed with for thirty years either.”
Timothy’s eyes filled with tears.
“But he’s my man.” Gloria stared through teary eyes a
t Dr. Wick. “And I want him back, and you’re going to give him back to me.”
Matthew fought at the lump growing in his throat. “Thank you, Gloria.” He inhaled and exhaled several times. “Dr. Wick?”
Dr. Wick pushed back his chair and stood. “Soldier.”
Timothy’s eyes snapped up. “Yes sir?”
“How often do you have this dream?” Dr. Wick asked.
“Every time I close my eyes, sir,” Timothy said. “I don’t sleep much, sir.”
Dr. Wick sighed and nodded. “You deserve some sleep, soldier. You deserve some rest.”
Timothy sat up straighter. “Yes sir. Thank you, sir.”
This is the moment. This is the overwhelming silence before the jury’s verdict.
“We’re going to help you, Lieutenant,” Dr. Wick said.
Timothy stood. “Sir, yes sir. Thank you, sir.” He held his hands out to Gloria. “I’m going to be your man again.”
Gloria stood and hugged him. “You’ve always been my man.”
Dr. Wick came around his desk. “Mrs. Simmons, please tell my secretary to put Timothy on my schedule by the end of this week, and if she gives you any grief, you come right back in here and tell me, and I’ll straighten her out.”
After Timothy and Gloria left the office, Matthew looked Dr. Wick in the eye. “Thank you, Major.”
“I’m only a doctor now,” Dr. Wick said.
“You’ll always be a soldier, sir,” Matthew said.
Dr. Wick nodded. “And that’s what you want me to remember from now on, isn’t it?”
Matthew nodded. “Yes sir.”
“I’ll never forget being a soldier.” Dr. Wick took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “That was quite a performance.”
“It wasn’t a performance,” Matthew said.
“I know it wasn’t, Mr. McConnell, and I know you didn’t prep him at all,” Dr. Wick said. “The look of shock and recognition on Timothy’s face was genuine. I’ve seen it before. On my own face. But that’s not what really convinced me. It was his wife. I know someone just like her who stood by her man after he came back badly shaken from Vietnam.” He turned a picture on his desk toward Matthew. “They don’t make women like her anymore.”
Yes, they do, and Angela is one of them.
Dr. Wick extended his hand, and Matthew shook it. “Give my regards to Hospital Corpsman First Class Kenneth Penn. Tell him we have some catching up to do.”
“I will.” Matthew turned to leave.
“Tell me something, McConnell,” Dr. Wick said. “Are you really doing this for free?”
“Yes sir.” For the land of the free, and the home of brave men like Timothy.
“If you ever need any counseling for that,” Dr. Wick said, “you give me a call.”
Matthew paused at the door. “No offense, Dr. Wick, but I hope I never have to see you again.”
Dr. Wick nodded. “Don’t forget to have ‘Kenny Penny’ give me a call. That was the nickname we gave him in ’Nam because he was always showing up when things were very bad.”
A good penny turns up when things are bad.
“Good thing he did back then,” Dr. Wick said.
“And now,” Matthew said. “Thanks again.”
While they waited for a taxi, Matthew called Angela with the news. “We did it!”
“Fantastic,” Angela said. “But I didn’t do anything.”
“Sure you did,” Matthew said. “You went with me to visit Timothy, and you made sure I stayed in touch with Dr. Penn. I couldn’t have done any of this without you.”
“I’m glad Timothy’s getting help,” Angela said.
I hear what she’s not saying: “I wish I were getting help, too.”
“Have you let Dr. Penn know?” Angela asked.
“I had to tell you first, didn’t I?” Matthew said. “I’m going to call him to meet us at the shop so we can all celebrate. Could you whip up some fresh apple turnovers?”
“I don’t whip up anything, Matthew,” Angela said.
“Could you create some then?” Matthew asked.
“Yes, Matthew,” Angela said.
“See you in a few minutes.”
Matthew called Dr. Penn and told him the news.
“He told you my old nickname,” Dr. Penn said. “I didn’t know if he’d remember me. I was only a corpsman.”
“Did Wick have a nickname?” Matthew asked.
“Oh, we called him ‘Tricky Wicky,’ ” Dr. Penn said. “That man got us out of so many scrapes. He knew all the tricks.”
“Can you celebrate with us at Angela’s shop in the next hour or so?” Matthew asked.
“I wouldn’t miss it,” Dr. Penn said. “Does she still bake those chocolate chip toffee cookies?”
I haven’t seen them in the case. “I’ll have her make you a fresh batch.”
“Wonderful,” Dr. Penn said. “See you there.”
He called Angela.
“They’re in the oven,” Angela said before Matthew could speak.
“The turnovers, right?” Matthew asked.
“No, the chocolate chip toffee cookies Dr. Penn likes,” Angela said.
I shouldn’t ask this, but... “How did you know?”
“I know all of my customers, Matthew,” Angela said.
I knew that. “Are you busy?”
“Steady.”
“Will you be able to join us?” Matthew asked.
“I’ll try.”
In the old days, Matthew would celebrate a multimillion-dollar judgment in the upstairs party room at Peter Luger’s, located on the south side of the Williamsburg Bridge. He’d have several bottles of Krug Grande Cuvee, a porterhouse steak, and warm apple strudel drowned in homemade whipped cream.
Today Angela’s coffee and some fresh, hot apple turnovers will taste infinitely better.
Chapter 29
The celebration, though low-key and contained mainly in Matthew’s booth, was full of smiles and laughter.
Timothy and Gloria sat on one side holding hands and eating apple turnovers, while Angela refilled cups and covered the table with plates of pastries, turnovers, and cookies. Timothy quietly followed the conversations with wide eyes. Dr. Penn, who sat beside Matthew, ate half a dozen chocolate chip toffee cookies as he regaled the table with the life of a hospital corpsman in Vietnam.
“Believe it or not,” Dr. Penn said, “a Bengal tiger once crossed our path while we were on patrol near Khe Sanh. It was a magnificent animal nearly ten feet long. We stared at it, it stared at us, and it slinked off into the jungle. Tricky Wicky turned to me and said, ‘That tiger is a long way from Detroit!’ And you know what? It was 1968. The Detroit Tigers won the World Series that year. I’ll never forget it.”
“Matthew,” Gloria said during a lull, “we need to discuss payment.”
“Buy me breakfast sometime,” Matthew said. “That will square us.” He held out his cup to Angela, and she filled it to the top. We may have a long night ahead of us. That’s my third cup in the last hour.
“Oh no,” Gloria said. “We have to do more than that.”
Matthew looked at Timothy. “Just get better, okay? That will be my payment. A full recovery will be payment in full. You’ll have to come here often, okay?”
“I’ll try,” Timothy said. “Thank you, Mr. McConnell.”
Matthew followed Angela to the counter to help carry the next round of sweets.
“What would you have normally charged them?” Angela asked.
“It’s not important,” Matthew said.
“How much?” Angela whispered.
“I spent maybe ten hours on the case, at four hundred an hour, about four grand,” Matthew said.
Angela shook her head slightly. “They have to buy you breakfast for the next three years.”
“I feel good about this, Angela.” He rubbed her shoulders. “I actually feel great about this.”
“I know you do,” Angela said. “But couldn’t you use that money?�
��
“They’re barely making it on her salary,” Matthew whispered. “All that money I made before only meant I made money. Today I made a difference.” He looked behind him. “What a nice coincidence. Ace reporter Felisa Vecchi is here.”
Felisa walked up to the counter. “Hello.”
“Hi,” Matthew said.
Felisa looked around the shop. “Business looks good.”
“It is,” Angela said. “How may I help you?”
Was that an icy edge to Angela’s voice? I think it was. I think I shall fade back to my celebration. “Good to see you again,” he said to Felisa, and he returned to the booth with a plate of cookies.
Felisa soon glided over to the booth with her coffee. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say this was a celebration of some kind.”
“Oh, it is,” Gloria said. “Mr. McConnell won a case for us today.”
“I didn’t win a case,” Matthew said. “All of us got some justice for Timothy today.”
“Oh?” Felisa said. “May I join you?”
It’s getting a little crowded in my office. “Sure,” Matthew said, and he and Dr. Penn slid over a few inches.
Felisa sat mere millimeters from Matthew. “What was the case?” she asked.
“It wasn’t a court case,” Matthew said.
Felisa took out her notepad. “What was it then?”
Matthew looked at Timothy. “I’ll let Timothy tell it.”
Timothy, though hesitant and halting at first, eventually told his tale, Felisa taking copious notes and seldom interrupting.
The man can really talk, Matthew thought. He’s been dying to tell his story for so long, and now all of Brooklyn will read about it.
As Gloria described their marriage, Matthew excused himself to use the bathroom. On the way back to the booth, he stopped at the counter.
“What is she doing here?” Angela whispered.
Brr. Her words are hypothermic. “I think Felisa came in for some great coffee, and she will leave us with a great story. More free advertising for us.”
“And you didn’t call her,” Angela said.
“No,” Matthew said. “I don’t even have her number.”
“Uh huh.”
He leaned across the counter and kissed her cheek. “Really, Angela. This is a happy coincidence.”
