by Joachim Jean
“It’s not your fault those crazy men were here,” she said, wiping her eyes with Danny’s handkerchief.
“They didn’t do anything more than scare you, did they?” he asked gently.
“I feel silly, but he got so close to me,” she said, clinging to Danny, shivering.
He kissed her and they lingered in their embrace until Danny remembered why Eliza came to see him.
“I have a fresh pot of coffee. Could you look these over and tell me what you think?” he asked, moving her to the table in the living room.
“I don’t know English. But I can make some suggestions on organization, what kind of questions to ask and how to wake up your class.”
“I’m going to need all the help I can get,” he admitted, a tremor passing through his hand.
“Scared?” she asked him.
He nodded, smiling wearily. “A classroom full of students scares me more than enemy fire.”
They spent the next hour sharing coffee and looking at Danny’s lesson plans and lectures. Danny drove her home with the compact Glock sitting on the seat between them. He didn’t want to linger in intimacy in the car, even for a few minutes, as he might get caught off guard by Irvin and Fred.
The next day, Danny was dressed in a new navy blue suit, white shirt with a green print tie and in his classroom an hour early. He distributed file cards for student names and contact information on each desk, checked and double-checked his lecture notes and the number of copies he had of the syllabus and reading list, then wrote his name and email address on the board, and still had to wait ten minutes for students to show up.
Danny wished he was facing a sniper instead of a classroom of fifty freshmen. His knees felt wobbly, his hands were shaking more than they ever had holding a gun, and his mouth felt dryer than the desert. He placed his bottle of water on the podium and thought of Kyle. Kyle wouldn’t be scared because nothing ever scared Kyle. He’d be proud his brother had become a college professor. Danny took a deep breath, visualized Kyle sitting in the last seat of the last row, and addressed his lecture to him.
The lecture got easier as he went along and saw students were listening and taking notes, some even asked questions. Time seemed to fly and Danny wasn’t sure he was going to be able to finish his first lecture within the time period allotted. When the lecture came to a close several students came up to him with questions. Relief washed over him until he remembered he had to give the same lecture to two more classes.
Danny shared an office for three hours each afternoon with David Cohen, a veteran English professor. He and Danny became friendly right away.
“They put you in here so I can show you the ropes. First rule, never close the office door when you have a female student, any female student in here,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because you don’t want someone saying you tried to seduce them or rape them in the office. In fact, only see female students when I’m here, too.”
“Would a kid do that?”
“Hell yes! Same goes for male students. You can’t be too careful. We should coordinate our office hours,” David said. “Second, never tell students anything about your personal life.”
Danny nodded.
“Someone might stalk you or take information and do something nasty with it. The kids are on Facebook and anything you say can be posted on the Internet and be worldwide news in two seconds. Don’t trust students.”
“And I thought working with students would be easy.”
“There are students who are normal people, interested in what you’re teaching. I don’t want to put you off the job, but expect the unexpected.”
“Our motto in the military,” Danny said.
The professors agreed to buy a coffee maker together and share cleaning and buying supplies. Danny enjoyed having a buddy in the English department.
By the second week, he got rid of the shakes and wobbly knees, although the dry mouth persisted. He got into the swing of lecturing and answering questions. Although Danny didn’t know the names of all his students, he recognized familiar faces.
One morning Danny picked out an unfamiliar face in his eleven o’clock class. A young woman with long, straight brown hair hanging halfway down her back and big brown eyes appeared at the back of the classroom. When Danny asked for questions, she raised her hand.
“Professor Maine, did you serve in Iraq?”
Danny felt uncomfortable talking with students about his personal life, especially his military experience.
“Yes. But I’d prefer questions about today’s short stories,” he replied.
“Didn’t you have a brother who also served in Iraq?” she asked.
“That’s enough for today. Until Wednesday,” Danny said, closing his briefcase and dismissing the class early. He made a hasty retreat before the brown-haired girl could catch up with him. When he showed up for office hours, she sat in the waiting area, the first one there. David hadn’t arrived yet.
“The door must be open,” Danny said, sorting through student papers.
“I’m not a student,” she said, closing the door. “My name is Jenny Henderson. I’m Jack Henderson’s sister.”
“I don’t know Jack, should I?” Danny tapped his foot on the floor.
“Kyle didn’t mention Jack in his letters?”
“How do you know Kyle?” he asked, his curiosity piqued.
“He died saving my brother.”
Danny put the papers down and stared at her.
“Did you hear me?”
“I never found out exactly how Kyle died, only that he got shot.”
“This must be a shock, sorry…” she said, shifting her weight from foot to foot.
“Sit?” he asked, removing books from a nearby chair.
“No, thanks. Please come and see Jack. He lost most of his left leg that day. He’s trying to put his life back together, but Kyle keeps haunting him. Maybe if you’d see him…” She smoothed out a crumpled piece of paper in her hand. “Do you know where Callie Richards is?”
“Oh my God,” Danny said, sinking into the chair behind his desk.
“Jack has a letter…a letter Kyle gave him before he died. We couldn’t find you…or her. Jack needs to deliver the letter. Callie needs to get it.”
“She’s here at the university,” Danny said.
“Can you and Callie come for dinner Saturday?”
Danny nodded.
“What about Callie?”
“I’ll call you.”
She wrote down her number on a scratch pad on his desk.
“Thanks,” Danny said, folding the paper and putting it in his breast pocket.
Jenny nodded, smiled at Danny and then left, closing the door quietly.
Danny sat staring at the door not seeing or hearing anything.
“Hey…Danny?” David asked.
Danny nodded, pulled out a card from his desk drawer and picked up the phone.
“Dr. Weiss? It’s Danny Maine.”
Chapter Eleven
Danny and Callie were on the highway before either one spoke. He focused on driving but kept thinking about Jack Henderson and all the questions he wanted to ask him.
Callie sat in the front seat, looking out the window, chewing gum. She turned on the radio, flipping from station to station but then turned it off.
“Have you ever seen anyone who has lost a limb?”
“No. I’m not looking forward to seeing it, either,” she said. “He’s the reason Kyle is dead.”
“If you want to look at the situation like that.”
“What other way is there?” she asked, keeping her attention on the scenery whizzing by.
“Don’t assume he wouldn’t have died some other way.”
“This brings back old anger I can’t shake.” she said. “I never got any information on Kyle’s death. I thought I had closure…maybe not.”
Danny looked back at the road and the cars in the other lanes.
�
��Will you hold my hand?” she asked, moving around to face him.
“Sure. I brought an extra handkerchief, just for you,” he said, patting her hand.
“Mac gave me two of his.”
They got off the highway and before long pulled into a small driveway. The crunch of gravel under the tires announced their arrival and a tall older man and a shorter round woman came out to greet them. Jack’s parent’s house was a small Cape Cod painted white with dark brown shutters. His parents made their way to the car, introduced themselves and shook hands with Danny and Callie. Mrs. Henderson fidgeted with her house keys as she preceded them into the house. Mr. Henderson followed behind them.
Danny took Callie’s hand as they climbed the front steps.
Inside Jack paced, his lips moving silently. Jenny had not been totally accurate, Jack lost the section of his left leg below the knee and a prosthetic device hidden under his jeans replace the limb. Tall and thin, like his father, Jack had light brown hair, a rosy complexion and tired eyes. Although he was only thirty-two years old, he seemed much older. Rosemary, his fiancée, a pleasantly rounded young woman with short dark hair and red lips sat on the sofa and played with a small pillow.
After more introductions, coffee, tea and homemade cookies were set out on the coffee table an awkward silence fell. The living room had an ordinary sofa, non-descript loveseat and two worn chairs. Colorful pillows on the sofa livened up the drab color scheme of beige and brown. Finally Danny spoke up.
“I have so many questions, Jack. I served in Iraq, too, much after Kyle.”
Jack answered Danny, but each answer brought another question. Callie sat silently listening, until the final answer, which was to her question of how Kyle died.
“Always hot, dry and dusty, that day the air seemed more cloudy than usual. Lowest visibility ever, I thought. We were exploring another location, looking for weapons of mass destruction in a small village. You never knew where you were going to find a bomb. I went over to check out a dead dog lying in the street when Kyle called out to me. He saw a man with a cell phone by the side of the building, but it was too late and I stood too close. He set off a bomb inside the dog that blew my lower leg right off,” Jack said, stopping to take a breath. Silence hung heavy in the air.
“On the ground, bleeding, I was toast, but Kyle came out to drag me back to cover, when he saw two snipers. He got one, but the other was camouflaged in the dust from the explosion. Kyle sat down in front of me while he scanned the second floor looking for the bastard. He didn’t see him move to the other side. I saw him and hollered, but by the time Kyle turned, the son of a bitch fired two shots, one hit Kyle in the neck,” Jack said, his hands shaking, his eyes focused on the rug.
Callie gasped and squeezed Danny’s hand. Silence fell on the room.
“He bled out quickly. Two other members of our squad ran out and dragged us out of the line of fire, but it was too late for Kyle. Before he died, he gave me this from his shirt pocket, the letter is addressed to you, Callie,” Jack said, handing it to her.
Callie reached out an unsteady hand to take the wrinkled, blood-stained, sealed envelope with her name written in Kyle’s handwriting.
“What a relief to finally give this to you. I’m sorry I took so long.”
Callie traced the dried blood on the envelope with a shaking finger, Kyle’s blood. Her face went pale and she covered her mouth with her hand as she bolted for the bathroom. Danny cried softly, hiding his face in his hands. He dreaded the contents of the letter yet was fascinated too, anxious to see Kyle’s last words. No one uttered a word as they waited for Callie to compose herself.
Callie returned to the sofa and opened the letter gently, slowly with trembling hands, taking care not to destroy the fragile paper.
After reading the letter silently, she handed the paper to Danny, and then she sobbed as if all the grief she had left inside came pouring out. He took her in his arms as she collapsed against him.
“Maybe she’d like to lie down?” Jack’s mother suggested.
Callie nodded and Danny helped her up to a room with a bed. A small remembrance to Kyle—a black and white photo of the squad with Kyle’s face circled, plus his obituary pasted on cardboard rested on a small table with a candle burning was in the guest room. Obviously Jack’s family considered Kyle some kind of saint for saving their son.
Danny sat on the side of the bed and read the letter when Jack’s mother retired to give them some privacy.
Dear Callie,
It’s four in the morning, the only quiet time in this hellhole. We go on patrol at six, so I don’t have much time. Soldiers go in an instant here. If you’re hit, you’ll probably die right there, especially if a bomb gets you. So I’m writing this while I can, because if my time comes here, that will be the end.
I can get all stupid here because if I live you’ll never see this and if I don’t, I won’t be there to feel weird. Danny and I didn’t have much before you came along. I was pretty angry when I met you, but you made me laugh and gave me love, not only in the sack (awesome!!), but the real deal.
I know I couldn’t go on without you. Your love saved me. Then I could save Danny. Playing house with you were the happiest days of my life. Even when you burned the burgers and turned my boxers pink.
Believe in yourself, Callie. Find someone who will love and appreciate you, like I do. You’re not meant to be alone. I want to think of you laughing, not lonely and sad. Please look out for Danny. He’s in a good place now, but if I’m not there to push him around a little, he might think he knows everything. Keep him in line.
Don’t mourn for me. I had the greatest happiness I could ever wish for with you, so there are no regrets. Remember everything I taught you. Keep yourself safe. Move on with your life. I’ll love you to eternity and will watch over you and Danny from wherever I’m going.
Love always,
Kyle
He felt numb. The letter didn’t make him feel any better about losing Kyle but at least Kyle got to have his last say to his beloved and his baby brother.
While Callie slept, Danny went out quietly and joined the Hendersons. Mrs. Henderson disappeared into the kitchen to prepare dinner. Jenny entered the house quietly, nodded to Danny and joined her mother in the kitchen to help with the meal. Danny wanted to ask Jack some questions about where they were when Kyle died, but Jack didn’t have much memory for the location. The medevac airlifted him out of there quickly. Danny wanted to figure out if any of the enemy he killed had killed Kyle, but he couldn’t put the pieces together.
“We got the guy who killed Kyle. Andy, Kyle’s best buddy in the squad, went out and tracked the bastard down and killed him. Unfortunately, Andy took a bomb the next week. He’s with Kyle now and they’re probably having a beer.”
Danny stared at him, shocked. His whole tour of duty in Iraq, wasted, as Kyle’s killer died long before he got there to even the score. All the horrors over there were unnecessary. The experiences warping his life, making him a killer, teaching him to hate and distrust didn’t have to be.
Half an hour later, Callie returned to the living room after washing her face. She looked pale but better. She gave Jack a hug and a kiss on the cheek.
“Thank you for this. You’ll never know how much this letter means to me,” she said, her voice shaking.
Jack smiled an uneasy smile.
“I understand you and Rosemary are going to be married,” Callie stated.
“We’re considering…” Jack admitted.
“Go ahead. Don’t live in the past,” Callie said, putting her hand on his arm.
Jack’s mother served dinner but neither Callie nor Danny had much appetite. They made polite conversation about their lives now. They encouraged Jack and Rosemary to get married. Rosemary didn’t speak the entire time as she twisted a napkin in her hand.
During dessert, Jack went over and took Rosemary’s hand. He slipped a modest engagement ring on her finger and kissed her. She cried and clu
ng to him. Jenny looked relieved while Jack’s parents were embarrassed. Was it Rosemary’s dream, to marry Jack? Callie thought it was and Rosemary would have her dream because Callie’s dream died in the desert.
Jack walked them out to the car after dinner, and they said tearful goodbyes.
Danny picked up his cell phone and dialed a number.
“I’ll be back in WillowFalls in an hour and a half. I need to see you. I know it’s late. I wouldn’t ask except…well… Okay, tomorrow then. I’ll be okay. Thanks,” he said, hanging up the phone.
They drove home in silence, each one trying to absorb what they had heard. Callie kept the letter in her hand.
“So much…so much…my head is spinning,” Callie admitted.
“Mine, too,” Danny said, fighting to concentrate on his driving.
Danny stopped in front of Callie’s house. He touched her face and kissed her cheek. She hugged him briefly, then kissed him and got out of the car. He watched her walk in the door, and then pulled out. Getting home about eleven o’clock, he sat in the dark by the picture window with the subcompact Glock on the table next to an open bottle of scotch.
Chapter Twelve
Callie walked in the door looking washed out, spent physically and emotionally.
“Do you want a drink?” Mac asked.
“Please,” she said, looking at the letter in her hand.
She sat on the sofa. Mac took the space next to her, waiting for her to speak.
“Kyle’s last letter to me,” she said, fingering the envelope. “Want to read it?”
“Do you want me to?” Mac asked, shifting his weight unable to sit still.
“I don’t want you to be jealous…suspicious or think I’m hiding anything. Don’t be weird about this.”
“Sure you want to let me in?”
“You know I love you, don’t you?”
Mac nodded then leaned over and kissed her.
“Kyle wrote this letter to be given to me in case he died,” Callie said, handing the letter to Mac.
