"Well," Charlie said, "I think today answers the question of whether or not we're going to Hawaii next year. I'd rather skip the VIP treatment next time, thank you very much."
Joan stuck her head in the door. "Gramma, there's a reporter outside who'd like to talk to you."
"Not interested," Charlie said. "Someone just shot my husband. How does it feel? It stinks, thank you very much. He could have died, so of course I'm very relieved, yet, funny, I'm also angry as hell that that bastard was shooting in the first place. No further comments."
"I'll tell him no, thank you." Joanie disappeared.
Vince was shaking his head. "I'm fine. This isn't that big a deal, and you know it. You've seen real bullet wounds, Charles."
She had. Still, she had the right to be good and mad.
"You saved Joanie's and my life," she said. "And you put yourself in the way of a bullet that could well have ricocheted off the metal of the stage and hit the President of the United States. And still it's me they want to talk to. When are they going to ask to interview you? You're the hero. You've always been my hero, Vince."
He actually looked embarrassed. "Well, thanks, Charlotte, but..." He shook his head and laughed.
"But what? You're so annoyingly easygoing. Everything's okay with you. Aren't you even the slightest bit mad that you were shot?"
"In the ass," he pointed out. "And sure. It's a... pain in the ass." He laughed, but then he got sober really fast. "I thought we were going to die, Charlie. I thought I was going to watch you bleed to death in front of me like..."
"Ray?" she asked softly.
"Like Ray and a lot of other good men. Brave men."
"And you think they 're the heroes," she said. "Like James. Because they didn't come home."
"Yes," he said quietly. "Like James." He cleared his throat. "We've never really talked about him. All these years, and... I'm the one who didn't want to talk about him. Maybe you did, and I apologize for not letting you do that."
"Vincent..."
"I think we should go to Hawaii," he told her. "It doesn't have to be part of this ceremony next December. That's fine if you don't want to do that. In fact, I think we should go before then. Soon. I think it's important for you, and frankly, it's even more important for me."
Charlie shook her head. "I don't understand."
His smile was so sad it nearly made her start to cry as he said, "Don't you see, Charles, I've lived his life—the life that should have been his. I want to go there and visit him and... well, properly pay my respects."
"Vincent, you didn't live his life. You lived your life. Our life. You don't really think—"
"Answer this for me," he said. "Would you have married me if you hadn't been pregnant?"
"Yes!"
"Come on, Charlotte," he said. "All those nights when we were first married—I heard you crying."
"My God." Charlie was shocked. "For all these years, you've actually believed... ?" She stood up and went to the door and called down the hall. She could be good and loud when she put her mind to it. "Joan! Is that reporter still out there? I changed my mind—will you ask him if he'd like to come to our home for .an interview? This evening, at seven?"
Mary Lou Starrett's car wasn't in the driveway of her little house on Westway Drive.
Husaam Abdul-Fataah sank down low in the driver's seat and waited for her to return, listening to the news on the radio.
Twenty-four people wounded, four killed—not counting the terrorists—two of them members of the Secret Service. It was a pathetic outcome, considering two of the three weapons he'd helped smuggle onto the base had been submachine guns.
President Bryant was, of course, untouched. Husaam had pretty much assumed that would be the case, although he hadn't attempted to correct his associates' hopes. Who was he to crush their pathetic little dreams of glory? He was just the man who helped them with their plan in exchange for a generous fee.
A briefing from the White House revealed that one man concealed his weapon in a baby stroller. Another carried a lady's purse. The third had a side arm hidden beneath his jacket.
They'd been identified as Jalaal Izz Udeen, Mamdouh Ihsaan, and Ghiyaath Abdullah. Two were from Saudi Arabia and one was from Syria. All had strong al-Qaeda connections.
What a surprise.
All three had come into the country on student visas that had long since expired.
All three of the terrorists had left this earth and gone on to their heavenly reward—although there were several others in critical condition in the hospital that the authorities were planning to question in terms of a possible connection to the attack.
And that was good news. Confusion always helped. In this case it was the United States with their "No, we don't do racial profiling" promises, even as they did just that, that were muddying the waters. He was willing to bet that all of the "several others" questioned would be of Arabic descent.
While Husaam Abdul-Fataah, formerly known as Warren Canton from Lenexa, Kansas, aka Bob Schwegel, or Luke Daniels, or John Manning, or Doug Fisk, was nowhere near the list of suspects.
And he was determined to stay that way.
As Husaam watched, Sam Starrett pulled into his driveway and went inside his house. The sun was starting to set, but there was still no sign of Mary Lou.
A few minutes later, the radio announcer said that a new Pentagon briefing revealed that holes had been cut in the fence surrounding the parade grounds. The gunmen and their weapons were believed to have entered the secure area that way, directly from the Navy base. Officials believed the three men had entered the base as part of a tour group, and remained in hiding there for four, possibly five days prior to the attack.
That was uncomfortably close to the truth, and Husaam started his car and pulled away.
It was time to get out of Dodge. To keep a low profile for a while.
Mary Lou would have to wait.
Vince had to sit with part of his buttocks centered on a plastic blow-up kiddie flotation ring, which, in his eyes, lacked a certain dignity for a gentleman of his years.
To make matters worse, Charlotte was holding a press conference right there in their living room with a reporter from the San Diego Union-Tribune.
Joan and Mike had come over, too, although they both looked about ready to drop. Over at the hospital, they'd made Charlie the happiest grandmother in the world by announcing their plans to get married.
They now sat on the couch, holding hands.
As they all gathered there in the living room, Charlie told their entire story—Vince's quest to talk to Senator Howard about Tarawa, his illness, their friendship that became something more. She'd even told the tale of Upstairs Sally.
She spoke at great length about the unsung bravery of the Underwater Demolition Teams—UDT men—throughout the war, about the important part they'd played clearing the beaches during the Normandy invasion and their vital roles in the Pacific island-hopping campaign.
She talked about James, about her unbearable grief after losing him, about her heartache as she thought of him dying so far from home and so terribly alone.
"I wasn't looking to fall in love again," she told them, told Vince, too. She looked right at him as she spoke. "But there he was. A young man who was so very special. My mother-in-law, Edna Fletcher, loved Vince, too, right from the first moment they met.
"Well, time came for him to go off to join the UDT training down in Florida. I'm ashamed to say mat I took him to the train without so much as a kiss good-bye. I cried about that all the way home. And then I cried some more when I found out
he'd left behind a letter asking me again to marry him. I have it here."
Charlie opened the notebook that was in front of her, and sure enough, there was his letter, carefully saved for all these years.
He knew she'd saved James's letters. He hadn't dared to hope she'd saved his.
"May I read some of it aloud?" she asked.
"Please," the reporter
said.
"I was asking my husband," she told the young man gently.
Vince nodded. God, he'd labored over that letter, trying to get it just right.
Joanie sat forward as Charlotte cleared her throat.
"Dear Charlotte,
"Hove you. I've never said those words to any one. before, let alone written them down on paper, but it's true.
"I love you and I continue to hope that someday you will marry me. In fact, I'll ask you again. Will you be my wife? "
She glanced up. "Skipping forward a little...
"I need you to know, my dearest, that if I am to die, I will not die alone. You are part of me now. You are in my heart. I know that you love me. I know this is true—whether you know it yourself or not. And that knowledge will be with me always. Your love for me will be my constant companion, along with my memories of the beautiful night we shared? She looked up at him, glanced at Joan, too. "Guess the cat's out of the bag about that part of the story. It will keep me warm from now until the day I die—whether that day is tomorrow or a hundred years from tomorrow."
Over on the couch, Mike put his arm around Joan, and she rested her head against his shoulder.
"I go willingly to this fight. I go to keep my country—and you!—safe and free. If I die, it will not be in vain. I believe this completely. And like James before me, I know you will live on. I can picture you at forty, Charles. And at sixty and even eighty, and you will still be so beautiful to me. I hope I am there to see you, to share your life and to love you until we are both old and gray. But if I am not, I hope you will have the strength to live a good life, filled with love and hope and laughter, for me.
"Always yours, and always with you, too, Vince."
Charlotte put down his letter.
She cleared her throat. "Naturally, as I read that, I cried and cried. And then I cried even more because I knew without a doubt that I'd fallen in love with this young man.
"It was different than my love for James, but in its own way it was just as strong, just as powerful, and just as wonderful.
"But I was young and foolish and I had absolutely no idea on earth what to do.
"That night Edna came into my room. My dear mother-in-law. And she sat down with me and do you know what she said?"
Vince shook his head, his heart in his throat. She'd never told him this before. They'd never talked about any of it, about his letter or her decision to come to Fort Pierce to find him. He'd just accepted her into his life, assuming that her pregnancy had been what had pushed her into their marriage.
"She gave me permission to let go of James," Charlie told him. She wasn't even pretending to talk to the reporter anymore. "She told me to put him—her beloved, precious son— into the past, to remember him with love, but now to move on. She gave me permission—she used those very words—to let myself love you."
There were tears in her eyes. "She told me that if James had lived, I would've had a good life—but it would have been a hard life. James wasn't easy to live with. Like his father before him, he was selfish and demanding and never satisfied— this a mother's view of her own son! She said that James had loved me with all his heart, but that our life would have been filled—like her own had been—with battles and uphill climbs. She told me, with the wisdom of her years, that most relationships were terribly hard work, but that every so often two people meet and click and it's obvious they're meant for each other. It's clear that their life together will be a gift, filled with joy."
Over on the couch, Joan gave Mike a kiss.
"Edna told me you would bring me that joy if only I'd let you." Charlie smiled at Vince. "So I decided to let you. With yours and Edna's help, I finally buried James. Your letter brought comfort to me because now when I thought of him, I no longer imagined him dying alone. Your letter made me believe that I was there, with him, in his heart, right to the very end."
She turned to the reporter. "So I made arrangements to travel to Fort Pierce. It took weeks to get a seat on a train going all the way to Florida, and while I was waiting for the opportunity, I discovered that Vince and I were going to be starting that family he'd said he'd always wanted a little bit sooner than I'd anticipated.
"We were married right away, and I lived there, in Florida, with him while he completed his training.
"It was the most emotional time of my life," Charlie admitted. "As our time together grew shorter and shorter, I cried every single night because I couldn't bear the thought of being apart from him. You see, I loved him so very much.
"That time when he left, I kissed him good-bye."
She certainly had.
Vince sat on his floaty toy as the reporter asked some questions, as they all pretended not to notice that he was pretty steadily wiping the corners of his eyes.
Charlie ended the interview like a queen, standing up and sweeping the reporter out of the room and out of the house.
Joan and Mike said good night, Mike shaking Vince's hand and Joanie giving him the fiercest of hugs. After promises to have dinner and lunch in the coming week, Charlie walked them to the door.
They were alone then. She came back into the living room and sat down beside him, taking his hand. "So now— finally—you know. I can't believe you spent nearly sixty years thinking—
Vince brought her fingers to his lips. "I was happy to be your second choice for sixty years."
"You may have come second, my dearest, but you never were my second choice. I've had a wonderful, grand, joyous life—just as Edna predicted."
Vince nodded. Together they'd had more than their share of good times along with the bad.
"I wouldn't change a single moment," Charlie told him.
"I might change that one time I got that stomach flu," Vince said, and she laughed.
"Okay. And I would change your mind about getting those hearing aids," she said.
"Done," he said.
She kissed him. "Thank you."
"I'd still like to go to Hawaii," Vince told her. "If it's all right with you..."
Charlie kissed him again, longer this time. "As long as you're there, it's all right with me."
The sound of the doorbell woke Sam from a restless sleep.
What the fuck... ? It was barely 0600.
Mary Lou wasn't in bed beside him, and he sat up, remembering. She'd left a note on the kitchen table. He'd found it last night when he got home.
Gone to Janine's. That was all it said. She didn't sign it, didn't address it to him. Just, Gone to Janine 's.
The doorbell rang again, and he swung his legs out of bed and pulled on the shorts he 'd dropped right on the floor before going to sleep last night.
First time he'd done that in well over a year. If he left his clothes on the floor, Mary Lou would pick them up and put them in the laundry. He would get a pair of shorts or jeans all comfortable and then she'd go and wash them and stiffen them up again.
The doorbell rang again and again and again. Whoever was out there was really leaning on it.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm coming! Hold on!" he shouted as he headed down the hall, combing his hair out of his face with his fingers.
It made sense that Mary Lou would escape and visit her sister now, when Sam had told her they had to sit down and talk. No doubt she hoped that that impending conversation would be forgotten while she was away.
He opened the front door to find a man standing out there who was broader, taller, and blacker than Jazz Jacquette. He was an enormous man with hands like boxing gloves and a gold front tooth.
"Lieutenant Roger Starrett?" he asked.
"Yeah," Sam said, scratching the stubble on his chin.
The man opened the screen and slapped an envelope into his hands. "You've been served."
"Served?" Shit. "Hey!" Sam caught the screen door before it bounced and went outside, but the man was already halfway to his car. "What's this about?"
He didn't even turn around. "Not my business, man."
As he got into his car a
nd pulled away, Sam opened the envelope and...
Holy fuck. Mary Lou had filed for divorce.
He read the damn thing again. Yes, she most certainly had.
He sat down, right on his front steps, even more exhausted than he'd felt last night. It was the strangest thing. This was what he wanted for months—for nearly two years— wasn't it? So why wasn't he dancing? Why wasn't he doing handstands?
Because of that note on the kitchen table.
Because Mary Lou had moved—that was no short visit— to fucking Florida.
And Sam was going to be lucky if he saw his daughter once a year.
And he also wasn't dancing because all those last foolish hopes he'd had of being single again and calling Alyssa had been snuffed out when he'd gone to her room and come face-to-face with Max Bhagat.
Sam went inside the house and closed the door. These days even when he won, he lost.
Joan didn't wake up until late in the morning.
Mike was still sleeping, and she lay there for a long time watching the colors and lights from the sun on the ocean play across his face.
"What am I going to do with you?" she whispered.
It was barely loud enough for her to hear, yet he opened his eyes.
Just like that he was awake. One minute, sleeping, the next, alert.
"Are you a morning person?" she asked warily.
His smile was pure sin. "I'm an any time of the day person."
Joan laughed. "That's not what I meant."
He pulled her closer, nuzzling her throat. "Yeah, but it's what I meant."
She kissed him, then pulled back to look searchingly into his eyes. "Are you really all right?"
He released her, lying back on the bed with his hands up underneath his head. "Okay," he said. "Let's have this conversation."
What was he talking about? "Which conversation?"
He sighed. "The one where you tell me that you saw me eliminate that target yesterday."
"Eliminate that target," she repeated. "Yeah, Mike. I did see that."
"And here I am," he said. "No different than I was before. And you don't really understand how that could be, right?"
Troubleshooters 05 Into The Night Page 47
