For All Their Lives

by Fern Michaels

  Alice sensed his presence and turned. Her eyes questioned him as she placed a finger to her lips. In her fuzzy robe and fuzzy slippers she joined her husband at the top of the stairs. They sat down, like an old married couple, and shared the bottle of Coca-Cola Mac had taken from the refrigerator.

  “Jenny’s sick. She started to run a high fever around four o’clock. It happens fairly often. She gets ear infections and sore throats. I wasn’t waiting up for you,” she said defensively.

  “You never told me Jenny gets sick a lot,” Mac said.

  “You weren’t exactly interested for a long time. As you pointed out, she is my daughter, not yours. The doctor came out and gave her a shot. Children like Jenny are prone to . . . you know, they have problems.” There was such sadness in Alice’s voice, Mac drew her to him to comfort her.

  “You’re a good mother, Alice. I never thought . . . I don’t know how you do it. You gave up everything I thought was important to you.”

  Alice grinned crookedly. “Maybe you have to go through childbirth to know what I feel as a mother. She was so defenseless. She had only me. My own parents weren’t any more understanding than Marcus. We can talk about all of this now, Mac, if you want, but I don’t think it’s the right time. You’re hurting badly. Why don’t we talk about that? Maybe you’ll feel better. I’m trying to help, Mac, I’m not . . . it’s not that I want to know the sordid details so I can throw them back at you later on. Please believe me.”

  He told her the truth, leaving nothing out. “I felt something, but I didn’t . . . it’s done,” he said sadly in a choked voice.

  “There must be a way to find her, to set matters straight. You have to do it, Mac. How can you go on with your life with this hanging over your head?” Alice asked quietly.

  “She doesn’t need to hear me say any words. She saw everything she needed to see with her eyes. You were here with Jenny. She saw a family, she saw the dogs. She saw this guest cottage, the same kind of house we both said we wanted. She thinks it’s our dream, yours and mine. Never hers. If there’s one thing I know, it’s that Casey Adams would never in any way do anything to break up this family. Never.”

  “Does that mean you aren’t going to . . . do something?”

  “Something? In a million years I’ll never be able to find her. She doesn’t want to be found. Why else is she calling herself Mary Ashley?”

  “Maybe she’ll go back to France. You could start there.”

  “You should go to bed, Alice. You have a busy day tomorrow.”

  “I can’t sleep when Jenny is sick. If she isn’t better tomorrow, I’ll have to postpone our trip. A few days won’t make much difference. I’m looking forward to the move. Jenny is very excited, but she’s sad about leaving her new friends at the foundation. She adjusts well, so I’m not worried. I am worried about you, though. Is there anything I can do, Mac?”

  The compassion in his wife’s eyes under the bright hallway lighting stunned him. It was hard to believe this gentle-eyed woman in the fuzzy robe was the same woman he’d left behind when he went to Vietnam. He patted her hand comfortingly. “I’ll deal with it, Alice. Off the top of my head I’d say we’re a couple of misfits.”

  Alice smiled. “Are you just finding that out?”

  “Pretty much so. I’m kind of slow in matters like this.”

  Alice handed the picture she was holding back to Mac. “Will you still be coming to South Carolina? If you don’t, I’ll understand. Try and get some sleep,” she said in the same motherly tone she used with Jenny. “Daylight, for some reason, always makes things a little better.”

  “Maybe we’ll be a family someday,” Alice murmured to Jenny’s Chatty Cathy doll. “Maybe.”

  Downstairs, Mac poured himself a drink, gulped it, and poured another and another and another until he passed out. It was the only thing he could think of to make his pain go away. He stayed drunk for three days.

  “LET HIM ALONE, Benny,” Alice said when he drove her to the airport. “Be there for him. The damn Senate can wait. Don’t pressure him.”

  “Okay, Alice, but I thought he was moving to that apartment house in Arlington. Do you think I should move him or wait?”

  “I’d mention it if the situation presents itself. Mac has to come up for air at some point. He’ll realize alcohol isn’t his answer. Mac is no fool, we both know that. Good-bye, Benny, thanks for the ride. You’ll see that Yody gets on the plane at the end of the week, right?”

  “Count on it. Good luck, Alice.”

  Alice debated a second before she leaned over and kissed Benny lightly on the cheek. “That’s for being such a good friend to Mac. Visit sometime, okay?”

  “You bet,” Benny said, tweaking Jenny under the chin.

  WHEN MAC SURFACED from his three-day alcoholic stupor, he moved to the apartment in Arlington with Benny’s help. He didn’t look back. He had a desk full of work and a letter to write. From there he would take it one day at a time. His little family would see him over the rough spots. Alice and Jenny were waiting for him. As long as he could see their beacon of light, he was going to be okay. He didn’t know if he’d be willing to bet the rent on it though.

  “Be happy, Casey, wherever you are. I’m going to try. If I don’t succeed, I’ll try harder,” Mac murmured.

  “Did you say something, Senator?” an aide to Senator Proxmire asked.

  Startled, Mac looked around. “It wasn’t important,” Mac said evenly. “Thinking out loud, I guess. Sometimes it helps.”

  Proxmire’s aide walked alongside Mac. “They say Tip O’-Neill does it all the time. So does my boss, but don’t tell anyone.” The aide grinned.

  “My lips are sealed.” Mac smiled. “When something is over, it’s over.” It really is over for me. I’m alive and well. I’ll survive.

  Chapter 26

  HEAVY, SLASHING RAIN pelted the San Francisco Bay area. Casey hardly noticed. She only had eyes for her new passport. The picture was hers. The name on the passport said she was Casey Adams. All thanks to a young attorney named Oliver Preston, a Vietnam veteran. “No mean feat,” he said when he handed it to her. “I feel like I personally dealt Goliath a mortal blow, and in a manner of speaking, that’s exactly what I did to the U.S. Army. You’re your own person now. You still retain dual citizenship. I respected your wishes in that matter and left the paperwork up to them. On the matter of your life insurance, well, the army is prepared to take the loss. Here in my hand are checks for all your medical bills, the ones paid by Dr. Carpenter. When I relieve you of my fee, you’ll still have a tidy little nest egg. I think your Dr. Carpenter would understand.”

  “Marcus Carlin and Alan’s lawyer in New York?”

  “I’ll handle everything. You signed your power of attorney, so there will be no problem. I’ll carry out your wishes. Again, I think your Dr. Carpenter would be very proud to know you’re donating all of your inheritance to Senator Carlin’s foundation for Down’s syndrome children in the name of Mary Ashley. I’ll get on that right after . . . day after tomorrow really.”

  “I don’t know how to thank you for all your help. I just walked in here out of the rain and fog, and there you were. I was one step away from jumping off the Bay Bridge a month ago.”

  “And now?” Preston asked curiously.

  “Now I’m going to the bank and deposit these checks, and then I’m going to celebrate.”

  “Alone?”

  “In a manner of speaking. I’ll share it with my memories one last time. And then I’ll start over tomorrow. Do you have a family, Oliver? I never asked.”

  “Yes. Great little wife, and a boy and a girl. They’re my life.”

  “That’s the way it should be. Don’t ever let anyone break it up,” Casey said softly. “Good-bye, Oliver, and thanks for everything.”

  “Listen,” Oliver said, getting up from his desk. “What if I need to get in touch with you? Where will you be? What are you going to do?”

  “What I do best. Right now
, though, I’m going to try and catch some of your famous San Francisco fog.” She laughed. Oliver thought the sound of her laughter was the saddest thing he’d ever heard.

  “Good Luck, Casey.”

  “Thanks, Oliver.”

  THE AWFUL IN-COUNTRY smell was just as she remembered it. The heat and humidity just as paralyzing. Casey smiled. She was a veteran, she could handle it. Her bag full of cotton underwear, talcum, a fancy blue dress, and little else was at her feet. She could see the Twelfth Evac Hospital sign and underneath the letters CU CHI.

  She heard the sound of choppers. “Incoming wounded,” she said to the three young nurses at her side.

  “Where?” the girls chorused in unison.

  Casey pointed to the west.

  “I can’t see anything,” one of the nurses said. “I don’t hear anything either. How do you know that?” she asked suspiciously.

  “I’ve been here before.” Casey laughed. “Better get moving.”

  “We just got here. We’re tired,” they whined together.

  “Tough. You’re here to do a job, and you’re going to do it. Get a move on. In case no one told you, I’m your superior. I’m tough, but I’m fair. Move your asses, girls. Those guys aren’t going to wait to die till you get ready. In there and scrub up! Five minutes!”

  “Jesus Christ, where did she come from?” one of the nurses demanded.

  “Another planet,” the second nurse said.

  “She looks like a real bitch!” the third one said.

  “Nah, she’s a real pussycat. I’m the dragon. Move!” Luke Farrell roared.

  “Hello, Luke,” Casey said shyly.

  “What name you going by these days?” Luke drawled.

  “The same one I was born with, subject to change, of course,” Casey drawled back.

  “Can we talk about this later? The name change, I mean. This is a bad one. I don’t want any of those kids dying on my table. How’d you find me? Triage!” he bellowed at the top of his lungs as the first chopper set down.

  “I made a deal with the army. I said I’d come over here if they assigned me to your hospital. They said okay. Is that good enough for you?”

  “Yeah. Easy, kid, hang on, we’re gonna fix you right up,” Luke said to a young kid with blond whiskers on a litter.

  “You have the best doctor in the world, young man. You do what he says and hang on. I’ll see you in a minute. Hang on now,” Casey said.

  “Yes, ma’am, I’ll hang on.”

  “That’s it, son,” Luke said, running alongside Casey. “We got work to do, Adams.”

  “Yes, sir, that’s why I’m here.”

  “The only reason?”

  “Heck, no. I missed your homely face.”

  Their eyes met briefly.

  “We’re a good team. Farrell and Adams. Sounds like a dance team.”

  “How about Farrell and Farrell?” Casey laughed.

  “Sounds even better,” Luke said, taking his position behind the operating table.

  “Next!”

  Epilogue

  Washington, D.C.

  November 1984

  CHILLING BLACKNESS.

  Casey’s hands flew to her mouth to stifle a cry of pain. Luke froze in his tracks, his back and shoulders stiffening.

  “I thought . . . I expected . . . a statue . . . something . . . something white . . . something that would please the eye. This . . . this . . .”

  “Is somber and reflective,” Luke murmured. He was referring to the Vietnam Memorial with its manicured ramparts, two angled walls which sloped down into the ground from a height of ten feet at their junction. The carved names of the dead began and ended at the apex and were arranged in the order of their deaths from the years 1959 through 1975. “And contemplative. I can see it, now that I’ve gotten over the shock. Casey, look at it closely. Look at it with your mind, not your heart,” Luke ordered.

  “I am, Luke. It’s ugly. It’s cold, it’s black. It’s ambivalent, like this country’s attitude toward the war.” A sob caught in her throat. She leaned against her husband, her face full of despair.

  “Like it or not,” a vet said standing next to her, “it exposes the denial in this country’s reaction to the war. I see . . .” the vet continued, “dignity, simplicity, elegance, something the war wasn’t. I want to believe this is the beginning of our healing process.”

  Luke and Casey watched him walk away, muttering the same phrases over and over to anyone who would stop and listen.

  “He’s probably right,” Luke said quietly.

  “So many names. My God, so many names,” Casey said softly, her hand outstretched to touch the names carved in the black granite. “I can see the reflection of myself, the trees, the people, the birds, the sky, the other monuments, the world.” Her index finger traced the name Willard D. Craig and then the name Merle I. Cripe. Tears rolled down her cheeks. “It’s not enough!” she cried.

  “No, it isn’t,” Luke said, “but it’s all we have for now. The more you look at this, the more you see reflected, the more I think this is . . . about as close to perfect as you can get. It’s going to take a lot of getting used to, but someday this wall is . . . I don’t know what it’s going to be, but it’s going to go down in history.”

  “What about that ragtag parade down Constitution Avenue?” Casey choked out the words, her fingers still tracing names of the fallen.

  “It’s a start, Casey. That’s how we have to look at it. You’re absolutely right, it’s not enough, but it’s all we have,” Luke said, putting his arm around his wife.

  “We have to find Rick’s name. I’m not leaving here till we find it. Sue’s name too. Are women’s names on here? I want to see Mary Klinker’s name and . . . and, the other one, oh Luke, I can’t remember her name. . . .”

  “We’ll find them, Casey. We promised each other we wouldn’t do this, and here we are doing exactly what we said we wouldn’t do. Walk around with the children, and I’ll find the names. Go on, Casey, the kids are getting restless.”

  “You’re right. I’m sorry, honey,” Casey said, stretching up on her toes to kiss her husband on the cheek. “We’ll be back in ten minutes.”

  Luke squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them he felt warm sunshine on his head. He looked around, disoriented for a moment, confused at what he was feeling and seeing reflected in the blackness in front of him. Casey was right, he could see the world, sparrows in flight, trees, monuments, sky, parents, brothers, sisters, the veterans strolling the Mall. He raised his eyes upward to feel the sun on his face. We’re all being blessed, he thought.

  The moment Luke found the name he was searching for, he pressed his finger so hard against the black marble that his nail cracked. It would have taken a derrick to dislodge him. When his wife returned, he guided her hand to the carved name: Richard Sanducci. He did cry then.

  “Did you know that guy?” a voice behind them asked shakily.

  Casey turned. “We all knew him. I was a nurse in Vietnam, my husband was a doctor. Were you there?”

  “Yeah. Yeah, I was there. I knew Rick. Had a beer with him once. Saw him at that picnic in Da Nang. I was there when he was . . . when he . . . bought it. No one knew what to do. I mean that guy was like God, he wasn’t supposed to die.” The vet was shaking now, trembling, his eyes wild and frightened. He bent over clutching his stomach and then dropped to his knees, shaking worse. From out of nowhere a circle of bearded, fatigued veterans closed in.

  Casey shot a look at her husband before she dropped to her knees. “It’s okay,” she said soothingly, “you’re among friends.” She pulled him close, stroking his hair, his back, his arms. “I went through this, so did my husband, and all these guys standing here. Is your family here?” she crooned. “Can we fetch someone?”

  “What family?” the soldier said bitterly. “My wife couldn’t handle it, so she took my kid and split. She got married again and won’t even let me see my son. Said I was a bad influence with my nightma
res, screaming fits, and . . . oh shit, she said it all. I lost every job I got. For the past year I’ve just been bumming.”

  “There are places you can go for help,” Luke said softly. The circle of vets hooted sarcastically.

  “There are places and then there are places. Here,” he said, whipping a notebook and pen from inside his jacket. “This is a toll free number for you to call. If you can’t make it there on your own, someone will come for you. This is a place where you’ll get real help and be able to get your life back together. Before you know it, you’ll have your son back. Trust me,” Luke said seriously. When the ex-soldier still looked doubtful, Luke said, “Remember that guy who threw the picnic in Da Nang? He heads up this foundation, oversees it. Won’t cost you a cent. All you have to do is call.”

  “You shitting him, Doc?” one of the vets said coldly.

  “No!” Casey said. “He’s telling you the truth. You can all go if you need help. A support group isn’t enough. There are people there, trained people who understand and know what you’re going through. Why don’t you give it a try? What do you have to lose?”

  The soldier was on his feet, wiping his sweaty hands on his raggedy jeans. He nodded miserably. The paper Luke handed him was safe in his pocket.

  “Thanks. I’ll give it a try. Is this your son, Doc?”

  “Yes.”

  “A man shouldn’t lose his son. It’s not right, it’s not fair.”

  “No it isn’t. Listen, I wrote my address on that paper. Let us know how you’re doing, okay?”