Beyond the Point(104)
That night, she’d slept at Avery’s house, only to wake up and walk down the street to Hannah and Tim’s, where everyone was keeping vigil, waiting in pained silence. Emily and her husband, Mark, were in the backyard chasing Jack, who didn’t realize that this was not a time to be rambunctious. Inside, Bill Speer had claimed a seat in front of the TV, while Lynn sat at the dining room table, where she drank from a seemingly bottomless mug of coffee. Dani had joined Lynn at the table when Tim’s parents finally arrived, their presence bringing with it an even heavier darkness. And even quieter silence.
It had struck Dani on her flight across the Atlantic that in losing their only son, Margaret and Charlie Nesmith had lost their entire family. Hannah had told Dani that after several miscarriages and years of waiting, they’d decided to put their savings into adoption, which brought Tim into their lives. For that reason, they’d put immeasurable pressure on themselves to be perfect parents. Where Tim was strong and vivacious, the Nesmiths were short, round about the middle, and awkward in large social settings. While Tim jumped out of airplanes and lived without fear, his parents seemed to be the worrying type, even before he’d left for war. And though the Nesmiths looked and acted nothing like their son, Dani remembered the thick laughter that came from their bellies at Hannah and Tim’s wedding—the joy they found in their son’s happiness. That much was never in question. They loved him unconditionally. And now they would grieve him unconditionally, too.
When Margaret and Charlie arrived at the house, there was nothing to do except welcome the awkwardness with open arms. Dani stood in the kitchen while Margaret Nesmith spread her son’s SRP paperwork out on the dining room table. All four adults sat down, staring at the papers, knowing there was nothing to decide. Two still had their child. Two had had theirs ripped away. There were moments you couldn’t put into words, and seeing the Nesmiths stare at those papers was enough to send Dani back to bed in the middle of the day. Without making any announcement, she slipped out the front door and walked back to Avery’s house.
THAT MORNING, AVERY had left a note for Dani on the kitchen counter.
Headed to work. I’ll be done around 6:30 tonight. Text me and let me know how things are going. Tell Wendy I can’t wait to see her. —A
Dani tried to answer a few work e-mails from Avery’s living room couch, but the thought of discussing Gelhomme’s latest commercials made her head spin. Her e-mails sounded garbled and confusing. She couldn’t seem to focus or communicate with any clarity. And so, after an hour of effort with little to show for it, she shut her computer.
The clock seemed to move at a snail’s pace. Outside, a breeze blew leaves up off the ground and back down again. Over the weekend, Eric Jenkins had raked and bagged all the leaves in the Nesmiths’ yard, and Avery’s as well. Seated at a round table in the kitchen, looking at the empty street outside Avery’s window, Dani tried to think.
With their bullets, insurgents in Iraq hadn’t just killed Tim. They’d sent aftershocks to Afghanistan, London, Texas, Maryland, Ohio, North Carolina . . . the list went on and on. One of their classmates stationed in Korea had just sent Dani an e-mail, asking where he could send flowers. People all over the world were dealing with the fact that enough evil existed on the planet to end the life of someone so young, with so much promise. That was the real cost of war, Dani thought. The aftermath.
It was difficult to grieve for Tim, because all Dani could do was think about Hannah. She’d tried to imagine her friend, alone in the desert, hearing the news. Convoying for eight hours with practical strangers. Knowing that somewhere in the world, her husband’s body was broken in pieces. In every memory Dani could conjure of Tim, he was running, laughing, moving, sweating, or soaring through the air. How can someone that alive all of a sudden not be alive at all?
And what for?
Dani shut that line of thinking down quickly in her mind. She couldn’t let politics cloud what needed to happen first, which was for Hannah to get home and be surrounded by the people who loved her most.
AT ONE O’CLOCK, a white Chrysler minivan pulled into Avery’s driveway, saving Dani from her thoughts. Walking out into the cold, Dani waved at the driver and waited for her to unbuckle her seat belt and get out of the van.
Wendy didn’t even shut the door behind her. Arms open wide, she fell into Dani’s embrace, her body shaking from dry sobs. It was odd to Dani, to feel like the strong one. Wendy had always been the supporter, the cook, the listening ear, the shoulder to cry on. And now, it was Dani who held her up, keeping her from falling to the ground. After wiping her eyes, Wendy and Dani climbed back in her van.
On military installations, the commissary looked exactly like a civilian grocery store, but the products were tax free. That’s why you had to have a military ID to get inside, and why Dani was so grateful that Wendy had arrived. Grabbing a grocery cart, Wendy showed her military ID to a security guard at the door and explained that Dani was her guest.
“What should we make?” Wendy asked, when they’d walked inside.
The plan was to stock Hannah’s freezer with meals. Crowd pleasers. Things that their families could eat for days or weeks, if need be. They decided not to cook a traditional Thanksgiving, even though the day was fast approaching. Instead, Dani tried to remember which of Wendy’s meals Hannah had loved the most.
When they were at West Point, every time they’d gone to the Bennetts’ house—whether it was to simply have a break from the barracks or to have a full-on breakdown—Wendy had always had something delicious waiting on the kitchen counter. Lasagnas, spaghetti, fried chicken. Brownies, pies, and apple fritters. That woman only lived in New York because the Army had stationed her there, so even if there was snow outside, there was always warm Southern hospitality inside. “Oh, this old thing?” Wendy would always say when someone complimented her cooking. She’d follow up with her favorite line from the movie Steel Magnolias: “‘It’s in the “freezes beautifully” section of my cookbook.’”