So Long, Chester Wheeler(61)

“Yeah. I can do that.”

I got on the I-10 East. It felt good to really move again. Especially toward home.

I powered my window up.

“Ellie’s going to call your doctor in the morning. You know. About the pain meds. She’ll keep us posted.”

“Thank you,” he said.

He still hadn’t powered up his window. The air was rushing in, battering his face. Flapping his jowly cheeks. Blowing his hair around. But he just leaned into it, like a dog happy to take a ride in the car.

“So did it go okay?” I asked him.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said. Actually, he shouted it. But I think that was to be heard over the sound of the wind. “I thought I made it really clear that I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You don’t have to,” I said. “All I was asking—and you don’t have to answer if you don’t want—is if you’re glad you did it.”

He powered his window up. The silence felt stunning.

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Good.”

“Thanks for pushing me so hard. I thought you were being an insufferable jerk about it, but now I’m glad you’re such a pain in the ass.”

“It’s my special talent,” I said.

Then we got closer to downtown, and hit an absolute brick wall of bumper-to-bumper traffic.



We spent the night in a Walmart parking lot in what might have been El Monte or might have been West Covina.

We didn’t try to move Chester. It just would have been too much for both of us. I unbuckled his seat belt, powered his seat down until it was reasonably flat, and covered him up with a blanket.

I was exhausted, and went straight to bed without showering or undressing. Without even brushing my teeth. I stretched out on the driver’s side couch so I could see him, in case I needed to check on his well-being. You know. Without getting up.

I think I fell asleep in seconds.

I woke up because he said something.

He said, “He agrees with you.”

I assumed he was talking in his sleep again, so I ignored it.

A minute later he said, quietly, “Are you not speaking to me, Lewis? Or are you asleep?”

I sat up on my couch bed and blinked, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the faint light.

“I was asleep,” I said.

“Oh. Sorry.”

“It’s okay. What does he agree with me about?”

“Lie down again, so I don’t feel like you’re staring at me.”

I stretched out on my back and laced my hands behind my head. The light above my head was off, but it had a little red LED light that helped you locate the switch in the dark. I stared at that as he spoke.

“He doesn’t think it meant anything about me. He didn’t act like it was any big deal. He said it was just the war, and my thinking he would keep me safe the way he did. He said he’s had a couple of guys in his life he really loved. Probably not me, though. He didn’t really say, but I figure not me. But he said he just didn’t worry about it. He knew he liked women, so he didn’t worry about it.”

“Wow,” I said. “You talked about some pretty brave stuff. I’m impressed.”

“So here’s what I want to know, Lewis. Why did I spend my whole damn life worrying about it?”

“Sorry,” I said. “I’d help if I could, but I honestly don’t know the answer to that one.”

We lay there in the dark for a time without talking.

Then I asked, “Did he shed any light on why he hurt you so badly?”

“The Sue thing, you mean?”

“Yeah. That.”

“He kind of did. He apologized up and down for what happened with that. He said after he got back from ’Nam he was doing a lot of drugs. Hard drugs. Serious stuff. And he said he just kept getting more and more cut off from his own conscience. Which was a weird thing for me to hear, because I thought he was this totally brave guy and what happened overseas didn’t affect him at all.”

“Nobody’s that brave,” I said.

“Some people do a damn good imitation.”

“That’s true,” I said. “Some people do a damn good imitation. But it’s still an imitation.”

I lay awake for a while longer, in case there was more he wanted to say. But he didn’t speak again that night, and in time I drifted back to sleep.





Chapter Twenty:




* * *





The Win

When we woke the following morning, Chester was quiet, and moving slowly. Then again, so was I, and I felt fine in general. I figured he was emotionally drained. I was emotionally drained, and it wasn’t even my past that had been so rudely cracked open and spread out for display.

“How about a nice big breakfast?” I asked him.

It was after morning meds, and just before we pulled out of our parking lot.

He appeared underwhelmed.

“I could deliver it to you right in your seat,” I added.

“Ask me again in an hour,” he said. “My digestion’s a little off. But you can stop and get something.”

“Nah, it’s okay,” I said. “I’ve got granola bars and peanuts in the glove compartment. I think my goal today is just to make miles. Lots and lots of miles. I think we’re both ready to get home.”