Send Down the Rain(64)

38

We drove to the City of Angels and found the hospital. I was pretty sure they’d never let me see her, but I had to try. I made it to the sixth floor, where her production company had placed two broad-chested security guards to prevent the media from making her attempted suicide any more of a circus than it already was. They put their hand on my chest and shook their heads. “Not a chance.”

“I have something she’s going to want to hear.”

“Sorry, pal.”

The producer overheard the commotion and walked into the hall. When she saw me, she pointed a finger. “What’re you doing here?” Then she spotted Allie, and her composure changed. Less steel wall. More wooden fence.

“I have something to tell her.”

She did not look impressed. “Right.” She turned to go. “Haven’t you done enough damage?”

“It’s about her dad.”

“Really?” She raised an eyebrow. “You have information about her father?”

“I know what happened.”

“How would you know?”

“I was with him.”

“And you can prove this?”

“I can.”

She studied me. “Why now?”

“It’s painful.”

“To you or to her?”

“Both.”

She looked at Allie. “You believe him?”

“I do.”

She shrugged. “You might duck when you walk in. She’ll probably unload at your head.”

I walked in, Allie close behind. Suzy lay there, staring out the window, a thousand miles away. I sat next to her bed, risking being slapped or punched, and slid my hand into hers. I whispered, “I need to tell you a story.”

She slowly turned her head toward me. “I’m not sure I can handle any more of your stories.” When she saw Allie, she looked confused. “You too?”

Allie nodded. “Just listen to him.”

A security guard stood over me. One hand on my shoulder. “You want us to remove him, Ms. Suzy?”

She studied my eyes, then shook her head. “Thanks, George.”

George went out, shutting the door behind him.

I sat back, took a deep breath, and started in. “When I first landed in-country—”

Suzy interrupted me. “Before you go any further, can you prove any of this?”

“Yes.”

“Beyond any shadow of doubt?”

I nodded.

She laid her head back and stared at the ceiling. “Because if not, George is going to break both your legs.”

“When I returned for my second tour, years three and four, they continued sending us into Laos. Well into Laos. I’d take teams of ten to twelve men in at a given time. We were trying to disrupt their supply lines. They’d fly in low, drop us twenty miles behind the lines, and we’d make our way out after we’d done what we came to do. A good chopper pilot was tough to come by. The good ones didn’t last long, because to be good meant they had to get into and out of places that nobody would want to get into or out of. They had to care more about someone else than themselves.

“We had this young guy, fresh out of West Point, green behind the ears, kept a picture of his girl on the instrument panel. To begin with, he was not a good pilot. He was afraid. Green. Trying not to get shot. We were all afraid of what his fear might cost us, because it wouldn’t let him get us where we needed. I tried to get him removed, but everybody was sick of the war and they were sick of hearing complaints, so mine landed on deaf ears. We were stuck with him.

“On our fourth mission he landed some five miles from where we were supposed to be. To make matters worse, we were surrounded by some very angry people. By then I could fly that bird well enough to get us home. My team was looking at me, and I knew that they knew that I knew I needed to do something so this dumb sucker didn’t get us all killed. So I reached up and put both my hands around his throat and started squeezing. I’d done it to the enemy. What was one more? He turned blue and his eyes began popping out of his head. He was seconds from checking out, and I was just a few more seconds from dumping his body in a rice paddy and flying home, when he pointed to the dash. To the picture. His daughter. Just a few months old. I looked at that picture and something in me remembered.”

I pulled Suzy’s baby picture out of the envelope in my pocket and set it in her hand.

“Something in me remembered that I had, at one time, loved somebody too. I let go, he choked, vomited, cussed, and flew us home, threatening some sort of court martial. When we landed, I dragged him out on the beach and had a conversation about who and what he wanted to be when he grew up. He told me, through tears, that he wanted to be your dad. That you and your mom were all that mattered. That he was just trying to get home. Somewhere on that beach, I saw a scared guy who still loved. Who reminded me of the kid I used to be. And in that moment, I’d have given everything to be just like him. So I made a decision I was going to get him home.

“Every morning we shared a cup of coffee. Told stories of home. If I wasn’t there, he’d buy me a cup and set it in my place in hopes I’d make it home to drink it with him. We talked about his girl, about Allie, about fast cars, and he said he wanted to make it home to drive my Corvette. If he was flying I’d buy two cups, drink one, and keep the other full and hot until he could enjoy it with me. We did this for a year. We thought we had it beat. We were starting to let ourselves think about home and the possibility that we might make it back. He had gotten really good. Best I ever knew.