Send Down the Rain(66)
At midnight I turned to leave. She tugged on my arm. “I need a favor.”
“Anything.”
She told me and I said, “You sure?”
“Positive.”
I kissed her forehead. “I’ll be there.”
39
They go from strength to strength; each one appears before God in Zion.
—PSALM 84:7
Suzy had spent the last month getting healthy and spreading the word. She’d returned to the air, told the story of her dad and me. The national networks caught on, tracked me down, and covered the story. At first they were cynical. Doubters and haters. Then they did their own homework, and while they could not put their hands on my military record, two of the folks in Suzy’s office confirmed through an unnamed back-channel source (which smelled a lot like a leak from Bobby or his people) that I had one and that I had served four tours and been decorated at least eight times—including the Congressional Medal.
It had been an emotional couple of weeks.
When she broke the news that she was returning to Cape San Blas for another interview with me, RVs started appearing from all corners of the country. Gangs of gray-bearded bikers clad in black leather and straddling shiny chrome stormed onto the island with eardrum-bursting pipes. Veterans from all corners of the country filled every motel, hotel, and RV park for miles. Media trucks filled the parking lot. Police 24/7. Security. Directing traffic. We brought in tents from everywhere. Manuel’s carnival was lit up like a runway and filled with color and sound and laughter.
Given the reach of Suzy’s voice, the place was packed. Standing room only. She and I sat on barstools. She’d lost a lot of weight. Looked healthier. Lights shining down, six cameras, several monitors, and one prompter, and Rosco sitting next to me, licking my hand. He’d been happy to see me, although not so happy that he quit sleeping with Gabby.
Allie sat at a table in the front row, Gabby on one side and Diego on the other. Gabby had grown. Looked more like her mom. More beautiful. Diego was more muscled. Chin sharper. Both more tanned. In my absence they’d filled three Mason jars with sharks’ teeth. Catalina stood at the kitchen door, smiling at me. I think I’d gained five pounds since being back, and she was to blame for most of it. Although the doughnut shop had helped. Becca and Tim had flown in, bringing wine for everyone.
When the light flashed green, Suzy turned to speak to me, but the emotion was too great. She started crying, shoulders shaking. I just held her. Me, holding the child of the man who came to get me when no one else would. She, holding the man her father went to save. Each holding the missing piece of the other. My arms have seldom felt so full. A photographer captured the moment, and it became the cover of several magazines and about a hundred websites.
What normally would have sent us to commercial brought the audience to their feet. The producer just let it go. For five minutes or more, Suzy shook with emotion. Shedding a lifetime of tears. When she finally composed herself, I gave her my handkerchief. She wiped her eyes and face and then spoke to the cameras. “Well . . . we’ll be right back.” It was a good moment. It broke the tension. The audience laughed.
When we returned from commercial, Suzy smiled. “Let’s try this again.”
“I don’t know. I kind of liked the last segment.” The audience liked that too.
She glanced at the papers in her hand. “A few weeks ago, you found me in the hospital and told me a story. Many have heard it. The larger networks have reported on it, including an hour-long documentary that aired two days ago. In case anyone watching this has been living under a rock the last few weeks, you mind telling it again?”
So I did. I walked back into the memory and told of my friendship with Suzy’s dad. Of our life in-country. Of two cups of coffee. Of promises made. Then I told how he flew into a country he was ordered to stay out of, landed in a hot area, and picked me up, and how we flew a blissful thirty minutes until rockets blew off the back half of his helicopter. I told how we’d made a run for it. I talked of those three days, of the bullet that took his life and the book that stopped it from taking mine. I talked about the next eight days and how I would have given anything to hear his voice one more time. Of how I buried him beneath a tree with no marker. And, finally, of how I’d kept it a secret because I didn’t feel worthy of the gift he’d given me.
When I finished, Suzy sat shaking her head. The people were quiet at first, and then the guy who had busted the beer bottle across my face stood and clapped. I felt uneasy. Allie picked up on it, appeared alongside me, and wrapped an arm around me. Without that support I think I’d have fallen over. When they finished clapping I cleared my throat. “If that was for me, it was too much. If it was for Suzy’s father, it wasn’t enough.”
The next several minutes hurt my ears and soothed the painful places in me.
Suzy glanced at her papers. “You told me in the hospital that there was more to your story.”
“That’s right.”
“But you also said you’d never tell me the rest of it.”
“It’s not mine to tell.”
“You still holding true to that?”
I nodded.
“Before we sign off . . . Few people know this, but you have a rather famous brother who was also a war hero. Many times decorated. Senator Bobby Brooks. Heroism must run in the family.” The people applauded. “Over the years, has he been a comfort to you as you two have talked about what you experienced?”