Long Way Home(23)

“You mean you’re willing to help me sneak Buster in to see Jimmy?”

“Sure! Why not? Hey, we’re gonna need a car, though. Tripod doesn’t want to ride on the back of my cycle.”

“We can take Pop’s car. But let’s have lunch first. Have you eaten? Visiting hours don’t start until one.” The weather was nice, so we ate our baloney sandwiches outside. Then I ran across the street to tell the Barnetts that I planned to drive myself and that I was bringing an old Army buddy of Jimmy’s with me. I didn’t mention that we were bringing Buster. If I was going to get into trouble for this stunt, I didn’t want Jimmy’s parents to suffer for it.

Joe gave a low whistle when we arrived at the hospital, taking in the view of the distant mountains and the wide, dark river below us. “Nice view!” he said. “The VA hospital in Ohio wasn’t half this nice.”

I fastened Buster’s leash to his collar and explained to Joe how he could make a wide circuit around the edge of the grounds, staying mostly out of sight, then end up in the little park behind the visiting room where we’d taken Jimmy the last time. I had no idea if Joe could walk that far across the grass with his prosthetic leg, but he didn’t seem fazed by the plan.

“You can take your time,” I told him. “I’ll need a few minutes to find Jimmy and help him walk outside to meet up with you. He couldn’t walk very fast the last time.”

“Got it.” Joe set off across the grounds, limping only slightly, with Buster loping happily alongside him.

The Barnetts hadn’t arrived yet, and I was shocked to find Jimmy seated in a wheelchair this time. I crouched in front of him. His body was still much too thin, yet his pale face had an unhealthy puffiness to it that reminded me of a loaf of Wonder Bread. “Hi, Jimmy. It’s me, Peggety. I thought we could go outside again, okay? I have a surprise for you.” It turned out that the wheelchair made it easy to maneuver Jimmy to the rear of the little park by myself. I spotted Joe and Buster sneaking their way along the edge of the hospital grounds and hoped that none of the orderlies did. I parked Jimmy’s chair at the very end of the sidewalk and turned it so Jimmy could see them coming, then crouched beside him. He might not remember Joe, but how could he ever forget Buster, the famous three-legged dog?

“Hey, Corporal Jim!” Joe called when he was a dozen yards away. “Remember me? Joe Fiore?” He let go of Buster’s leash and the dog bounded toward us in his lopsided, zigzagging run. He went straight to Jimmy, planted his front paws on his chest, and licked his face as if it was covered with ice cream. Jimmy made an odd, strangled sound and I tried to pull Buster away—then realized it was laughter! Jimmy was laughing!

“Down, boy. That’s enough,” I said after a few moments. Buster calmed down enough to sit at Jimmy’s feet with his head on his knees, while Jimmy stroked him and scratched behind his huge ears. Joe was grinning when he caught up with the dog.

“So hey, Jim! I thought you were making up all those stories about Tripod,” he said. “Turns out he’s real! You really did save this dog, and then you saved me. I don’t know if you remember, but the last time we saw each other was in Normandy, France, and I only had one leg. Now I have two and I’m as good as new, see? You saved my life, Jim. And you gave me hope. I just wanted to come here today and say thank you.” He reached to shake hands and Jimmy shook Joe’s in return. My tears of joy fell faster than I could wipe them away.

Suddenly I heard a shout and hurried footsteps coming down the path toward us. “You there! What do you think you’re doing? Get that dog off this property! Now!”

“We’re visiting our friend,” I replied. “He loves this dog.” I tried to block the orderly’s way, but he brushed me aside to confront Joe.

“You and that dog need to leave. Now!”

“Hey, can’t you give us another minute?” Joe asked. “The corporal hasn’t seen his dog in a while, you know?”

“I’m going to count to three, and you and that mutt had better be on your way out of here or I’ll call security!”

Joe lifted his chin and clenched his fists. My heart began to race as he took a mean stance, ready for a fistfight. “Go ahead! I fought bullies just like you during the war,” Joe said. “They were called Nazis, and we wiped out the whole pack of them! You want to try taking me on, too? Hey? Do you?” Buster barked as if eager to join the fight.

I stepped between the orderly and Joe, who was as bristly as a barn cat with its hackles raised. “I’m sorry, sir. My friend and I will take the dog home now. Could you please wheel Corporal Barnett back inside for me? His parents will be coming to visit him shortly.” I bent to squeeze Jimmy’s hand and said, “Bye for now. I’ll visit again soon.” Then I found the end of Buster’s leash and gave it a tug. My tears started falling again when I saw Jimmy reach out to pat Buster’s head one last time.





6


Gisela





MAY 1939

I had never experienced anything like the hot, humid tropical air that greeted us on Friday morning, May 26. We had been at sea for two weeks, and today would be our last full day aboard the St. Louis. Sam and I were twitching with excitement and anticipation, barely able to stand still let alone sit down to wait. In spite of the merciless sun and unaccustomed heat, we stood outside at the ship’s rail with our fellow passengers, watching as we sailed down the coast of Florida. It was visible in the distance, offering our first glimpse of the United States. “We’d better start getting used to this climate,” Sam said. “My father says Havana has two seasons—hot and hotter.”