Long Way Home(29)

His words filled me with dread. Dr. Morgan had mentioned memory loss. One way or another, we were losing Jimmy. Who would he be without all of his memories? I felt helpless. “His parents are afraid to bring him home, Joe. His mother found him after he tried to kill himself and they’re terrified that he’ll try again—and that they won’t find him next time.”

“But the doctors are killing him in that place!”

I didn’t know what to do. Buster finished sniffing all the bushes and came to sit at my feet, nudging me with his head as if to remind me that he needed to be petted. I remembered how Jimmy had reacted to Buster and felt a smidgen of hope. “But you know what, Joe? It worked today, seeing you and Buster. Jimmy laughed! Did you hear him? He was petting Buster and he shook your hand. He wouldn’t have done those things the last time I saw him. Do you think more of his old buddies would be willing to come and visit him?”

“Sure! Everyone thought the world of him. They’d be as upset as I am to see him this way.”

“I could use your help finding some of Jimmy’s friends and asking if they’d come to visit him. I’ve been reading through all the letters he sent home during the war, and he mentioned two men in particular who seemed to be his friends since basic training.” I pulled my notebook from my purse and paged through it. “Let’s see. Mitch O’Hara and . . . Frank Cishek. Do you know them?”

“Yeah, I remember Mitch. And Frank was a medic, like Jim.”

“Do you know what happened to them?”

He looked up at the clouds, scratching the stubble on his chin as if trying to remember. “They were both still in the fight the day I was wounded. Frank was, anyway. I know that for sure because he helped Jim carry me to the aid station.”

“What about the chaplain?” I flipped my notes to search for his name. “Bill Ashburn. Jimmy said he enjoyed talking with him when things slowed down.”

“Oh yeah. Chaplain Bill. He came to see me before I got evacuated, but I wasn’t in any mood to hear his God talk, you know? Tell you the truth, if any of us wanted to talk about God or pray or something, we’d sooner go to Jim than the chaplain. Jim was one of us, you know? He was real, not all up in the clouds.”

“I do know. Jimmy was always very good at listening and saying the right thing.”

“Exactly!” Joe pointed his finger as if firing a pistol and hitting the bull’s-eye. “Hey, I’m working up a thirst. Let’s head back to town and I’ll buy you a beer. You like beer?”

“The bar is closed on Sunday,” I reminded him. “Maybe Pop will let you have one of his.” We climbed into the car, the seats broiling from the sun. Buster stuck his head out the window on the drive down into the valley, his mouth open and tongue hanging out as if he was laughing with delight. How I loved that dog! But what in the world would I do with him now that Donna wanted me out?

“The countryside sure is nice around here,” Joe said. I swallowed the knot in my throat at the thought of leaving this beautiful valley and steered down the winding road. I couldn’t see around the next corner in my life any more than I could see what was around the next curve. I decided to turn my thoughts back to Jimmy.

“So how can I get in touch with some of his old friends, Joe? How did you know where to find Jimmy?”

“Oh, you know, just from shooting the breeze over a beer or playing poker or killing time on guard duty. We’d talk about our girlfriends and what it was like back home, what we planned to do when the war ended . . . things like that. I have a good memory, you know?” He tapped his forehead. “I remembered that Jim’s dad was a veterinarian and that he lived in a little town in the Hudson Valley, sixtysome miles from New York City. It wasn’t hard.”

“What about the others—the chaplain or Mitch what’s-his-name or Frank the medic? Do you remember where they’re from?”

“Hmm, not offhand. But maybe if I thought about it for a while over a cold beer . . .”

When we reached home, I saw the Barnetts’ car parked in their driveway and wondered how their visit with Jimmy went. “Say, Joe, I need to talk with Jimmy’s parents and tell them about you and Buster. You want to come with me? I think they’d enjoy meeting one of Jimmy’s friends.”

Joe climbed out of the car and set Buster free from the back seat. He shut both doors and started walking backwards, away from me. “Another time maybe.” He turned and shuffled toward the backyard, calling for “Tripod” to come with him. I walked over to the Barnetts’ house by myself and accepted the coffee and apple cake Mrs. Barnett offered me. We sat around their kitchen table, and I could tell by their faces that their visit had been disappointing.

“I have exciting news,” I told them. “One of Jimmy’s Army friends, Joe Fiore, came to the hospital with me and we snuck Buster in to see him. Jimmy laughed out loud when Buster started licking his face!”

“Really?” Mrs. Barnett asked. Her hands fluttered to her face as if trying to hold in her joy. “He really laughed?”

“Yes! And he was petting Buster the whole time until the orderly chased us away. Jimmy seemed to remember Joe, too, and shook hands with him.”

“I wish I had been there to see it,” Mr. Barnett murmured.

“So do I. But it’s a good sign, don’t you think, Gordon? We should tell Dr. Morgan about it the next time we see him.”