Long Way Home(47)

“I don’t know. Just let him know he has a good friend standing by him. Remind him of happier times in basic training. Tell him about your life now, how you’re coping. Give him hope that there can be a happy ending after the war. You don’t need to stay long.”

“I’ll be there. I promise.” Frank invited us to stay and join his family for a picnic, saying, “Ma always makes enough potato salad and baked beans to feed Patton’s Army.” But Joe shook his head. I snapped Frank’s photograph for Jimmy’s album and gave him directions to the VA hospital. “Jimmy is lucky to have you,” he said before we parted. “I can tell that you care about him a lot.”

Joe didn’t speak again until we had walked back to fetch his motorcycle. “Sorry I left you and Frank. I hate talking about the war. It brings it all back like in my nightmares. The fireworks do, too. I just want to forget everything, you know? The earsplitting explosions, the never-ending battles, seeing your friends blown to bits . . .”

“It’s okay, Joe. I understand.”

“Maybe that’s what’s wrong with Jim. Maybe he thinks the only way he can keep it all from coming back is to end his life.”

I climbed onto Joe’s motorcycle, wishing I could think of a way to “keep it all from coming back” for Joe as well as for Jimmy.

I wasn’t surprised when Joe left as soon as we reached home. The sound of firecrackers was growing more frequent as the sun began to set, and Buster didn’t like the noise any more than Joe did. I took Buster upstairs to my bedroom after Joe roared away, and I couldn’t stop wondering if the Belgian nurse who had died in the aid station was Gisela. I heard a knock on my bedroom door, and Donna let herself in. She had one hand on her hip, the other holding a cigarette, and she wore an angry look on her face. “Look, I don’t know what kind of game you’re playing with Joe,” she said, “leading him on one minute and then pushing him away, but that’s a surefire way to lose a good man like him. If you’re waiting for that fella across the street, you’ll be waiting forever. I saw the kind of girls he used to take to dances and things—cheerleaders and college coeds. Nothing at all like you.”

“Please stop,” I said softly. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.” Tears filled my eyes when I recalled how Joe had hit the dirt, and I remembered Frank’s grief as he’d forced himself to relive the horrors for Jimmy’s sake. And here was Donna, going on and on with her nonsense.

“I have eyes to see, don’t I?” she huffed. “And I’ve been around the block a few more times than you have, especially since you spend your days with dogs and cows instead of with real people or with a real boyfriend.”

“You don’t know anything about me or my life,” I said. I was growing angry, too. “You’ve never bothered to ask, Donna, after all these years. You’ve never given me the time of day until now—now, when you’ve decided you want to get rid of me.”

“I’m telling you this is for your own good. You’re a grown woman, and it’s time you got on with your life. Joe is here and he’s available. What would it hurt for you to go out with him? You have plenty of time to go trotting off to church like you’re holier than everyone else, and what good is that doing you? Joe told me he likes you, but you’re going to let him slip right through your fingers if you don’t wake up.”

I didn’t bother to reply. I stood and walked past her through the door, grabbing a flashlight so I could take Buster outside for a walk. He couldn’t roam very far without getting tired, and I knew that the boom of firework displays from the surrounding towns would make him nervous. We walked to the rusty bridge on the edge of town that spanned the shallow, rock-strewn river. I took the footpath down to the riverbank and sat on a rock, dipping my feet in the icy water while Buster sniffed around in the bushes and splashed in the gurgling stream. If I waited long enough, maybe Donna and Pop would go out drinking with their friends and leave me in peace.





12


Gisela





APRIL 1941

Spring arrived, bringing milder weather, longer days, and Passover. The nursing school closed for a few days in April for the Christian holiday of Easter, so I was home from my classes and able to help Mutti clean every corner of our apartment to prepare for the Passover seder. Food shortages and sky-high prices meant that our meal would be a simple one, but we scrounged enough ingredients to make a pot of chicken soup. Our apartment smelled heavenly. Mutti and Sam’s mother had moved our two kitchen tables into our living room, and we set them with plates and utensils for the meal that began at sundown.

I was putting on the last-minute touches when I heard the front door open and close and voices and footsteps coming up the stairs. “I think Vati and the others are back,” I called into the kitchen. He had gone to the synagogue to pray with Sam and his brothers before the seder. Suddenly I heard a cry and then a rumbling boom as if someone had tumbled down the stairs. I set down the plate of bitter herbs I was holding and ran to the landing. Vati lay crumpled with Sam bending over him, trying to help him up.

“Just a minute, give me a minute,” Vati breathed. “I’m okay. Just a little dizzy.” Sam slung his arm around Vati and helped him the rest of the way into the apartment and onto a chair. My father’s appearance shocked me. He was out of breath and his skin looked deathly white. I had been studying nursing long enough to recognize that he was seriously ill.