Long Way Home(86)

“That’s what’s missing in the treatment he’s getting across the river,” Mr. B. said. “Compassion.”

“I know you haven’t had an easy life,” Mrs. Barnett continued. “You lost your mother at such a young age. But I’ve watched you grow in faith over the years and I’ve seen how you’ve allowed God to use your suffering to become a loving person. You’ve always been like a daughter to me.”

Her words felt like a blessing and they made me want to bawl my eyes out. I didn’t know what to say in return, so I hugged her tightly. Did she really think of me as her daughter? I had longed to have Mrs. Barnett for a mother ever since the day she gave me the bubble bath, but whenever I spent time with her, I would hear Pop’s voice in my mind, telling me not to be a pest. I rode the rest of the way to the hospital savoring her words and the warmth of her hug.

We found Jim slumped in a chair in the common room, and he seemed wearier than usual. I wondered if his nightmares were still keeping him from sleeping well. Joe was always afraid to go back to sleep after an especially bad nightmare. More letters from Jimmy’s Army buddies had arrived in the mail, so I showed him the photographs they’d sent and I read parts of their letters out loud. His mother sat beside him and talked about home as they looked at the album I’d made.

“You have so many friends, Jimmy, and we all miss you so much,” she said. “We hope you’ll be able to come home with us soon.”

We were encouraged when he actually talked to us a little bit, speaking in simple sentences, even though his voice was a dull monotone not at all like his own. The visit seemed to be going well until I took out Jimmy’s Bible and tried to read one of his underlined verses out loud. “Stop!” he said. He grabbed the book from my hands, closing it. His reaction shook me.

“I’m sorry,” I murmured. “I’m so sorry.” I bent to pick up the braided straw bookmark, which had fluttered to the floor. Mr. Barnett suggested we all go outside and walk around the grounds, but I knew I had ruined the day. I tried to apologize to his parents on the ride home.

“No, I’m glad it happened,” Mr. Barnett said. “It shows that you were right, the root of Jim’s problem might be a crisis of faith.”

“But if Jimmy has lost his faith, what can we do about it?” I asked.

“I’m not sure. Maybe Jim’s chaplain friend can help us out.”

I wanted to leave the sadness of the VA hospital behind me as we recrossed the river, but I couldn’t help carrying some of it with me to the other side.

We made a long-distance call to Chaplain Bill when we returned home and asked him to please find an address for Major Mike Cleveland, the man Art Davis had told us about. I quickly told Bill how Jimmy had reacted when I’d tried to read the Bible, and he promised to help us figure out what that meant. “I’ll try to get over for a visit one of these Sundays,” he promised. There was nothing more we could do except wait.

I worked at the clinic all day Monday, going with Mr. Barnett on his call to a dairy farm and then stopping at Blue Fence Farms so we could check on Persephone and Tyche. I felt less awkward chatting with Paul Dixon out on the farm than I did when trying to be polite among the Sunday morning crowd. I fell in love with gentle Tyche immediately.

When we returned to the clinic, Buster was waiting outside the farmhouse. He had followed me across the street when I’d left Pop’s apartment in the morning, and I’d had to haul him home. Now he was back again. I could have tied him up behind the garage, but I was afraid he would bark and howl all day if I did.

“Let him stay here, Peggy,” Mr. Barnett said when he saw me grabbing Buster’s collar to drag him back across the street. “He’s not hurting anything. I think it’s nice to have a friendly dog to welcome people to the clinic. Besides,” he said, his voice going soft, “he reminds me that healing miracles can happen.”

When Buster and I finally walked home late that afternoon, Pop called to me from the garage before I had a chance to go upstairs to the apartment. I was afraid he was going to ask me where Joe was and say something about how unreliable he was for disappearing all the time, but Pop surprised me with a question. “You still want a used car?”

“Um, yes.”

He closed the hood of the car he’d been working on and picked up a rag to wipe grease off his hands. “How much you thinking to spend?”

“I don’t know. I have a little saved up from working at IBM, but I don’t want to use all of it.”

“Well, I found a car,” he said, tossing the rag into the work sink. “A 1939 Ford Deluxe. Runs real good. But Donna says she’d like to have it.”

I lifted my arms and let them drop again. I had no idea how to respond or why he was telling me this. It was getting harder and harder not to resent Donna. “So what are you saying?” I finally asked.

“Give me fifty dollars for her old car and we’ll call it even.”

“Her old car? You mean the car I used to drive before Donna quit working at the Crow Bar and started using it all the time? That car?”

“Right.” Pop didn’t seem to notice my sarcasm or see the irony in asking me to pay him for a car that had practically been mine. “Donna says that car stinks from hauling your dog all over the countryside.”