Edge of Valor (42 page)

Emma Peabody took a step back. “Maybe later.” Pointedly, she looked over his shoulder. “Everything all right?” she asked softly.

No doubt she knows about all this
. He rolled his eyes and said, “I'm getting my arms around it.”

She exhaled loudly. “Very good. It's really wonderful that you could get here so soon. With you here and Helen on furlough, maybe we can make some progress.”

“Furlough?” He darted a glance over his shoulder.

“Oh, well, sounds like you two haven't talked much. In any case, welcome back, Todd.” She stepped up and kissed him on the cheek. “Let me know when I can help.” With a nod to Jerry she said, “Unlike you, he has had breakfast.”

“Now, wait a minute. I just—”

“And he's in clean diapers. So you should be good for a while.” She handed over a paper bag of baby clothes. “And these are washed.”

“You're the best, Emma. Thanks for everything.”

“Toodle-loo.” Emma Peabody walked off.

Chapter Thirty-Two

7 September 1945

San Pedro, California

H
omecomings are never easy, especially after long absences. Like many newly reunited families the Ingrams discovered that reacclimation to a loved one occurs in at least three phases. Phase one is physical and wonderful, but of course short-lived. The second phase is that uncertain period when lovers examine each other's psyche to see how much or how little they have changed, and if so, what has changed. In phase three they learn how to adjust to the changes. More often than not, things work out, but sometimes disaster follows.

More practical matters accumulate after long absences: dirty windows, overgrown yards, cars in need of repair; in the Ingrams' case the car was a faded blue 1939 Plymouth that needed an oil change and had a leaky radiator. But for Ingram this was all good, something he could throw himself into and see immediate results.

The day dawned clear and blue, and after a big breakfast Ingram turned to. He happily sweated and grunted, mowing and trimming the lawn with a diapered Jerry crawling behind, sun glinting off his little body. Later, Ingram attacked the windows while Helen put Jerry down for a nap. After that, Ingram took the luxury of a nap, then dove into a huge stack of bills.

By six that evening the place fairly sparkled, but they were exhausted. Ingram swilled a beer, took a shower, and walked into the kitchen where Helen laid on a savory pork chop dinner. It seemed strange, almost too peaceful, as they sat at dinner with Jerry pulled up in his high chair, stuffing Rice Krispies in his mouth with both hands. No emergency calls from the bridge, no noon reports, no equipment failures between the salad and main course. No small talk among twelve officers at a green baize–covered table. Just pork chops and applesauce and Helen with Jerry happily spilling milk and banging his cup. At 7:30 they settled back and listened to the
Lone Ranger
with Jerry asleep between them. By 8:30 p.m. they had tumbled into bed and were sleeping like zombies.

The next morning he was up at 6:45 making coffee and breakfast while Helen changed Jerry's diaper and heated his bottle. “Night feedings,” he said, heading for the front door. “Glad that's over. Drove me nuts.”

He went out, picked up the paper, and walked back inside looking at the headlines.

Inside, Helen prattled on. “We were lucky. Some babies can't digest milk. It takes a year, maybe two, to grow out of it, and even—what's wrong?”

Ingram sat heavily in the kitchen chair and laid the newspaper before her. He pointed to an article on the front page: “Vice Admiral John S. ‘Slew' McCain Dies at Home.”

Helen sighed and skimmed the article summarizing McCain's life, from his boyhood on a Mississippi plantation to his attendance at the surrender ceremony on 2 September. “Heart attack. Sad. How did he seem to you?”

Ingram nodded. “He must have known the end was near. You can see it in a man. He wanted to go home the moment the cease-fire was declared on the fifteenth of August. But Admiral Halsey ordered him to stay, insisted that he needed to see the surrender ceremony, the fruit of his labor.”

“Stupid.”

“Maybe. I don't think Halsey or anyone else other than his doctor realized the severity of his condition. He looked pretty good aboard the
Missouri
. He lined up with everyone else at stiff attention. But then afterward, coming back on the plane, he didn't look good. I think he'd had a couple of heart attacks beforehand but just didn't tell anyone.” He nodded to Helen's pack of Lucky Strikes lying nearby. “And he was a heavy smoker. That's probably what tipped him over.”

She finished her scrambled eggs, letting the remark pass. “We'd better hurry. We're seeing Dr. Raduga at nine o'clock sharp.”

“Funny thing. He knew all about you.”

She rose. “Who?”

“The admiral. He knew all about your adventures on the Jap barge and your love affair with Lieutenant Commander Katsumi Fujimoto.”

“Todd, I didn't—”

He raised a hand. “Sorry. Bad joke. What he knew about was all the torpedo stuff you turned over to BuOrd. He said it knocked them on their butts.” He patted her arm. “Congratulations. Seriously. Maybe it's time to take off the wraps. You really should have a medal.”

She growled, “How about you? Isn't there talk about a third Navy Cross?”

“I need that like a hole in the head.”

“You owe it to them,” she said. “All those people who supported you.”

“Nonsense.”

“Look, Todd. You've been skating on the edge of valor for so long. It's time you stepped up and let people be proud.”

“I still think
you
should have the medal.”

She checked her watch. “One of these days I may get through to you. But now it's time to hip-hop.”

“You think we have time for a quickie before we go?”

“Whaaat?” She jumped up.

“Well, can't blame me for asking.”

“Mrs. Peabody is due here any minute, and we have to be dressed.”

“Just five minutes?” he grinned.

“Is that all you think about?”

“Frankly, yes.”

She threw a slab of toast at him and walked out.

They sipped coffee in a booth at Pete's Drive-in on Gaffey Street, Ingram and Helen on one side and Dr. Raduga sitting opposite. The Friday morning traffic had unsnarled, and the place was quiet. The welders, riggers, machinists, pipefitters, and white-collar workers from Todd Shipyard were over there completing two destroyers, the last of their war production order.

Raduga wore a leather jacket over tan slacks, a white shirt with a bowtie, and shoes that needed a shine. His goatee was neatly trimmed, and his slicked-back hair was pomaded. He reminded Ingram of a Hollywood matinee star.

Helen clanked her spoon on her coffee cup, stirring constantly. Finally, she pulled a Lucky from its pack, lit it, and inhaled.

Ingram and Raduga traded glances.
She's nervous, and she knows we know
. Ingram reached under the table for her hand. She grabbed it and held on. Raduga and Helen had already met twice for psychotherapy after hours at the infirmary before Ingram returned home. She had expected immediate results, but so far she couldn't see any progress.

Ingram drummed his fingers.
I'm nervous too. Why in the hell is that?

Dr. Raduga said, “Helen, you can relax. I'm not going to bite you. The whole idea is to help you get rid of these nightmares and the depression, remember?”

She countered, “Depression? I'm not depressed anymore. Todd's home. Everything's fine.”

Raduga nodded. “Oh? If that's the case, then maybe I should leave.”

“No, no, that's not what I meant,” she said quickly. “I . . . I still dream.”

“Ummm.”

“And . . . under the bed.”

“Okay.” Raduga looked at a shrugging Ingram. He said, “This isn't going to happen overnight.”

She turned on him, her eyes flashing, “It has to. I have a husband and a son to take care of.”

Raduga asked, “Have you started your medication yet?”

“The phenobarbital?”

“I believe that's what I prescribed, yes.”

“Well, it's the dosage.”

“What about it? It's a light dosage.”

“Only at night, it says.”

“That's so you can be active during the day.”

She looked aside, “Well, that's just the thing. I need to be . . . active at night too.” Her face turned pink.

There was a prolonged silence. Raduga blinked twice and then he got it. “Delay it for a week and then resume it. Is that all right?” He pointedly looked at both. “Believe me; this will help you a lot. You'll sleep like a log.”

“That's what I'm afraid of,” grinned Ingram.

She threw an elbow in his ribs.

“Is twice a week, Tuesday and Thursday, still all right with you? Say, six o'clock?” He dropped some change on the table and started to get up.

“Yes.”

“Good. Just for an hour. And I've cleared you to come back to work anytime you wish. Not in the psychiatric ward though. You'll be working in surgery.”

“Sounds good. I've had some experience there.”

Raduga thrust a hand across the table. “I've enjoyed meeting you, Commander. Welcome back. Or maybe I should ask how long are you back?”

They shook hands. Ingram said, “Last I heard, my ship is heading back soon to Hawaii, convoying a slow train of troop ships. I'll meet her there for the rest of the trip.” He looked at Helen. “I have another week or so here.”

“Okay.” She put her hand on top of his.

“Well, then . . .” Raduga started to slide out. “If that's all, I'll . . .”

Ingram said, “Dr. Raduga. I may need your services too.”

He stopped. “Oh?”

“Todd?” Helen asked.

Ingram said, “You see, I used to have these nightmares too. I was on Corregidor with Helen. That's where we met. And I saw those poor chopped-up people, some bound to their stretchers in the main tunnel when artillery shells blasted at the entrance, sending dust and smoke all the way through. Some of those guys were so covered with dirt you couldn't tell if they were alive. And they . . .”

“Shhh, baby,” said Helen.

He turned to her, “Why am I saying all this?”

Raduga said, “I'm not surprised. So many are in the same situation. And neither of you is a coward. It's just that humans can only take so much.”

Ingram tried to stop himself but couldn't. “And then Guadalcanal. We stood toe-to-toe with the Japs. We tangled with a Jap battleship. You know what the inside of a 5-inch mount looks like after a 14-inch round goes through it? You're lucky if you find a jawbone or a bent belt buckle. The rest of the
mount looks like hamburger all stuck to machinery. Twelve guys snuffed out,” he snapped his fingers, “just like that, to say nothing of the ship on fire and the upper decks littered with dead and dying. Broken men with scalded faces crying for their mothers . . .”