Gooseberry Island (14 page)

Overstuffed chairs lined the left wall, creating a receiving line for immediate family. Although old ashtray stands—relics of the past—were spread throughout the home, smoking was only permitted downstairs. Evidently, it was one practice that was still good for business. Gold wallpaper offset the paisley print carpeting with extra padding. It felt like you were walking with a bounce. Anthony Rosini, a third-generation undertaker and second-rate greeter, wore a smile that attempted empathy.
Poor attempt
, David thought.

Family and friends signed their names in a book that no one would ever read. At the podium, there was a stack of prayer cards with Max’s picture on the front and the Lord’s Prayer on the back. Everyone took one while waiting in line to pay their respects at the casket. David took a deep breath and marched off to the polished mahogany boat in which his friend was preparing to sail off to eternity.

David kneeled at the casket and offered his heartfelt prayers for a brother he was going to miss for the rest of his life. “Thank you for having my back over there, Max,” he whispered. “I’ll be seeing you soon.” He stood and took a seat in the second row.

He watched as some people stood and others kneeled, weeping for a man they admired for his bravery and selfless service. Boxes of tissues were strategically placed throughout the home and were used aplenty. But after the initial shock of seeing their deceased hero and offering their prayers, the gathering became a family reunion. It was a real social event and one that Max wouldn’t have minded at all. Knowing Max, he would have never cared for such a morbid ceremony—dressing up a corpse and putting it on public display for a few days.

The casket looked like a square boat in a sea of flowers. The bottom half of the box was covered in an American flag.

David watched as a young boy and his grandmother, a peculiar site, approached the box to pay their respects. The young boy clasped his hands together and closed his eyes, just as he’d clearly been taught. He waited a few moments before slowly opening one eye. His grandmother’s thin lips were moving at the speed of light, a ramble of whispered secrets escaping them. The boy closed his eyes again and quietly waited for her to finish.

The priest arrived and spoke of “tragedy and faith and eternal life.”

David spent the time remembering his fallen friend and a few of the laughs they’d shared back in Afghanistan.

As always, David’s team was dropped, via deuce and a half, six miles out from camp into “the projects” of South Kabul.

Max was walking point, leading the squad along the safest possible route. As the morning sun hit its zenith, the boys were following up on some local intelligence, sweeping through three locations—two houses and a dilapidated community building. With the help of a translator, three tips produced two different tips but no suspected Taliban.

After another late and nearly inedible lunch, the team worked its way through the city back toward camp.“Keep your eyes and ears opened wide boys,” Lieutenant Menker said. “The bad guys are just waiting for us to drop our guard and become careless.”

David nodded.“Maybe they’re just waiting for us to drop our lunches, so they can enjoy some fine American cuisine,” Max joked.

Big Al laughed. “Good point, Maximillian,” he called out. “A few dozen dehydrated pork patties might do just as much damage as any firepower we can unleash on them.”

Everyone laughed.

“And that’s coming from a guy who eats anything that’s put in front of him,” Billy commented.

“To include the dreaded dehydrated pork patty,” Max added.

Everyone laughed more.

As the patrol started back toward camp, David pulled his father’s note out of his pants cargo pocket and read it a few times.

When they returned to camp, they showered and grabbed some hot chow. Max asked David, “Want to play cards?”

David shrugged. “Sure, but I’m keeping my clothes on this time,” he joked.“We’ll see about that,” Max said, laughing.

David heard names being called to visit Max’s casket for the final time. He stood and made a beeline for his car.
Max isn’t in that wooden box
, he thought.
He could never lay still for that long
. He nodded.
Max is in a better place
.

As the family headed out to the black limo, six pall bearers filled the flower car, and the long convoy headed off to the mausoleum.

While the priest’s words echoed off the white marble walls, he offered a brief sermon, blessed the casket with holy water and incense, and then turned the show over to the military contingent. David stood and walked out again.
I’m all set with this dog-and-pony show
, he thought.

David reached his car and looked back toward the cemetery.
I guess that’s the funny thing about life,
he thought.
None of us is getting out alive.

Lindsey checked her Thursday horoscope after dinner to see how close it had come.
Not even close
, she thought. It was a silly game, anyway—allowing herself to believe the good stuff and ignore the bad. She’d learned that thoughts were a powerful thing, and she was still looking for any sign that David would come around.

The Thursday Night Club had just convened when Ana approached Lindsey; her face was troubled. “Did you hear that David’s friend, Max, committed suicide?” Ana said.

“Max Essington?” Lindsey asked, holding her breath.

“Yeah, that’s David’s friend, right?” Christine asked.

“His best friend,” Lindsey said, her face bleached white. “How?”

“Drug overdose,” Ana reported.

“Oh God, I didn’t know,” Lindsey squealed, panic filling every cell of her body. “I need to go see David!”

“I thought he didn’t want to see you?” Sandi said.

Lindsey shook it off. “David’s so messed up right now he doesn’t know what he wants.” She thought about it. “He’s going to need as much support as he can get.”

Feeling like his life was folding in on itself, David sat in his Mustang, tipping the half-empty bottle of Vodka to the new vinyl top. He’d wept so hard his chest ached.
Damn you, Max
, he thought.
Why didn’t you reach out for help? I would have been there for you. I would have
… He sobbed like a child, his shoulders rocking back and forth. He shook his head and put the bottle back to his lips.
Damn you, Max
, he thought again, and took another long gulp.

A half hour later, David staggered into Bobby’s Lounge. The other patrons quickly scattered, steering clear of him.

Bobby took one look at him and shook his head. “You’re shut off,” he said.

“Shut off? Are you nuts?” David argued.

“Look buddy, you’ve already had enough for the both of us, so why don’t you just call a friend and…”

“Because I don’t have a friend,” David screamed, “that’s why!” He shook his head. “And I don’t have a girlfriend anymore,” he slurred. “I don’t have anything…”

Bobby rounded the bar and approached him.

David stood. “Looks like Max’s tab will have to go unpaid,” he slurred and threw a round-house punch—missing the bartender by a mile and landing on his butt.

“Any other day and you’d be wearing my boot in your backside,” Bobby said, “but it’s clear to me that no one’s gonna do anything to you that you haven’t already done to yourself.” Bobby extended his hand. “Now get up.”

David eventually took the man’s hand, sliding onto a nearby chair. “I’ve lost everything,” he whimpered, “…my whole world.”

“I’ll call you a cab,” Bobby said and headed for the telephone behind the bar.

Once he spotted his opening, David sneaked out the door, slid into the driver seat of the Mustang and fired up the ignition. With one eye open, he pulled out of the crowded parking lot.

Halfway through another sappy love ballad, the road’s yellow lines began to blur and then disappear.
What the hell?
David thought. There was a loud bang, followed by the sounds of breaking glass and twisting steel. The world outside the windshield appeared to tumble end-over-end.
Whoa…
Everything became hazy and confusing. There was one long hiss, almost as if the motor was breathing a sigh of relief. And then there was silence. A flash of light closed in on itself until there was only a pinpoint leading to complete darkness. David closed his eyes, preparing to greet the afterlife.

David wasn’t three miles from his house when instead of being in bed, sleeping—where he should have been—he was soaked in his own blood. The police discovered him at the gruesome scene, hanging onto the bare thread of life. “This is a bad one,” someone screamed out, as others frantically worked on sustaining his life. The medical chopper finally touched down, lifted him into the air and carried his fate into the hands of whatever surgeon was on duty.

In short, official reports indicated that David’s Mustang was traveling southbound on Route 103 at 1:15 a.m. when it careened out of control and flipped several times. The Mustang, now totaled, rested upon a guardrail with most of its driver’s body folded in half on the passenger side floor. While David was suffocating on his teeth and jawbones, nearly ten minutes had elapsed before the accident was reported. Not a soul stopped to help. Finally, at approximately 1:30 a.m., medical personnel arrived on scene. “Too bad people don’t stop today and help,” the exhausted paramedics complained over the whine of the helicopter’s cutting blades.

A preliminary investigation was brief. From the empty vodka bottle, with blood splashed all over it, there was no need to search any deeper for the cause of the accident. Given that it was a convertible, it was a miracle that he hadn’t been crushed to death.

Lindsey was surprised to get the call. As she listened in shock, Craig said, “I know you and David haven’t seen each other in a while, but he’s been in a bad car accident, and he’s in critical condition.” There was a long pause. “He just got out of surgery, and he’s in intensive care.” It sounded like a cruel joke. “The nurse says he’s not doing well at all,” Craig finished. “You need to get here as soon as possible.”

Goose bumps covered Lindsey’s body, and she burst into tears. It took a few minutes for the shock to wear off before she grabbed her car keys and headed for the door.

Time switched speeds, as a veil of fog was pulled down over everything. Before she knew it, she was speeding down the highway, alternating her thoughts between David and her father. En-route, she picked up the cell phone to ensure that Coley, David’s best friend, had been notified. He confirmed he was on his way. The panic in Coley’s voice made her drive faster. Before Lindsey knew it, she was sitting in the hospital parking lot panting like an exhausted dog. As she jumped out of the car, a bolt of fear struck the core of her soul.
David’s in trouble and needs help,
she thought and started for the hospital at a sprint.

Craig was the first person Lindsey spotted. He was standing in the hallway, talking with the head nurse. His eyes were red and swollen from crying. Lindsey hurried to him. Craig grabbed for her and wept hard. “David’s dying,” he sobbed.

Lindsey took his face in both hands. “Well, we’ll just see about that,” she forced past the lump in her throat.

Craig nodded, and Lindsey let go of his hand to follow a young nurse, a woman who obviously had a difficult time concealing her feelings. As they stopped at a curtained-off room, she whispered, “He’s in here.” She sighed. “I’m sorry.”

Lindsey looked back curiously, but the nurse was gone. She snapped back the curtain and immediately understood why the young lady had apologized. Betty, David’s mom, was lying beside a poor soul who might have been vaguely mistaken for a human being. David’s body was broken almost beyond repair, his mind already beginning the sequence of shutting down his organs.

As if NASA had decided to create a hideous cyborg, there was a tangled maze of hoses and wires protruding from David’s deformed head and swollen face. Black patches of skin were now located where hazel eyes had once been. White gauze covered a nose ten times its normal size. A red, ribbed flex-pipe—inserted into his throat—spewed a steady flow of steam from his taped mouth. Lindsey gasped, realizing,
Without it, David could never breathe.
A white sheet was wrapped tightly around a body that sporadically spasmed. David’s left arm hung over the edge of the elevated bed. His hand was bloated and discolored.
He’s a terrible mess
, she thought.

Betty looked up, leapt from the bed and rushed toward Lindsey. Lindsey tried to coax her spaghetti legs to meet the heartbroken woman halfway, but they wouldn’t move. Lindsey just couldn’t help it. For that one moment, she completely lost it. Her shoulders bounced to her heartbreaking sobs. She felt as if she were six again. “No, David,” she cried. “Please God…”

Betty wrapped her arms around Lindsey. After a long embrace, she grabbed Lindsey’s hand and escorted her to David’s side. Lindsey scanned David’s damaged body, her pupils dancing between horror and grief. At last, she fell to her knees and simply wept. Between sniffles, she whispered messages to both David and God. As Betty rubbed her back, Lindsey mourned so deeply she felt like she was going to have a heart attack. She couldn’t even speak. The only clear words she offered David was “I’m sorry,” though the reasons for that would remain in her heart alone. She looked over to find that Betty had also dropped to her knees and was now praying for her dying son.

The grief was indescribable, except to say it was consuming and changing reality by the second. Lindsey kissed whatever skin remained exposed, then stroked the patches of David’s matted hair. In response, he gurgled and convulsed. The beep of the life-sustaining monitor marked off each precious moment that he lived. Between the uncontrollable bouts of crying, Lindsey and Betty prayed. Strangely, in the midst of Lindsey’s desperate pleas, her thoughts began floating to other areas in her mind. She questioned,
Why?
But to her growing rage, no answer came. She vividly recalled the night she’d spent with David, as well as everything they’d shared over email and Skype, and hugged him for each memory. She worried about Coley, wondering,
Why hasn’t he arrived yet?
She then thought positively, believing,
David will come out of this alive. He has to
. The next moment, her thoughts turned negative, and she screamed out in agony.
It doesn’t make sense,
she thought,
any of it
.
David’s dying
. Her body, the parts that loved him so deeply, ached with a sharp, indescribable pain. In her heart, she was already mourning the loss of her greatest hope for an amazing life.