Into the Night (31 page)
"May the force be widi you, Super SEAL," she said and cut their connection.
Chapter 13
Charlie was quiet in the car on the ride home from Don's.
The kid had woken up a little after 5:30, and he'd actually ventured out into the kitchen to get something to eat. It was then, while he ate the dinner Charlie had prepared, that he asked them to go home.
Charlie had looked over at Vince, a question in her eyes. Would he be okay on his own? Was it possible the medication had begun to work that quickly?
Vince had nodded yes. Actually, the doctor had prescribed a powerful, temporary antipsychotic in addition to the kid's usual meds. The new drug had a calming effect, the doc had said. It would ease Donny's anxieties, so much so that they'd see an almost immediate result.
The proof was right here, in his emergence from the closet.
Of course, now Don was in the process of getting worked up over the fact that his grandparents were there outside of their regularly scheduled weekly visit. So maybe it would be best if they did leave.
The kid preferred to be alone. He liked his regular routine—which involved a lot of time spent by himself, on the Internet.
Vince suspected that his grandson was a regular surfer at certain web cam sites and other cyber locations. And it wasn't necessarily the real-tune world of naked cavorting women that kept Donny glued to his computer screen. It could just as well be video of a newborn giraffe from the San Diego zoo or a D&D gaming room that had caught his obsessive-compulsive attention.
After making it clear to Don that they'd be back in the morning to make sure he took his medication, Vince and Charlie hit the road.
"I understand why Tony doesn't come to visit very often," Charlie said now. She sighed. "And I thank God every day that Don doesn't want us to visit more than once a week." She looked at Vince. "Am I a bad person for thinking that?"
Vince smiled at his wife. "No, you are absolutely not."
"Hmmm," she said, clearly not agreeing with him.
"Maybe you shouldn't go back tomorrow," he said. "I know how much it gets to you. And then, you know, that upsets Donny. It kind of feeds on itself. You're upset, so he gets upset, which makes you even more upset, which et cetera, et cetera. It's the same thing with Tony when he comes. Hey, Don told me just today that Tony's been emailing him lately."
One of Tony's biggest difficulties had been accepting that he and Don were never going to have a traditional father-son relationship. He'd dropped completely out of Donny's life for a while.
Vince had been glad to hear that Tony was making an effort at having some kind of relationship with his son, and that he was astute enough to attempt to fit it into a format, like email, that Donny could handle without a lot of additional stress.
Although it was entirely possible that this contact from his father had been the straw that broke the camel's back—or the straw that made the camel flip out and stop taking his meds, as it were.
"And you were going to tell me this about Tony... when?"
Oh, danger, danger, Will Robinson! Sweet Charlotte was looking for a down and dirty fight.
"Right after we got into the car," he answered. "Which is right now. Which is when I just told you. It's good to hear, isn't it? Although, to be honest, Donny didn't seem particularly excited. Could be the meds. He was moving pretty slow. Remind me to ask him about it again in a coupla weeks, when he's up to speed."
"He's never up to speed," Charlotte said darkly.
"Up to his speed," Vince corrected himself.
"How do you do it?" she asked him. "How do you just sit there and accept him exactly as he is, without ever letting it get to you? You don't get angry, you don't get upset—you know, I can count the number of times you've lost your temper on my fingers. Nearly sixty years and ... It's really starting to piss me off, Vincent."
He laughed at those words coming out of this woman's extremely proper mouth. Unfortunately, she hadn't said it to be funny.
"And you know what else? I'm getting good and tired of shouting all the time," she informed him tightly. "We have plenty of money. Will you just go and buy some hearing aids, for goodness sake?"
This wasn't about his hearing or alleged lack thereof. It was about Donny. It was about how hard it was for Charlotte to acknowledge the fact that their grandson was never going to have the kind of life they'd always dreamed he'd have, back when he was a wide-eyed, sweet-faced ten-year-old. He was never going to have a family. He would most likely never find the kind of love and companionship they themselves had shared for all these years.
It was a difficult thing to come to peace with and accept.
"I think Donny's okay, Charles," he told her now. "I think he's okay with his life. He likes being alone. And the Internet allows him to be social on certain levels—levels he can deal with, with limits he can handle. When he's taking his meds and his biggest anxieties are under control ... he's okay. I would even dare to suggest that he's happy."
She was silent for the rest of the ride home. But when he pulled the car into their driveway, she asked, "You really think he'd be better off if I didn't go tomorrow?"
"I wouldn't say better off," Vince told her as they climbed out of the car. "He loves you and he knows you love him. But I do think it might help keep him calmed down right now, while he's still unstable."
Charlie nodded. "I'll go, but I'll stay in the car."
Her reason for going along tomorrow might've been so that she wouldn't feel completely helpless and unnecessary when it came to assisting Donny. She'd be there in case Vince turned out to be wrong, and Don did need her.
But he would bet big dollars that her real reason for wanting to go was so that he wouldn't have to drive over there alone.
Vince unlocked the kitchen door, holding it open for her. "Okay," he said easily. "That sounds like a good plan."
"I'm going up to take a bath," she informed him as she headed for the stairs.
"Charlotte." He stopped her. "You have seen me angry more than ten times."
She thought about it. "No, I don't believe I have."
"When Upstairs Sally brought home that guy who lost his wallet...?"
"That was the first time," she said. "But even then I think you were more upset than angry. But all right. It counts."
"How about when Tony was fifteen and he came home completely drunk and threw up on the brand-new living room rug... ?"
"Oh, yes. Two. And three—when Lexie was in that car accident, and that nurse wouldn't let you into the emergency room," Charlotte said. "That was very impressive."
"When Wendy lit the back deck on fire."
"That's definitely four." She couldn't keep from smiling. "Although I think even though you yelled, you were secretly impressed she'd managed such an accomplishment."
Vince grinned. "How did she do that without lighter fluid?"
"You also got good and mad at the high school when the band director was laid off," Charlotte said. "That's five."
"I was angry when you wouldn't marry me," he told her.
"No, you weren't. You were hurt."
"I was angry, too," he told her. "I just didn't broadcast that fact."
"Well, that doesn't count, because you didn't come across as angry."
"Well, I was."
"Well, you should have shouted, then," she countered. "Even if I let it count, that's only six times."
"There were definitely others."
She gave him her Oh, yeah? look. "Name 'em."
"Well..."
"Hah. You can't."
"Sure I can." He was angry a lot during the war. Surely he'd lost his temper more than once during those first few weeks he'd met Charlotte, when he was staying in her home. "I know—I was angry that day you came home and told me that Senator Howard was going to Hawaii, and that you'd been told to clear his calendar."
Charlie and the other secretaries had been ordered to contact everyone who had an appointment with the senator and reschedule. After waiting all that time, he was going to be shut out.
"No," she said now. "You weren't. You got a little grim, but..." She shook her head.
"If I remember correctly, there was an awful lot of yelling going on that day."
"That was me," Charlotte told him. "I was the one doing the yelling. I was the one who was furious. Remember?"
He did.
"You want to do what?" He could still see her, standing in the bedroom that she'd so graciously given up for him, absolutely livid.
"Only six times," Charlie said now, continuing on up the stairs. "That's once a decade, Vince. Good thing I'm not prone to delusions or I'd think you might be one of those alien life-forms Donny sees all over the place."
Vince laughed and let her win. Surely he'd lost his temper more than that, but if she chose not to remember those times, well, that was just as good for him.
He went back into the kitchen and got a beer from the refrigerator door. Truth was, he'd had very little to get angry about these past sixty years. Truth was, he'd used up all of his anger during the war. It was hard to get too mad about a child's mischief after having lived through the three solid days of hell that was Tarawa, and all the other killing he'd seen.
Charlotte didn't think he'd been angry that day she'd come home from work to tell him that his appointment with Senator Howard—the one that he'd waited weeks for as he convalesced—was not going to happen.
And yeah, maybe she was right. He hadn't been angry. Angry wasn't a big enough word for what he'd felt. Anguished was perhaps more appropriate.
"We've been told to reschedule, starting in March," she told him, and he'd wanted to cry.
"I don't have till March," he told her tightly. "I'm due back in California a week from tomorrow."
"What?" She sat down heavily in the chair by the door. "I had no idea you had to go back this soon."
"All I want is a few minutes of his time," Vince said. "Is that really too much to ask?"
He was going to have to start writing letters. He should have started weeks ago. But the truth was, he couldn't write to save his life. Who would take his misspelled letters seriously?
"You're barely recovered," she said. "You need more time."
"Charlotte, if I sent a letter to the senator, would he read it?"
She blinked at him. "He might not find the time to read it himself, but someone on staff certainly would. Depending how important it was, it might eventually make its way to his desk, so yes. It's possible." She leaned forward. "Vincent, don't they understand you've been sick? What good will it do to send you back to the fighting too soon?"
"It's not too soon," he told her. He was getting stronger every day. "In fact, if I don't get out of here, your cooking is going to make me too fat to fit into my uniform."
She didn't laugh at his pitiful attempt at a joke. She was just sitting there, looking at him as if he were a stranger— someone she'd never met. He wasn't quite sure if that was good or bad.
"Will you help me?" he asked her. "I need to write a letter that's so good the senator will read it before he leaves."
She was silent.
"Will you help me write it?"
Charlotte finally shook her head. "Vince, he's leaving the day after tomorrow."
"Okay, so it's got to be a really good letter."
"How can I help you when you won't even tell me why it's so important that you talk to him?" she asked.
Yeah, that was the part that wasn't going to be easy. He was going to have to tell her about Tarawa.
But not all of it. There was no way he would put the terrible details of that battle into a letter that Charlie might see.
"Mistakes were made at Tarawa," he told her, choosing his words carefully. "Big mistakes. I'm guessing there were lots of holes in the information given to the officers who planned the invasion. It was ... well, it was a slaughter, Charles. You know that. But the newspapers wrote about it as a battle that needed to be fought. A necessary victory that had a terrible price. But I honestly think that price could have been a whole lot lower. I think that flat-out slaughter could have been prevented."
He had her full attention now. "How?"
"By filling in those holes," he told her. "By providing information about that beach, about the tides, about the underwater fortifications, including that goddamn coral reef— excuse me—that did more damage than any mines the Japs planted." He could see from her face that she didn't understand. "Charles, our Higgins boats were filled with Marines heading for that beach—but their hulls didn't clear the reef. They got caught up. Most of 'em got stuck there. Talk about sitting targets for the Japanese artillery. Whole platoons of Marines had to wade in, through waist- or even chest-deep water, more than five hundred yards to shore. We had no cover. We had no prayer. You could almost hear the Japs laughing as they mowed us down."
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