Until I Saw Your Smile (37 page)

“Too busy for fifteen minutes?”
Come on, come on . . .

“Mr. McConnell,” Dr. Wick said, “I am so busy I have to come in on weekends to catch up with my work.”

Because so many soldiers have come home from overseas recently and need help.
“One more assessment, that's all I'm asking, and then I'll leave you alone.”

“I doubt that,” Dr. Wick said.

He got me.
“You're right, Dr. Wick. I won't leave you alone. I believe in this, and I'm not doing this for the money.”

“I doubt that, too.” Dr. Wick sighed again. “Let me check my schedule.”

“I can squeeze Mr. Simmons in . . . tomorrow at seven-thirty
AM
,” Dr. Wick said. “After that, I don't have an open date for two months.
Don't
be late.”

Yes!
“We'll be there. Thank you, Dr. Wick.”

“Good-bye, Mr. McConnell.”

Matthew turned off his phone.
Yes!

Angela drifted over from the counter. “I only caught bits and pieces, something about hitting a doctor's car?”

“I used a fender bender scam to get past his secretary.” He smiled. “Old habits die hard.”

Angela nodded. “I guess.”

“But we did it. Timothy has an appointment tomorrow morning with Dr. Wick. Isn't that great?”

“Yeah,” Angela said. “But don't you think you should run that by Mr. and Mrs. Simmons first?”

“Oh yeah.” Matthew dialed the Simmons. “Gloria, Matthew McConnell. I've got some
outstanding
good news . . .”

 

Getting Timothy out of the apartment on Monday morning wasn't as difficult as Matthew thought it would be. Timothy marched straight from the apartment into a taxi.

“We've been going on short walks,” Gloria told him as taxi moved off.

“And my legs are killing me,” Timothy said, taking his wife's hand. “I get winded so easily. I am so out of shape.”

“You do all right,” Gloria said. “We shouldn't be in a rush at our age anyway.”

The taxi crossed the Williamsburg Bridge and headed into Manhattan and up First Avenue, retracing Matthew's walk from Victoria's apartment only three weeks before.

I had the wrong woman—check that. I had the wrong
women
on my mind then. I have the right woman on my mind and in my heart now. I wish Angela could have come with us today. She is such an important part of all this, but I couldn't convince her to close her shop even for a few hours. I don't blame her. That blizzard seriously dented her receipts. And mine, sort of. A pair of Knicks-Heat tickets for Paul set me back more than five hundred bucks, and the seats were behind the basket and five rows up. It was worth it, though, because here we are.

The taxi pulled into the VA hospital parking lot on East 23rd Street a few blocks from Bellevue, the legendary public hospital known for its psychiatric services. Matthew didn't want Timothy to end up at Bellevue if this meeting didn't go well.

They took an elevator to the tenth floor and sat in Dr. Wick's waiting room, where his secretary gave Matthew evil looks.

Matthew smiled at her.
I'm here. We're here. Whatchagonna-doaboutit now?

“The doctor will see you now,” she said precisely at 7:30.

“Have a nice day,” Matthew said to her as he walked past her desk.

Dr. Wick's office was an anally organized industrial white and gray, with a utilitarian desk, two chairs, and wide gray filing cabinets. Dr. Wick did not rise from his desk but just sat there, shining his glasses on his sleeve, his thick gray hair as unmoving as his lined face. He reminded Matthew of Dale Dye, an actor who plays army generals, captains, and colonels in the movies.

Timothy and Gloria sat in the chairs in front of Dr. Wick's desk. Matthew stood at the window looking out at the East River.

“Well?” Dr. Wick said.

Matthew turned. “Well, what?”

“You're on the clock, McConnell,” Dr. Wick said.

Excuse me?
Matthew narrowed his eyes. “I thought that you were going to examine Timothy today, Dr. Wick.”
Isn't this your office? Isn't that your job? Aren't you supposed to be in charge?

“Fifteen minutes isn't long enough for
any
psychiatrist to do a thorough examination of
any
patient,” Dr. Wick said. “Dr. Penn should have told you that. You wanted this meeting, so it's your show. Get on with it.”

If I had thought to bring the tape of our initial meeting, I'd play it now.
“You don't want to speak to him?”

Dr. Wick stared at Timothy. “I want to see what you have prepared.”

Matthew left the window and stood in front of Timothy.
Sorry, man. I have to put you back in an operating room somehow.
“Timothy, describe what you witnessed in the OR at Woodhull Medical the day you had your meltdown.”

“It was a motorcycle accident,” Timothy said. “A man's leg was in shreds.”

“What did this incident remind you of?” Matthew asked.

“A soldier with peach fuzz on his chin who didn't have much left of his legs,” Timothy said.

“And where and when did you originally see this soldier?” Matthew asked.

“At Landstuhl two years before,” Timothy said softly.

“Do you remember the soldier's name, Timothy?” Matthew asked.

Timothy's eyes glazed over.

“What was the soldier's name, Timothy?” Matthew asked.

Timothy looked down.

I'm losing him. Forgive me, Timothy. This is for you own good.
“Knock his ass out, Simmons, that's an order!”

Timothy sat bolt upright.

Gloria flinched.

Matthew got in Timothy's face. “Soldier, did you
hear
me? I
told
you to knock his ass out!
That's an order!
”

Timothy looked up at Matthew. “Yes sir. We need to restrain him better, sir. He keeps getting his arms free. He's strong as a horse, sir.”

“Restrain his ass now, soldier!” Matthew shouted.

“Yes sir, right away, sir,” Timothy said.

Matthew noticed Dr. Wick shift in his seat.
We have his attention, and I intend to keep it.
“Don't let them take my legs!” Matthew shouted in Timothy's ear.

Timothy didn't turn. “They're gonna help you, man. Rest easy.”

“Don't let them take my legs!” Matthew shouted again.

“They're gonna try to save them, kid,” Timothy said, his voice shaking. “They're doing the best they can.”

“Don't let them take my legs!” Matthew shouted again.

“Rest easy, kid. Rest easy, Homer . . .” Timothy blinked his eyes rapidly and looked at Gloria. “I remember his name. Gloria, I remembered. His name was Homer Kuhn. He was a Marine Corps corporal from Ohio, from North Star, Ohio, the smallest town in Ohio. He was the only survivor when his Sea Stallion went down on a humanitarian mission to drop supplies in Afghanistan.” He looked up at Matthew. “They had to take both of his legs. I stayed with Homer in post-op. When he woke up . . .” He looked at Dr. Wick. “When he woke up he screamed and had to be sedated. And then he said, ‘You let them take my legs. Why did you let them take my legs? I told you not to let them take my legs.' ”

“Did the patient at Woodhull Medical lose his legs?” Matthew asked.

“I don't know,” Timothy said. “They took me out of the OR before they even started the operation.”

I needed to establish that the mere sight of anyone's damaged legs started Timothy's meltdown and that he didn't have to see a missing limb to lose his mind.
“Timothy, describe your dream.”

Timothy's eyes glazed over again. “I'm in a field filled with bloody arms and legs and there's a boy with peach fuzz on his chin screaming at me to find his legs.” He looked at Gloria. “I see Homer Kuhn in my dream plain as day, Gloria.”

“We'll write to him,” Gloria said, wiping at tears. “Maybe we'll go visit him, too.”

“I'd like that.” Timothy focused on his hands. “So I'm trying to find Homer's legs in my dream, but I can't find any that match. Homer was about six-five, and none of the legs were long enough. ‘Rest easy, rest easy,' I keep saying, but Homer keeps screaming,

‘Find me a new set of legs, Lieutenant! Find me a new set of legs!' ”

Matthew saw Dr. Wick write something down.
That's a good sign.

“Thank you, Timothy.”
Rest easy, man.
Matthew turned to Gloria. “Gloria, you've known Timothy longer than anyone else in this room. How has he changed since his return from Landstuhl?”

“He's not the same man I danced with at our senior prom, that's for sure,” Gloria said. “That man was young and unafraid of anything. He's not the same man I married. That man spent his life outside with his children. I could never get them to come inside when I called the first time. ‘Just a little longer,' he'd tell me. ‘They're kids. They need to play.' ” She looked down. “And he's not the same man I've shared a bed with for thirty years either.”

Timothy's eyes filled with tears.

“But he's my man.” Gloria stared through teary eyes at Dr. Wick. “And I want him
back,
and
you're
going to give him back to me.”

Matthew fought at the lump growing in his throat. “Thank you, Gloria.” He inhaled and exhaled several times. “Dr. Wick?”

Dr. Wick pushed back his chair and stood. “Soldier.”

Timothy's eyes snapped up. “Yes sir?”

“How often do you have this dream?” Dr. Wick asked.

“Every time I close my eyes, sir,” Timothy said. “I don't sleep much, sir.”

Dr. Wick sighed and nodded. “You deserve some sleep, soldier. You deserve some rest.”

Timothy sat up straighter. “Yes sir. Thank you, sir.”

“We're going to help you, Lieutenant,” Dr. Wick said.

Timothy stood. “Sir, yes sir. Thank you, sir.” He held his hands out to Gloria. “I'm going to be your man again.”

Gloria stood and hugged him. “You've always been my man.”

Dr. Wick came around his desk. “Mrs. Simmons, please tell my secretary to put Timothy on my schedule by the end of this week, and if she gives you any grief, you come right back in here and tell me, and I'll straighten her out.”

After Timothy and Gloria left the office, Matthew looked Dr. Wick in the eye. “Thank you, Major.”

“I'm only a doctor now,” Dr. Wick said.

“You'll always be a soldier, sir,” Matthew said.

Dr. Wick nodded. “And that's what you want me to remember from now on, isn't it?”

Matthew nodded. “Yes sir.”

“I'll never forget being a soldier.” Dr. Wick took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “That was quite a performance.”

“It wasn't a performance,” Matthew said.

“I know it wasn't, Mr. McConnell, and I know you didn't prep him at all,” Dr. Wick said. “The look of shock and recognition on Timothy's face was genuine. I've seen it before. On my own face. But that's not what really convinced me. It was his wife. I know someone just like her who stood by her man after he came back badly shaken from Vietnam.” He turned a picture on his desk toward Matthew. “They don't make women like her anymore.”

Dr. Wick extended his hand, and Matthew shook it. “Give my regards to Hospital Corpsman First Class Kenneth Penn. Tell him we have some catching up to do.”

“I will.” Matthew turned to leave.

“Tell me something, McConnell,” Dr. Wick said. “Are you really doing this for free?”

“Yes sir.”
For the land of the free, and the home of brave men like Timothy.

“If you ever need any counseling for that,” Dr. Wick said, “you give me a call.”

Matthew paused at the door. “No offense, Dr. Wick, but I hope I never have to see you again.”

Dr. Wick nodded. “Don't forget to have ‘Kenny Penny' give me a call. That was the nickname we gave him in 'Nam because he was always showing up when things were very bad.”

“Good thing he did back then,” Dr. Wick said.

“
And
now,” Matthew said. “Thanks again.”

While they waited for a taxi, Matthew called Angela with the news. “We did it!”

“Fantastic,” Angela said. “But I didn't do anything.”

“Sure you did,” Matthew said. “You went with me to visit Timothy, and you made sure I stayed in touch with Dr. Penn. I couldn't have done any of this without you.”

“I'm glad Timothy's getting help,” Angela said.

I hear what she's
not
saying: “I wish I were getting help, too.”

“Have you let Dr. Penn know?” Angela asked.

“I had to tell you first, didn't I?” Matthew said. “I'm going to call him to meet us at the shop so we can all celebrate. Could you whip up some fresh apple turnovers?”