For Love Of A Dog

MARGARET PLACED THE folded pajamas into her husband’s duffel, set the toiletry bag on top and paused briefly to stare down at the slippers on his feet. They’d be all right for the ride home. Besides, she hadn’t bothered bringing his shoes to the hospital. He’d only begun walking again—if one could call the shuffling gait that—in the past few days. She zipped up the bag and smiled at Harry.

“Well, this is it. The day we’ve been waiting for.”

He looked up at her and mumbled a garbled reply that kept her guessing for a few seconds. She couldn’t blame him for feeling negative. His stroke was not only unexpected but grossly unfair, especially considering the cycle of bad luck the family had endured for the past three years. And she couldn’t help but see the dark humor in her current situation. One at home who wouldn’t talk and now another who couldn’t.

There’d been times the last four weeks when she’d just wanted to curl up in bed and stay there. Let someone else take charge. Although she’d been grateful and relieved to have Kai come home, she knew her daughter well enough to realize that her presence was temporary. In fact, she was waiting for Kai to announce that she’d soon be returning to New York. As Harry used to say of his daughter, “Dust doesn’t get a chance to settle on her.”

Now that’s enough self-pity, Margaret Westfield. There’s an eight-year-old boy—an orphan—counting on you. Even if he doesn’t show it.

There was a light tap on the opened door. “Your daughter’s parked outside and wants to know if you’d like her to come in and help with Mr. Westfield or if you can manage.”

Margaret smiled at the young nurse’s aide. Don’t kill the messenger, she reminded herself. How typical of Kai not to realize a bit of help would be appreciated without having to ask. “I can manage if you’d be able to wheel Harry out for me.”

“Of course.” The aide unlocked the wheelchair and pushed it out of the room. Margaret followed, carrying Harry’s duffel and her own bag, and rolling the fold-up walker that Harry would be using at home. She’d been boarding at Janet’s house since Kai came back to look after Thomas. Thank goodness for old friends. That gift had hit home for her and Harry after David’s death last year. Kai had been in some exotic country or other and hadn’t even received word of the accident until days later. When she did make it back for the funeral, she’d made it obvious her stay was going to be as brief as possible.

Margaret caught up to the aide and Harry at the elevator just as the door opened, revealing Kai and Thomas.

“I found a parking space after all.” Kai’s anxious expression flicked back and forth from Margaret to Harry.

“Just in time,” Margaret said. Wanting to make up for the slight sarcasm in her voice, she focused on Thomas, who hung back behind Kai. “Look who’s here, Harry.”

Harry managed a lopsided smile and extended his good hand. Thomas hesitated and then moved into that outstretched arm to hug his grandfather. Margaret teared up and saw that Kai, too, was close to tears.

“This is a lovely surprise,” she said. “Even if you’re missing a day of school, Thomas.” Something flashed in her daughter’s face that made Margaret add, “Thank you for that, Kai.”

The elevator ride was silent except for the occasional snuffling from Harry, his right hand clutching Thomas’s. This is another side of the new Harry I have to live with, Margaret thought. An emotional one, with a sensitivity he’d never shown in their forty-three-year marriage. The doctor had explained these changes were to be expected after a stroke. They might persist or disappear as his health returned. Right now, she’d take the old Harry no matter how irritating and insensitive he used to be.

Getting Harry into the car wasn’t as difficult as Margaret had feared, though it took both Kai and the aide to help him to his feet and slide him into the passenger seat. The physiotherapist had advised Margaret to get him walking every day. He’d need a wheelchair for excursions to the mall—fat chance of that, thought Margaret, who couldn’t get Harry to a mall when he’d had the use of two legs—but the walker would suffice for indoors. Anyway, Margaret knew the drill. Walk, talk and use the brain as much as possible.

She scarcely heard Kai chattering about the latest at the farm or what groceries she’d stocked up on for their arrival home. Instead, her mind was busily making plans for the days and weeks ahead. The physiotherapist and the doctor had recommended an innovative program for stroke patients—one that could be found not in Lima, but in Columbus—and Margaret was determined to take Harry there. Her cousin, Evelyn, might be able to put her up. The only problem was Thomas and who would look after him. Bringing him along would be too disruptive—for all of them.

When they turned onto the gravel road that led to the farm, Margaret noticed Harry look out the window. Neighbors’ fields around them were ready for planting. She guessed that was on her husband’s mind as he checked out both sides of the road. He made a low humming sound. During his stay at the rehab hospital, he’d be asking himself, “Who’s going to plant the soybeans?” Margaret forced her thoughts elsewhere. It was time to look ahead, she told herself.

Just before they rounded the curve that took them to their driveway, Margaret spotted a red tractor plowing the field next to theirs. Bryant Lewis didn’t waste any time. He and Harry used to try to see who’d get the first field done, then the first row planted and so on. It was a silly competition that had stopped the year Harry refused to sign a contract with the big company that wanted everyone to use their patented seed. Then the year Bryant told Harry he was looking into taking a wind turbine had pretty much ended the neighborly chats over the fence. And when David was killed...well, they hadn’t had any communication with their longtime neighbor since then.

Harry’s humming grew louder as they drove past Bryant’s field. Margaret saw Kai glance anxiously at her father. She’d grown up with that peculiar habit of his and could read the signs as well as anyone. The Buick pulled up to the garage.

“Thomas, you take Grandpa’s suitcase up to the house while Grandma and I help him get out of the car,” Kai instructed.

Thomas climbed out, taking the suitcase that was propped between him and Margaret. Then Kai opened the trunk and pulled out the walker. “I think this’ll do to get Dad into the house, don’t you, Mom?”

For a moment Margaret was speechless herself. This was a side of Kai—being in charge—she’d only seen the one time she’d visited her in New York. Never in the context of her childhood home. Harry had always assumed that role, even when David was working the farm with him. But then, David had always been quick to please, unlike Kai, who’d taken more pleasure from rebellion.

Tempted though she was to assert her authority, Margaret stopped herself. The past four weeks of going to the hospital daily, working with Harry and his physiotherapist, handling the paperwork and bills arising from his health care and making tentative plans for the near future had been draining. Right now, she was all too happy to let Kai take the lead.

By the time the two of them had helped Harry up to the kitchen door, Thomas had gone back to collect Margaret’s suitcase and was waiting patiently on the porch, an expression of expectation on his face. Margaret half noticed the exchange between Kai and Thomas but was busy helping Harry lift the front wheels of his walker over the stoop. She didn’t see Thomas running toward the garage, but the sound she heard seconds later froze her to the spot.

Barking. She turned around to spot a brownish-yellow dog leaping up at Thomas and quickly looked at Kai.

“I’ll explain when we get inside,” was all Kai said before Margaret could get a word out.

Margaret would have insisted on an immediate explanation were it not for Harry, who’d halted his progress into the kitchen to turn around, as well. His face was ashen and a deep but loud humming came from his open mouth.

* * *

“I THINK THAT’S enough for today.”

Luca took the towel-wrapped cold pack from his physiotherapist, Paul, and used it to wipe his sweaty brow before placing it on his left knee. He closed his eyes, savoring the coolness that seeped into the inflammation around his knee prosthetic. Today’s workout had been rigorous as Paul took him into the final stage of his therapy. He tried to speak but could only get out an incomprehensible grunt, which Paul recognized all too well.

He patted Luca’s shoulder. “Enjoy. You did great. See you on Thursday.”

After Paul headed off for his next patient, Luca waited the requisite fifteen minutes before sitting up, took a few deep breaths to ease the dizziness and reached for the sweatshirt draped on the chair next to the physio gurney. Five minutes later he was walking, assisted by his cane, out the front door of the rehabilitation center.

The day had marked another milestone: his first time driving himself to and from the center. A week ago he’d achieved the ninety-degree bend in his knee that Paul had been guiding him toward with the promise that he’d soon be able to drive again. Of course, his mother had needed some persuasion to relinquish her chauffeuring duties, just as she’d needed time to cut back on some of the other mothering tasks she’d assumed upon Luca’s return home from the hospital.

Getting behind the wheel took effort, but Luca heaved a satisfied sigh as he turned on the ignition. One more step to independence. If only true independence were not so far away. Luca tried not to dwell on the fact that his childhood home was now the only one he had. He had to be grateful for that, knowing so many of his military comrades fared much poorer—physically, mentally and financially. But he also knew that until he was out in the real world again, taking on all the responsibilities that entailed, he could not begin the actual healing process. The physical one was underway and ticking along nicely. As to the emotional and psychological recovery, Luca expected the course to be much bumpier.

One day at a time. That was the mantra that had taken him from the hospital at Kandahar base five months ago to this parking lot in Newark, New Jersey. Heaven only knew how many times a day he’d repeated those words to himself. There was a time, pre-Afghanistan, when he’d have scoffed at such a mantra. In those days, he’d considered himself a doer, someone who didn’t sit by while others worked. Someone who had to lead, who chafed at idleness and loathed indecision. Someone who occasionally had difficulty keeping anger in check. If there was a single thing to be thankful for these past few months, it had to be the chance to say goodbye to that Luca Rossi.

When he pulled up to his mother’s home, Luca saw that she had company. He didn’t recognize the car but noted it had DC license plates. As he walked past it to the front door, he also noticed an army hat on the passenger seat. He paused, considering getting back into his mother’s sedan. He’d made his formal application for discharge a month after his return to the States, and according to the military lawyer who’d been counselling him, it would not be contested. There had been a few overtures and promises of lighter duties, even promotion. All blather, as far as Luca was concerned. He took a deep breath and went inside the house.

“Luca?” his mother called. “We’re in the solarium, darling.”

He went down the hall and through the kitchen, spotted a tray laid out with his mother’s best China tea service and turned into the solarium. A uniformed NCO leaped to his feet, snapping a smart salute.

Luca grinned. “At ease, McDougall—and thank you, but I’m a civvie now.”

“No way, sir. Never.”

Luca ignored the hand extended to him, instead wrapping the younger officer in a bear hug, waiting for the unexpected tears to vanish before releasing the corporal.

“Please, sit,” he said, gesturing to a chair. He propped his cane against the solarium door frame and removed his windbreaker. As he was taking his own seat opposite McDougall, his mother excused herself to get the tea.

“How are you? And the others? What’s happening with the squad? I haven’t heard from anyone in almost a month.”

“I’m on leave and scheduled to head back there in two weeks. Some of the others are home, too, and a few took leave in Germany. A couple have requested medical discharges.” McDougall fell silent.

Luca didn’t need to ask who they were. Kowalski and Murphy, who’d run after Lopez and seen him get blown up. Narrowly escaping that fate, as well.

“How are they doing?”

McDougall bit his lip. “Murphy’s managing. Lost a leg. But Kowalski...they figure he’s got PTSD. Referring him to a psych facility.”

Luca let that sink in, trying hard not to give in to the guilt.

“But the reason I’m here, sir—other than to say hello and pass on greetings from the squad—is to say how sorry I am that Amigo never got to you.”

Luca frowned. Amigo? He drew a blank for a second, then recalled the mangy stray that had adopted him a few weeks before the disaster.