Angel of Mercy (12 page)

Though she moved relatively surreptitiously Chelsea, could have set off a Roman candle just then and neither Wendy nor Matthew would have flinched. The sound system in the canteen was playing “
These Eyes
” and Chelsea could tell that Lt. Clark was singing the song softly into Wendy’s ear. For her part Wendy’s eyes were closed as she gently swayed to the music and moved almost imperceptibly tighter against Lt. Clark’s body as he sang to her.

Chelsea could feel her blood begin to boil as she walked slowly toward the couple molded together on the dance floor. Just as she got to them Chelsea stumbled, spilling the rest of her Tequila Sunrise all over Wendy Shafer’s brand new green blouse!

Wendy’s eyes flew open as the cold drink splashed against her. Chelsea said, “Oh, Wendy I’m so sorry!” Lieutenant Clark looked at Chelsea and, recognizing her as Lisa Glenn’s roommate, narrowed his eyes in suspicion. Chelsea took hold of Wendy’s arm and gently pulled her away from Lt. Clark. “Let’s go into the ladies room, Wendy. Let’s take care of that before it stains and completely ruins it. It’s so pretty,” Chelsea rattled away as she, with more insistence now, pulled Wendy toward the rest room that was tucked away in the corner. Wendy only had time to turn around and throw a quick, “I’ll be right back.” to Lt. Clark.

Once inside Chelsea started to talk fast. “Wendy I’m so sorry, and I’ll pay to buy you a new b;ouse just like that one, but I needed to talk to you.” Wendy’s eyes widened in surprise. “Accidents happen, Chelsea, and you wouldn’t have needed to replace the blouse…except that you did it on purpose? Really, Chelsea? What kind of crazy woman are you?” Chelsea nodded her acceptance of the adjective that Wendy had used to describe her.

Maybe she was crazy. Maybe she should have taken heed of her original thoughts and just let it go, but Wendy was a friend and Chelsea didn’t like to see her friends in some guy’s web of deceit. “Okay, Wendy. Let me tell you something. If you still think I’m crazy after I tell you what I want to tell you then I will leave you alone
and
I will buy you a new blouse. Hell, I’ll buy you two new dresses. But I want you to hear me out.” Wendy knew Chelsea well enough to respect her. Wendy also could use two new blouses. Mostly, though, Wendy was curious to hear what was so far up Chelsea Bannister’s behind that she would dump a drink on a brand new blouse, only to offer to replace it times two. This had to be a story worth hearing. “Okay, Chelsea. Say what you have to say, but say it kind of quick, all right. Somebody is waiting for me.”

Chelsea took a deep breath and plunged into her tale. “Matthew Clark was seeing Lisa, my roommate Lisa, until just a few days ago.”

Wendy nodded, “He told me. He said that they broke up because it just wasn’t going smoothly. Something like that, anyway.”

“Well, it was going really well as far as I could tell. On the couch, in the bed, up against the wall, everywhere that it could go well, it was going well. Until she found out that he was married. Married and with two sons!” Wendy shook her head. “That has to be a mistake! I asked him straight out if he had someone at home and he said, “It’s all you baby. It’s all you.” Chelsea snorted.

“Well, it is all you tonight, Wendy. Look at you. You’re beautiful and sexy and fun. Why wouldn’t he say that it’s all you?” Wendy looked down at the stain on her dress that was spreading even farther south. Then she looked up at Chelsea and said, “Shall we have some fun with Matthew Clark? Chelsea couldn’t wait to hear what Wendy had in mind. This was why Chelsea and Wendy had become pretty good friends. They both had devious minds.

About a minute later Wendy opened the rest room door and shouted in a loud voice.
“Oh! You like my new blouse that much Chelsea Bannister! Well you can’t have it! Give it back!”

Chelsea answered, just as loudly.
”Well you take it then, Wendy! Here!”

Wendy came sashaying out to the now-silent dance floor, wearing only a sheer slip, a bra, and panties. As if surprised to see Lt. Clark standing there, she smiled and slithered up to him. “Oh there you are Willie. Could you give me a hand?”

Lt. Clark held out his hand and with a satisfied smile on his face, reached for his most recent dance partner. Just as she got within arm’s reach of the married (but obviously not a fanatic about it) Lt. William Clark, Wendy stopped on a dime and held the soaked blouse over Lt. Clark’s head. She slowly but thoroughly wrung the green blouse out.

While there wasn’t a lot of Tequila Sunrise in the material, there was enough so that Lt. Clark knew that he had been anointed a cheater by the woman whose bed he had intended to share that very night. An evening that had started with such promise ended with a sticky and solitary dance.

Chelsea and Wendy left the canteen to an enthusiastic round of applause. Chelsea was satisfied with her evening’s work but held no illusions that the applause was for her. It was for Wendy who was milking every second of it as she walked outside dressed only in her underwear. Once outside Wendy collapsed in laughter. She leaned against Chelsea and laughed as hard as she had ever laughed in her life. Chelsea had always found Wendy Shafer’s laugh to be a contagious one and soon Chelsea was holding her side and laughing right along with Wendy. Soon the two of them were sitting on the curb of the street, trying to catch their collective breath.

Wendy recovered first. “Oh my God, did you see the look on his face? He thought that I had gotten mostly naked just so I could have some vertical sex with him on the dance floor. What a fool!”

Chelsea put her hand on Wendy’s arm. “I’m sorry to have been the one to break the news to you, but when I saw him breathing the words to ‘These Eyes’ into your ear I just snapped!” Chelsea snapped her fingers to illustrate what happened in her mind.

“Don’t sweat it, Chels. He’s a good dancer, and he smells good on the dance floor, but it’s really lucky for him that I found out that he was married from you.”

“Why is that?”

“If I had slept with him, and only found out later that he had a family at home, I might have cut his little pecker off!”

That set the two girls off to a brand new round of laughter. They sat on the edge of the busy street and laughed until thy wept. Then they looked at one another and started laughing again. Finally Chelsea said, “Let’s get you home so you can put some clothes on. What are you, some kind of brazen hussy?”

Wendy stopped on a dime, and turned to deliver a smart salute. “Yes I am. Corporal Hussy at your service, ma’am.”

Chapter Eight

Chelsea talked about her experience at The Afghan Canteen the next time that she was with Gerald Giacomo. They shared a laugh as she recounted the look on Lt. Clark’s face when he felt the Tequila Sunrise trickling through his hair and down his cheek.

“I wish I had been there, Chelsea. I’ve met Clark a couple of times. He likes himself quite a bit. I would have loved to see him taken down.”

Chelsea looked at Gerald as he was speaking. There was openness and honesty in him that she found extraordinarily refreshing. Chelsea admired honesty in a man above all else. As she watched his expressive face, and listened to him propose hideous (and increasingly far-fetched), punishments for William Clark she found herself musing internally.

You know, this is a really nice guy. He’s smart and way nice, but most of all he’s FUN. I’ll bet he looks sharp in a dress uni too. Probably out of one
as well. Whoa girl. Where did that come from?

Chelsea felt her face redden as she tried to bring her thoughts back in line. She was suddenly glad that military surveillance technology hadn’t advanced to the point of mind reading. She forced herself to concentrate on what Gerald was saying.

“You know the guys have ways of dealing with characters like Lt. Clark. One of the medics injected habanero oil into a guy’s shaving cream, and another guy put a Brut antiperspirant label on a can of bug spray. Big egos aren’t real popular.

Chelsea’s eyes widened. “Habanero oil? That must have gotten a reaction.”

Gerald grinned. “It did. If you call seeing a naked guy run by yelling ‘Shit! My face is on fire. My face is on fire,’ a reaction, then yeah. We got a pretty good reaction.”

Suddenly Gerald’s face changed. Chelsea had gotten used to his face darken, so she wasn’t alarmed by it. She placed a gentle hand on his arm. “What’s going on, Gerald?”

Instead of dropping into a depression Gerald looked at Chelsea with affection. He was no longer laughing but rather had simply gone serious.

“This has just been so great Chelsea. I love it when you walk through that door. But I got some not great news today. They told me that physical therapy is going to be a bear, and with no promises that I’m going to be okay to go back to my unit. There is a chance that they will send me home.”

Gerald took both hands out from under the blanket and placed them on Chelsea’s shoulders. “I’m not afraid of hard work. I will do whatever I need to do for the Physical Therapist so I can get whole again. But if I can’t I will be sent home.

Chelsea broke in, speaking kindly and quietly, “Would that be all bad?”

Gerald looked into Chelsea’s eyes with a directness that startled her a bit. Then he answered her. “Going home wouldn’t be all bad. But leaving you would be hard.”

Chelsea’s heart soared within her chest. She had been having strong feelings for Gerald but hadn’t allowed her mind to process such things for fear that her feelings wouldn’t be returned. Also, his status as patient and hers as nurse, even though she wasn’t providing direct care to Gerald, left her mind cluttered. Did she care about him because he was wounded? Did she feel sorry for him? Were they becoming friends? Was she…falling for him?

As Chelsea looked at Gerald, she could see a depth of honesty in his face that, in some way, clarified her own feelings. Gone was the self-doubt that had plagued her since her life had changed as a teen. Gone were the trust issues that hearkened back to when Chelsea had been betrayed by her father. All that was left was honesty and a sense of having been brought to this place in this time by God Almighty.

Chelsea lowered the bed rail that separates patient from visitor in every hospital everywhere. Gerald responded by placing a gentle pressure on Chelsea’s shoulder blades and drawing her to him. She put her head on his chest and listened to his heart beat under his hospital gown. As she relaxed in that posture, she thought that his heart rate may have increased but dismissed it as likely her imagination.

It wasn’t long before Chelsea realized that she should have trusted her first instinct about Gerald’s heart. He whispered, “Chelsea, look at me.”

Chelsea lifted her head, and Gerald cupped her face between his palms.  “Do you mind if I kiss you, Chelsea Elizabeth Bannister?” Gerald said.

Chelsea couldn’t think of a thing in the world that she minded less. Just as Gerald and Chelsea were sealing their affection with a kiss (or perhaps a couple of kisses later) they were interrupted by a visit from Gerald’s twin brother. Tim Giacomo stopped on a dime when he saw his brother and Chelsea in an affectionate embrace. Once the initial shock wore off his face split open and was wreathed in a happy smile.

“Holy Lord? What’s going on here?” Tim exclaimed.

Gerald and Chelsea started to talk at once, but Tim stopped them with an open palm. “Wait! I don’t know that I want to know exactly and precisely what’s going on, but…what’s up?”

Chelsea and Gerald threw their respective head’s back and roared. It took Tim a couple of seconds to realize the ramifications of what he had just said. When he tumbled to the same understanding as Gerald and Chelsea, Tim joined in the laughter at his own expense. The truth of the matter was only that he was as pleased as he could be for the relationship that had obviously been blossoming under his nose.

It may have been a coincidence, but Gerald’s health took a distinct turn for the better in the days that followed. Chelsea spent every waking hour off duty either in Gerald’s room or rooting him on at the physical therapy unit. Though Gerald’s active duty status was still in doubt, his stamina and respiratory health made remarkable progress. The fluid that had been on his lungs gradually drained away and the respiratory therapist soon announced that Gerald’s lungs were operation at 99.34% capacity. That number surprised Tim and Gerald since both brothers had been hay fever sufferers since they were little and neither had measured above 97% lung capacity under the healthiest of conditions.

“Darlin’, you’re a breath of fresh air,” Gerald said to Chelsea on the way back from the respiratory therapist. “Now if we can only do something for this left leg.”

Gerald’s right leg had healed to the point that he would have been able to return to his unit and active duty. That is if the left leg would have been as cooperative. The left leg, where the damage had been more extensive, was still slightly crooked and weaker than its twin. So far, even though Gerald was a true warrior in the physical therapy track, pool, and weight room; his recovery seemed to be at a standstill. One Thursday afternoon Dr. Walter Gaines, renowned as one of the finest therapy docs in the Afghanistan Theater of Operations, asked if Gerald would come see him the next morning.

“This can’t be good,” Gerald said with a worried look on his face. Chelsea gave him a hug and looked away. Her first response to the news that Dr. Gaines wanted to see Gerald had been the same as the patient’s reaction. She didn’t want him to see that she agreed with him. She worked on putting on a brave face.

“Nonsense,” she said to Gerald. “Maybe he just has a new treatment procedure or medicine that he wants to try on your case. We should be optimistic.”

Gerald looked at Chelsea and shook his head. “You should never play poker, young lady. Your mouth says happy words and your eyes say, “You know the mouth is a lying sack of teeth, don’t you? Thank you for being as hopeful as you are trying to be, but they don’t send the big guys to tell you that they are going to try another 250 milligrams of ibuprofen.”

As it turned out, Gerald’s discouraging words were the ones that carried the day. Dr. Walter Gaines welcomed both Giacomo boys as well as Chelsea into his office.

Unlike the offices of most of the military medical professionals, Dr. Gaines’ office had a touch of the stateside plush to it. The doctor sat in an office chair that looked to be genuine leather. Dr. Gaines leaned on the top of his mahogany desk, took his glasses off of his graying head and got straight to the point.

“Young man, we have tried all that there us to try. This is not to say that you won’t ever get any better, but rather it’s to say that our treatments are producing little to no effect. We are going to complete the physical therapy tasks that you have already undertaken, but we expect no more measurable progress at this point. After that, you will be discharged from the hospital and, I would imagine, sent home.

Gerald took in the bad news and answered Dr. Gaines when the older gentleman paused.

“Does this mean that I will be getting a medical discharge from the Armed Forces, sir?”

Dr. Gaines polished his glasses; a habit learned long ago when he needed a moment to gather his thoughts. “In my professional opinion, that won’t be necessary. It’s not as if you’re crippled. Looking at you, and having examined you, my bet is that you would probably still turn an 8-minute mile if you needed to run that fast. That’s plenty quick to be able to do a lot of things for Uncle Sam at home.”

Gerald gave a quick nod to the doctor and answered, “Just not quick enough for a war zone. Isn’t that what you’re saying?”

Dr. Gaines spoke softly in reply, “That’s pretty much the x’s and o’s of it, son. I wish I had better news.”

Gerald stood up and held out his hand to the doctor. Dr. Gaines returned the shake and also shook Tim’s and Chelsea’s hands before opening the door to them. “Take care of you, son,” he said to Gerald.

“I will sir. Is there any reason that I couldn’t go for a short walk. I would like to clear my head before going back to my room?”

“No reasons that I can think of, Specialist Giacomo. We will be discharging you from inpatient as soon as we can get the papers together.

With his back ramrod straight and walking with as little of a limp as he possibly could, Gerald Giacomo led the procession out of the office, down the hall and into the elevator. No one spoke as the elevator door hissed closed and the car started to rumble two floors to the street level. Chelsea noticed that Gerald’s jaw was rigid as he watched the numbers light up on the way down.

It’s almost as if he’s calling silent count football signals to the elevator. He feels like he isn’t in control of anything in his life right now, so he’s ordering the elevator down.

As if to verify Chelsea’s thoughts, Gerald gave a tight-lipped nod to the elevator door as it slid open. The threesome walked outside into the hot and windy Kabul atmosphere.

“Well, that’s that” Gerald said. “It looks as if I get to push a pen on a stupid desk or else get drummed out of the service.”

Chelsea didn’t know what she should say. Or even what she could say. Gerald loved his unit, and loved the task that the United States was attempting to accomplish in the tumultuous Afghan conflict. To be told that he wasn’t going to be able to be a part of it anymore was killing him from the inside out. Even so, and though he was doing everything that he could to hide his limp, his leg wasn’t right. At least the leg wasn’t as right as a combat professional would need it to be. Chelsea saw the wisdom in what the doctor had said. And it hurt her to see it killing Gerald.

Tim spoke up. “It isn’t the end of your career. It’s just the end of your time at the front. You can try to think of it that way.”

Gerald spun on his brother. “Don’t you understand? I’m letting the guys in my unit down! I’m letting a lot of people down who are counting on me! And it doesn’t have to be! He just said that I can probably run a mile in eight minutes. Hell, I’ll bet with some reps I could get it down to 7-7:30.”

Gerald looked to Chelsea for support, but all she could do was stare back. She knew that if it was all about want, Gerald would be back at the front. But she knew that it wasn’t. He was a warrior for sure. But he was a wounded warrior that was never going to be completely whole again.

In spite of giving physical therapy a Herculean effort over the next couple of days, Gerald couldn’t get the flexibility and dexterity in his legs that the doctors needed to see. The therapist had put him through a series of dynamic stretching exercises designed to ascertain whether or not there was any further improvement that could be reasonably expected. Gerald’s face was a mirror of sweat and a picture of good old American try but it was all to no avail.