True Valor (30 page)

Okay, apologies over. Now tough it out while I embarrass you. You know how I like to have the last word.
(-:

Tom, you’ve been my best friend since childhood. No one could wish for a better cousin. I know all about the broken dates with Shelly when you came to spend Friday nights with me after I busted my arm. You refused to let me whimper at a disaster that nearly ended my career before it began. It’s nice being special.

Over the years I’ve tried not to embarrass you too often with my mushy words, but I can’t resist this last opportunity. I love you. I’ve been blessed to have you as family. No one taught me more about seizing life and living my dreams than you.

I forgive you for scaring the daylights out of me more times than I can count. I think the Lord must have assigned a special guardian angel to watch out for you. You have defied gravity, dodged bullets, and accomplished impossible missions, most of which I know exist only because you frequently disappeared for a few months. I am so PROUD of you.

There has been no better career than flying a Hornet. For helping me reach that dream—thank you doesn’t cut it. And I still owe you for the lessons. (I know for a fact you helped pay for those initial lessons. Dad told me you were the source of that special savings account that magically appeared when I was seventeen. Nice, Wolf. Very nice.)

Would you do me a favor and get married, have kids, and be a special dad in their lives? You keep putting it off. The one regret I have is that Ben and I always said there was plenty of time. He died and I lost an opportunity to seize part of my dream. I chose to let the obstacles of combining military and civilian life push back a decision to get married. Be smarter than I was about that decision.

Life has been good. Very good. I’m sorry for the years when I gave you cause to worry about me. You know me, buddy. I grieve slowly and have to think everything through many times before I move on. Your prodding was comforting because I knew you cared. Thanks for that.

If I can’t have life, heaven’s an even better option.

All my love, Grace

PS If my car is still running, it’s now yours. Think about me every time you argue with the carburetor.

Bruce read the letter twice, then slowly folded and handed it back. “She loves you.”

Wolf was fighting to keep his composure. He got up to pace.

Bruce watched him and didn’t say anything else. Those three words said it all.

Thirty-Four

* * *

APRIL 6

N
ORFOLK
, V
IRGINIA

“Can I get you anything?”

The intense pain had changed to a dull ache. Grace tried to fight off the anesthetic to be able to coherently answer Jill. “You’re the best friend in the whole wide world.”

“And you’re still a little foggy with painkillers.”

Grace tried to smile, well aware she felt like she was floating. “Probably.” She was aware in a detached way that the surgery she had been dreading ever since the doctors had begun taking pictures was over. “Day or night?”

“Day. Bruce called.”

She forced open her eyes. Her friend swam into focus. “Bruce called . . .”

Jill tucked the blanket across her chest. “You talked to him.”

Her brow furrowed. “I did?”

“I translated for him at the end of it.”

Bruce had called and she hadn’t been coherent. “Wonderful.”

“It’s okay.” Jill smiled. “He just needed to hear your voice.”

“Did I sing old nursery rhymes?”

“You tried. You don’t sing very well.”

“Suppose he still likes me?”

“Oh yeah.”

Quiet stretched in the recovery room. Bruce had been a tower of strength even long-distance; his calm words the one source of confidence as her life spiraled out of control. Some of his notes even came by telegram as he tried to be what she needed.
“When the cares of my heart are many, Thy steadfast love, O Lord, help me up.”
She’d memorized the last telegram from him.

“It’s hard when they are far away,” Jill whispered.

Grace nudged a finger against her friend’s hand. “I’ve got you here to stand in for them.”

“You’re going to be okay.”

“I’m going to be okay,” Gracie agreed. She was alive. She could work on it from there. “Are Mom and Dad here?”

“Out in the hall.”

“Wipe my tears before they come in.”

“Sure.” Jill carefully did so.

“Do I look awful?”

“You look like you’re a little older, a little wiser,” Jill reassured. “What do you want to tell the press?”

“Go away?”

Jill chuckled. “You’re a little more famous than that.”

“Be my spokesman for a few more days. Give Dad an exclusive.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Jill offered the water glass. “I’m glad you’re home.”

“So am I. Wish Bruce were here.”

“I wish Wolf were here.”

“We’ve got good taste in guys.” Grace groaned as she tried to move. “It’s bad.”

“It will get better.”

Grace sighed. “Get Mom and Dad. I’ll smile awhile.”

* * *

Bruce ~

I am printing this with my own left hand. I’m alive. Surgery over. I love you. GET ME OUT OF HERE.

Gracie

Grace ~

Oh, honey . . . left- or right-handed—it is so nice to get your notes. Wolf volunteered to help me with the hospital break. . . . I love you too.

Bruce

Thirty-Five

* * *

APRIL 14

N
ORFOLK
, V
IRGINIA

“May I come in?” Peter paused in the doorway to her hospital room.

Grace folded the
International Herald
one handed. The sun was shining, her headache had finally disappeared for good, and the newspaper just frustrated her with news about the situation overseas. Her friends were getting shot at and there was nothing she could do. There had been another game of chicken in Iraq yesterday. “I’d enjoy the company.”

“I don’t remember the pink fuzzy feet.”

Grace smiled at her CO and wiggled the bunny feet. “A gift from Jill. They released you to wander the hall.”

“About time. The doctors are driving me crazy.” She could agree with him there. Peter looked better than the last time she had briefly seen him—the bruises fading, the cast on his arm beginning to lose its bright wet whiteness. Peter had had an interesting thirty minutes on the ground in Iraq. She would rather have her landing than his. He pulled over a chair.

“The penguin jokes are for real.” She tugged out a cartoon from her scrapbook; it had arrived this morning from the guys in the squadron. “I think this one is my favorite.” A big line of penguins had strapped on the obligatory pilot scarf and goggles and were getting ready to launch from the top of a cliff.

“They sent me a shovel and pail for a sandbox.”

She laughed at the image. “You have to give the guys credit; they believe in squadron unity.” She’d heard that penguin patches with bandaged wings were beginning to appear on flight jackets.

“Can I get you anything?”

“The right to stay here another two months? I’m going to be disappointed when they kick me out of the hospital to get back their room. The service is first rate.” Her shoulder ached, but the sharp pain had disappeared after the second surgery. “The physical therapist is by three times a day, and I got lobster for dinner last night.”

He smiled but it faded. “Grace—”

“I know what they’re saying, Peter. I don’t believe them.” She’d never taken a no that she couldn’t fly as final before, and she wasn’t about to accept one offered by a doctor who could in reality only give her averages and percentages of those able to come back after an injury like hers. “How’s your arm?” It was strange to realize broken bones were easier for a pilot to come back from than soft tissue injuries.

He rapped the hard cast. “Desk bound for a while.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to prevent it.”

“I’ve watched the tapes. Our tactics were good. Two against four and restrictions on who could fire first was a tragedy like this waiting to happen.”

She’d been replaying it in her mind numerous times, but it was reassuring to hear him say it.

Grace pointed to the papers. “I’ve been reading about what is going on, watching CNN. We’re missing out on the action.” The U.S. had launched a massive raid into Iraq in retaliation, pounding the military airports and radar network, making last year’s strike look small.

“I know what you mean about being on the sidelines. But at least one good benefit came out of our skirmish. It reminded everyone there really was a big kid on the block it would be best not to provoke. Syria has started pulling back military units, if not back to prior positions, at least back from the border with Turkey.”

“Is it true the
GW
deployment is being extended?”

“Another two months.”

The physical therapist knocked on the door. “Ready, Lieutenant?”

Grace glanced at her boss as she struggled to her feet. “If they ever try to get you on the pulley machine, shoot the thing and put yourself out of misery before you begin.”

Peter handed her a water bottle. “I’ve heard you are killing the stationary bike.”

She grinned. “Practice. I plan to be able to beat Striker at a bike race some day.”

Bruce ~

Four miles on the bike, pulse 72 resting, bp 115 / 70, temp 98.4. I squeezed the tennis ball 602 times today. I would have reached the goal of four digits but my doctor interrupted, spoiling my count. It will be another few days before they let me start working on mobility in my shoulder. Right now the arm is strapped against my chest to prevent any movement.

I’m pecking this note out one letter at a time on a borrowed laptop. Do you have any idea how hard it is to use a mouse left-handed? This letter will probably disappear somewhere unrecoverable before it can get printed.

I can’t believe the first plane I crashed came with a multimillion-dollar price tag. A good thing they don’t threaten to take it out of my paycheck—I’d be in debt for the rest of my life. I miss my plane: every bell, switch, and button of it. It was a good lady that didn’t deserve that kind of ending. At least my one horrible landing in life has now happened.

I am convinced your note on Ephesians 1:17 and your prayer for me were God’s preparations for what was coming. That single prayer, that I may know God better, has transformed how I am able to handle this. That first night stateside, when the painkillers weren’t taking effect, I flipped through pages in my Bible. I found again the verse written by Paul: “He said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ I will all the more gladly boast of my weaknesses, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.”

I’m getting a good chance to live it. The moments of being overwhelmed come often, and I’m finding the verse something to cling to. God is sufficient for even this.

If it sounds like I am together about this tragedy . . . the reality is I’m too scared to even think about it not working out. So I am refusing to let doubt have even a glimmer of my thoughts. I don’t know what awaits me when the therapist says I’ve made all the progress she thinks I can make. I desperately want to fly again.

I am working hard to get that recovery off to a good start. No one says the weakness in my shoulder will be permanent or that the mobility won’t come back. They just give odds against it happening. Needless to say, it’s not what I want to hear.

I’m so disappointed I was out of it during your last call. I admit I cried a bit when the meds finally wore off enough for me to realize what had happened. Jill was able to tell me what you said. Bruce, next time you are able to call, I promise I’ll be talking at least coherently.

I know it’s not a good thing to suggest you are replacing Ben in my life, but there is one way I want to say a special note of thanks. The one thing Ben always had was a long horizon perspective. In your notes, I hear that same sense of calm about life and events and the passage of time. I appreciate it. When the days seem incredibly long, your letters are a great comfort. I’ve reread them many times.

I am glad you are at the end of this letter. Please be careful and stay safe. I love you more and more with every passing day. Jill says I can borrow Emily when I get home and I’m looking forward to that. I never had a pet and she’s priceless.