Chapter Twenty-One Sassy
twenty-one SASSY
Sassy sat stone-still at her desk, her mind completely blank. She’d tossed and turned for hours last night, imagining Joey somewhere in the jungle, hurt and alone. In the morning, she managed to make it into the office only because her father would be there. She needed to be near him. He would never say so, but she knew he needed her, too.
She pried her gaze from her typewriter and faced his office door. It had been shut all morning. Seeing that made her feel cold. And alone.
She rapped one knuckle on it. “Dad? Can I come in?”
He was holding a picture frame when she entered. She assumed it was a photograph of Joey, but when he placed it on a shelf behind him, she saw she was wrong. It was a picture from the last war, one she’d seen many times. Her father was sitting on a jeep’s hood with a couple of other men, and all were smiling, smoking cigarettes. His young face looked so much like Joey’s.
She sat across from him without waiting for an invitation. “Who’s that in the picture?”
“A couple of friends from the war.” He pointed at one. “Recognize him?”
She squinted at the man’s face and added forty years. “That’s Mr. Moore. I visit him like you asked, Dad. About once a month. He’s doing all right.”
The hint of a smile touched his lips. “I’m glad.”
He took his glasses off and looked at her. Really looked. It was the first time he’d done that in a long time, and it warmed her straight through.
“How are you, Susan?”
Her eyes filled. “Where is he? What’s happening?”
“The Vietcong carried out an unprecedented attack yesterday. They’re calling it the Tet Offensive, and it took the U.S. by surprise. They’re still fighting their way out of it. There’s no way to find out anything about Joey yet.”
He swallowed hard, and she felt a jolt of panic. He was afraid. She had never seen that expression on his face before, and it frightened her as well. Determined to help somehow, she walked around his desk and planted a kiss on his bristled cheek, feeling a terrible ache in her chest. He hadn’t shaved that morning.
“He’ll come home,” she assured them both.
He offered her a sad smile then got back to work. She left him alone and shut the office door behind her.
A few days after the news came about Joey, Tom came to her desk.
“What’s with the long face?”
She let out a huff of air, feeling defeated. She hadn’t meant to speak with Tom about it, since this was a workplace, after all, but he’d asked.
“It’s my dad. He doesn’t want to talk, and I miss him so much. I feel like I don’t even know him anymore.”
Tom lowered himself onto the corner of her desk. “He’s still the same, just keeps to himself more.”
“I know he’s worried about Joey, but what about me? I’m still here, and I need him. He doesn’t even remember that I exist.”
He studied her. “He knows you’re there. Of course he does. Maybe he doesn’t want to talk about it yet. You have to be patient.” The corner of his mouth curled. “I know that’s not your strong suit.”
“I shouldn’t have to be patient. He’s my father. We need to be together around something like this.”
“Sassy, your dad is who he is. He’s done pretty well in most things, you know? He survived the war, he came back and picked up his dad’s business, he raised you after your mom’s passing, and now this. With Joey missing, he’s moved to a new level of pain, and he’s doing his best to survive that as well.”
“But what about me? Maybe I want help,” she said softly.
“You’re both stubborn. And you’re both tough. One of you will have to bend, and it doesn’t look like it will be him. Maybe try to think of what he might want, not you. Maybe that will help both of you.”
It was annoying advice, but Tom was right. The trouble was, she didn’t know her father very well these days. She had no idea what he might want. Then it struck her that someone else might. That night after work, she stopped in at Jack’s Variety Store and bought some flowers, then she went to visit her father’s friend in 517.
“Hello, Mrs. Moore. These flowers are for you.”
“Why, thank you, dear. It’s lovely to see you.”
“I’ve been thinking of you and your husband. Are you busy? May I come in?”
The older woman smiled. “Of course, Susan. I just made fresh buns. Would you like one?”
The apartment was a bachelor, barely enough room for the two of them. Basically, it consisted of a sitting area big enough for three chairs with a small table between them, a television on a stand, a tiny kitchen, and a curtain closing off the bedroom section. Every time Sassy visited, she felt guilty for all the space she had in her own apartment.
“Hello, Mr. Moore,” she said as he hobbled into the sitting area on his crutches. He was a slender man, and his eyes were always sad, like a basset hound’s. Pain had etched lines around his mouth.
“Hello, Susan. Very nice to see you,” he said.
His wife helped him into a chair piled with thick pillows, trying to ease the pain in his spine, if only a little. What a life they led.
Tom was right. Sassy was spoiled.
Mrs. Moore brought them both a cup of tea and a roll, and sat with them for a little while, then she excused herself, saying she had to write some correspondence. She wasn’t fooling anyone. Anything Sassy and Mr. Moore talked about would be overheard in the tiny space. They had no secrets.
“I didn’t know if I’d told you that I started working for my dad a while back. In real estate,” Sassy began.
Mr. Moore’s pinched expression eased a little as he shifted a pillow. “You hadn’t. How is the old boy?”
“He’s… Business is good,” she said, letting her eyes crinkle at the sides. She wasn’t here to complain, but to help someone feel cared about.
“Ah. And he’s doing all right?”
How could she answer? With honesty, she decided. “We haven’t spoken much lately.”
“Why?”
She shrugged. “I wish I knew.”
A shadow crossed the veteran’s expression. “Your brother’s still over there?”
Straight to the point. Her dad used to be like that, too. Maybe they learned not to mess around when they were there. Just get it done.
“Yes, sir. Joey’s been there eleven months now. He signed up for six, but the marines offered some kind of incentive, and now he’s there for thirteen months.” She took a deep breath. “Actually, it’s worse than that. Joey’s missing. It happened after the Tet Offensive. Nobody’s heard anything about him since.”
He observed her for a beat, and his sympathetic gaze loosened her fragile hold on her tears. When it let go, she put her head in her hands and let them come. He said nothing, only waited, then he handed her a Kleenex.
“I’m sorry to hear that, Sassy. I really am.”
“What can I do, Mr. Moore?” she sniffed, dabbing at tears. “All I want is to talk with my dad about it. I need to talk with him. But he barely even looks at me.” She caught a sob. “I miss him so much.”
He exhaled, and she calmed slightly. “All you can do is try to understand. It’s not easy, I know.”
“I hope you don’t mind my asking, but do you get like he does sometimes? Remembering the war like that? Do you, I don’t know what you’d call it. Do you shut down?”
“I’m different from him, I guess.” He gestured at his missing leg. “My memories of the war are always right here, in front of me. I can never physically forget. I’m lucky that I don’t have the nightmares that so many have.” He hesitated, then he focused fully on her. “I do have memories, though. I have a lot of memories of your dad.”
Until tonight, Sassy and Mr. Moore had stuck to superficial topics. She asked how he was getting along, and she offered to pick up groceries or whatever. Sometimes they talked about Sassy’s childhood, because he seemed interested, and she loved to talk about those times. For some reason, they’d never talked about his past, and how he knew her father.
“I’ve seen the photo of three of you,” she said, encouraging him. “Dad keeps it on his desk. You and dad and another guy. You sure were young.”
He chuckled. “Young and stupid. Yeah.” A smile flickered. “I’ve known him a long time. You know, he and I went to high school together.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“It’s too bad you didn’t know him before. Your dad was a funny guy. And reliable. If anyone needed anything, they could talk to Jim Rankin. He could talk his way into a crowd and leave everyone smiling. He was Mr. Confidence.”
Sassy smiled. She liked hearing that.
“I don’t suppose he’s told you anything.”
“About what? The war? No, not really.”
He let out a long breath. “So he didn’t say anything about Italy.”
“I don’t think so. Why? What happened in Italy?”
Mrs. Moore breezed into the room, reminding Sassy that they weren’t alone.
“Would either of you like another bun, and a little more tea?”
“I think we’d both enjoy that,” Mr. Moore said, lifting an eyebrow when Sassy’s stomach spoke up. “Maybe a little meat and cheese on Susan’s? She must be hungry after her day at work.”
“Ham, dear?”
Sassy nodded gratefully, and Mrs. Moore headed to the kitchen area. Every movement she made was fluid and easy, almost as if she wasn’t looking at what she was doing.
“May I help?” Sassy asked.
“No, no, dear,” Mrs. Moore said, reaching for the whistling kettle. “I have it all under control.”
She tucked an errant grey curl behind one ear and slid her gaze to her husband as if asking a question. Sassy saw him smile slightly and give a gentle nod. It’s all right, she read in his eyes.
“You were asking about Italy,” Mr. Moore said.
Now that he’d brought it up, Sassy was dying to know. There must be a reason it hadn’t been spoken about before. She bit her lip, unsure. “Is it all right to ask?”
Mrs. Moore cast a glance over her shoulder, reading her husband. “Maybe Jim doesn’t want her to know.”
“Maybe not,” he replied, “but I was there, too. He can’t keep my story to himself.”
Mrs. Moore brought over their tea and sandwiches, and Sassy did her best to eat slowly. Mr. Moore left his food on his plate and waited for his tea to cool a little, his gaze wandering slightly past her.
“It was after the Battle of Sicily. Do you know your history?”
His wife settled in the third armchair in the room, keeping to herself but always there if he needed her. From the little table beside her, she pulled out a crochet needle and a skein of thin white yarn.
“I wasn’t a great history student,” Sassy admitted, “but I know about some of the major battles. I know about that one. You were there?”
“We all were. Me, Jim, and Marcus. That’s the third guy in the photo.”
It was interesting, being able to put her father in an actual physical location in the war. The concept of his fighting had always felt so unclear.
“Our platoon was in the initial landing, then we were sent to liberate some of the small villages beyond. The Germans and other fascists fled the scene. Most of them, anyway.” She watched his face soften, going back in time. It was as if his eyes got younger, but the rest of him aged. “That’s where all this happened,” he said, gesturing to his partial leg. “It happened so fast. Jim and I were clearing out an alley. It all looked good, so we, well, we forgot to be cautious, I guess. I recall very little except it was a hot, gorgeous day, and your dad and I were laughing about something. It was a good time in our lives. We were young and free, and we were living, at least for the moment, in Italy. The war was almost over. We had the enemy on the run at last.”
From the corner of her eye, Sassy saw Mrs. Moore’s needle slow. She knew what was coming, it seemed.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said. “Did you want to tell her about Mr. and Mrs. Romano?”
Mr. Moore glanced up, and they held each other’s gazes, then he nodded.
“You go ahead,” he said.
“Our neighbours, Mr. and Mrs. Romano, you know them?” she asked Sassy.
“Of course! They’re wonderful. What about them?”
“Your father and Mr. Moore helped liberate their village. They never forgot that. When they came to Canada, your father helped them find this apartment. He—” She glanced at her husband again, but he did not stop her. “He helped us as well. Really, your father has taken care of all of us.”
Me too, Sassy thought, smiling as she thought of the Romanos like that. She’d had no clue they were somehow connected. Wait until she told Marion. What an amazing thing, to know her father had taken care of all of them.
“I had no idea. That’s such a beautiful story.”
“Your father is a hero in many ways,” Mrs. Moore said.
Sassy nodded, a little overwhelmed. “He’s a great dad.”
“I’m sure he is, but there’s a lot more that you don’t know,” Mr. Moore said calmly, resuming the conversation. “On that beautiful, sunny day, as he and I were walking down the street, completely oblivious, there was an explosion. That moment ruined my life, but your father saved it.”
Sassy stared. “I beg your pardon?”
“I don’t remember much after the explosion, but I do remember looking up and seeing your dad’s face. He was pulling me back, out of the street. He saved my life.”
Her jaw dropped, and her mind went to the framed medal on her father’s office wall, as well as the commendation notices from the mayor and the army that hung on either side of it. Her father had shrugged off all her questions about them. Why? Why wouldn’t he have told her that he saved his friend’s life?
“I never knew that,” she said at last, her chest tight. “He never told me.”
“He didn’t like to talk about it. He was always very humble about that day. He never did any newspaper interviews when they asked, and I never saw him wear that medal.” He exhaled. “So I imagine that having his son fighting in a different war is hitting him hard. The news out of Vietnam is awful. Worse all the time, and it doesn’t seem to be ending anytime soon. Knowing your brother is MIA must be eating your father up inside, and I bet it’s bringing up a lot of memories he’d rather forget.”
“What can I do?” she asked, tears blurring her vision. “How can I help him?”
Mrs. Moore smiled kindly. “He knows you’re there, dear. Even if he doesn’t say anything, he knows. The war took them far away from us, and some of them lose parts of themselves over there. Sometimes whatever they lost pulls them back. All you can do is be there for him when he returns. Never let him forget that you love him.”