She finally decided on a grilled cheese sandwich and apple slices for dessert. Setting a place at the table, she stood to flip on the light and then changed her mind. Her electric bill had been steeper than she wanted last month. Instead, she opened the kitchen cupboard closest to the dining room and held her breath as she stared at the fifty white candles she’d purchased for her wedding. In her mind’s eye, she imagined the church altar twinkling with lights, but she quickly pushed those thoughts away.
I have the candles; I might as well use them
. With a quivering hand, she pulled two out and placed them in the candleholders on the table. Then she retrieved her notebook from her purse.
She sat at the candlelit table, took a bite from her sandwich, and opened the notebook. She wrote
Ideas
at the top and then stared at the blank page.
Her cell phone buzzed again from her purse, but she ignored it. It was most likely Jill calling to tell her about Rick again. Jill called every evening, and the topic of late had been the show’s cameraman Rick. Jill was a great associate producer, but she was a poor judge of character. Ava shook her head.
How many times do I have to tell her that Rick is only interested in getting better assignments?
The buzzing of her cell phone stopped, but a few seconds later the ringing of her home phone split the air. Only a few people knew her home number. Only one person had called it regularly. Jay. They hadn’t talked since the breakup. Still, she couldn’t help but wonder.
What if it is him calling after all these months?
She swallowed the last bite of apple slice, feeling it cut like razor blades down her throat, and her hands quivered. She’d asked herself what she’d do if he ever called. Her stomach tumbled just thinking of his voice.
Ava dropped her pen to the table and hurried to the phone. She didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed when she recognized her mother’s number on caller ID.
“Hey, Mom. Is everything okay? Are you okay? Or…” Her voice halted when a new worry filled her mind. Ava pictured her grandfather’s thin frame. His white shock of hair. His easy smile. Well, the last time she had seen him, he hadn’t been smiling, but she didn’t want to think about that now.
“Ava, thank goodness you answered—”
“Is it Grandpa?” Her voice wobbled, and an ache as big as the Space Needle pressed on her chest. She knew she should have cleared the air with him. Life was so short—
“Grandpa’s fine, but I wanted to tell you I had a little accident.”
“Accident?” Ava pressed against the chair back.
“I was cleaning the winter debris out of the gutters, and the ladder wasn’t as steady as I thought. The doctor said I was lucky that my leg was the only thing I broke.”
“You broke your leg?” Ava pictured her mother—small, wiry, athletic, always on the go. She hadn’t seen her mom with even a sprained finger before.
“Do you have a cast? What about work? Do you need me to come down to Bend this weekend to help you out?”
“Actually…” Her mom’s voice trailed off.
Ava heard muffled voices in the background and the sounds of a doctor being paged over a loudspeaker.
“I need you to do something for me, sweetheart, but it’s bigger than just making a few casseroles and taking my dogs for a walk. Grandpa has that reunion coming up in Europe. He said this morning he’d be fine traveling alone—that he’d meet up with a group when he got overseas—but that’s not possible. He’s been shaky on his feet, and last week he fell in the garden. The doc says there’s nothing specifically wrong; he’s just unsteady. He can’t travel alone. I thought about asking your uncle, but—”
“Mom, hold up. The reunion’s in Europe? I thought it was in Kalamazoo or Buffalo again.”
For as long as Ava could remember, her grandfather took a trip every August to the reunion of the Eleventh Armored Division, his unit during World War II. The reunion was organized by division members who’d trained together, fought together, and met together over the years to remind themselves that what they’d done had made a difference, even if the world didn’t often know them or remember.
For three years her grandpa was one of fifteen thousand men who had soldiered on through Louisiana, Texas, California, and Europe. He’d seen frontline action in Belgium, Germany, and Austria, if she remembered correctly. Grandpa Jack had retold many of the same stories over the years, but Ava still had a hard time getting the dates and events straight.
“The division’s doing their typical reunion in August, but the battlefield tour is next week. They’ll meet up in Europe, travel to all the sites, and end with a large remembrance ceremony at Mauthausen concentration camp in Austria. According to your grandfather, it’s their last overseas hurrah. Their bus tour starts in Paris and goes through Germany and—”
“Paris? Grandpa’s going to Paris?” Ava cut in. The image of the Eiffel Tower at night, covered by a million twinkling lights, came to mind. Tana, her college roommate, had lived in Paris for the last few years, and she and Jay had talked about visiting.
“Yes, dear.” Then her mom started reading the tour brochure as if she were trying to sell it on QVC.
Ava knew what her mom was going to ask: if she’d go. She rubbed her temple, feeling an ache coming on. She couldn’t imagine traveling with a group of men in their eighties and nineties. Every tour would be done at half-speed. And if her grandpa was unsteady on his feet, she imagined the other guys would be too. She pictured one of them falling, followed by a visit to the emergency room in a foreign country. What if someone had a heart attack? Or got lost? How would they even communicate?
Then again, the stories could be interesting. There had to have been some close calls in battle. And then there were their experiences when they liberated the concentration camps. What did they think now, knowing their actions had saved the lives of thousands? Did they live each day knowing their actions continued to affect generations?
As her mother talked on, Ava sat up straighter, another image filling her mind. She saw herself in Paris, in Germany, at the concentration camp with her grandpa, recording his stories. She could be a younger, hipper, female Steven Spielberg, bringing World War II to life through the memories of those who’d been there. Goose bumps traveled up her arms and she rubbed them. Her heart did a double beat, and she looked at the blank notebook, now knowing what to write under the word
Ideas
. Her pen moved across the page: Veterans. Battlefields. Sacrifice. Friends reunited—Grandpa’s and mine. Europe. Paris. Concentration camp. Remembrance
.
“‘The reunion concludes with a memorial service at Mauthausen concentration camp, where the veterans will be honored by the camp survivors,’” her mother continued to read. “‘Thousands return to Mauthausen every year to remember, to mourn, and to celebrate their freedom.’” Her mom cleared her throat. “So what do you think, Ava? Does it interest you? Have you ever thought you’d experience a piece of history like this?”
“It sounds like an honor. I want to go, Mom.” She drew a heart around the word
Paris
as the words spilled from her lips. Anticipation bubbled up in her chest—the same feeling she’d had the night before Christmas or the morning of her birthday as a little girl.
“Okay, I understand. I could ask Uncle Mike. I figured with your schedule—”
Ava chuckled. “Mom, I said I
want
to go. I mean since you can’t. I’m sorry you have to miss it.” Ava rose and paced to the kitchen window with the view of the Seattle skyline, to her couch, and back to the dining room table again.
This could be
the
story. This could save her job and restore her bosses’ confidence in her once again. Not to mention it would be something to get her mind off of Jay and their derailed wedding.
“Well, I’ve already left a message on my brother’s cell asking him if he wanted to go. I assumed you couldn’t get off work. Or that you wouldn’t want to. I mean, it’s a group of old men.”
“I think I can, if Grandpa doesn’t mind. Especially after our last confrontation…”
“He forgives easier than you think, Ava. And knowing he’d have you there to travel with him would ease his mind. Grandpa’s concerned about my leg, but I can tell he’s even more worried about not getting to Europe. This is really important to him, and having anxiety at his age can’t be a good thing.”
Ava thought about how red her grandfather’s face had gotten months ago when he finally confessed to her what was bothering him. She also thought about the unkind words that she’d shot back, and small rivets of pain drilled her heart. Before their last visit, they’d never had a harsh word between them. Maybe this trip would take things back to how they used to be. Maybe she’d once again feel like Grandpa Jack’s girl.
Grandpa Jack.
She pictured her sweet old grandpa and his plaid shirts in various earth-tone colors. Up every day by five o’clock, on schedule for his first nap at nine. He wasn’t a real cowboy, but he always wore cowboy boots, grunting as he put them on. And sometimes, if he was in the right mood, Grandpa Jack talked about the war.
She remembered one fall evening when they had sat on the couch cracking walnuts. Ava had been ten or eleven and it had taken all her strength to crack the shell. Then she’d peeled it back and dug out the nut, popping each half into her mouth. Her grandpa had told her more went into her belly than the bowl. He would look at her and wink when Grandma complained there weren’t as many nuts for her cookies as she’d expected.
It was on that night that he’d told her about crossing the Atlantic Ocean on a big ship. Most of the guys had been seasick, but not him. While other guys lost weight because they were unable to eat, he had gained because he ate their rations. He’d said the extra weight kept him warm during the cold winter’s fight. At the time, sitting before the woodstove, cuddled next to her grandfather’s side, it had been hard to picture him so far away, fighting in a different country, outside in the cold. It had been hard to imagine that the eyes she looked into were the same ones to witness all of this.
Ava pressed the phone to her ear and tried to act nonchalant. Tried to conceal that she was smiling like the Cheshire cat. “Don’t say anything to Grandpa until I talk to my boss,” she said. “I’d hate to disappoint him.” She hoped Todd would say yes. She usually had a feeling when stories were going to hit it big. And the tingling at the base of her neck told her this one would.
Ava pictured herself and her grandfather in front of the Eiffel Tower—holding on to his arm to steady him—as they gazed up at the large structure. The twinge of sentimentality in Ava’s gut surprised her. Her dad had disappeared long before she had a clear memory of him, and Grandpa had been the one man she’d always loved. She often wished she knew her grandfather better, but distance had made it hard. And strained silence over the last few months hadn’t helped.
The buzzing of the cell phone in her pocket caught her by surprise. She silenced it and listened as her mom told her in greater detail about how her fall from the ladder had happened and how she’d spent ten minutes on the ground before her neighbor heard her.
Ava’s cell phone buzzed again. She pulled the phone from her pocket and saw she had a text. Ava expected it to be from Jill, on course for their nightly chat. Jill always called to distract herself from the pain of riding her recumbent bike since she was too lazy to move the bike into the living room where the television was. But as Ava opened the message, the words were ones she hadn’t expected to see. Not now. Not ever. Angry heat rose to her cheeks.
“Ava, can we talk? I’ve got a feeling I’ve made a horrible mistake. Love, Jay.”
Chapter Three
“A reunion of veterans?” Todd stroked his dark-brown goatee and furrowed his brow. “I don’t know. It sounds sort of
Saving Private Ryan
to me, except with old guys. Didn’t Tom Hanks and Steven Spielberg already cover that?”
“There are so many stories. I’m not talking about making a movie here. I’m suggesting sitting down with veterans and hearing about the hard stuff. And the good stuff. Filming them talking, remembering. You know, making daily news features out of them.” Ava adjusted the angle of her chair in an attempt to avoid being distracted by the stacks of books and papers on Todd’s desk. His office was larger than hers, but you would never know.
As in her office, Todd’s wall held a large bulletin board calendar with slots for the week’s upcoming shows, but on his, the shows posted had aired six months ago.
“My grandpa has been friends with these guys for sixty-seven years. Their armored division liberated a concentration camp at the end of the war.” Ava’s mind scurried to remember some of the stories Grandpa and his best friend, Paul, had told as they sat near the lake, fishing poles in hand. “A small group of them were the first liberators and freed tens of thousands of Holocaust victims.”
Todd straightened in his seat.
“Concentration camps always draw the viewers’ attention.” A smile tipped his lips. He lifted his chin and looked at the tiled ceiling. “Those segments last year on the Japanese interment camps got big ratings.” After a moment of silence, he leaned forward and focused his eyes on hers. “But I think we need to connect with the younger generation too. I mean, why would they care? Think of the stay-at-home, Gen-X mommy who likes to spend her morning with us.”
“I care. It’s my grandfather. I bet there are many people like me who heard the stories of the war but didn’t take the time to really listen. That could be the hook. My journey with my grandfather and his stories.” Ava hadn’t realized that was important to her until she said the words. Maybe this trip wasn’t just about Paris. Or making up for their last tiff. Or saving her job. Maybe there could be something more…for them…for their relationship. Something she couldn’t know until she journeyed with her grandfather to the places that had changed him.
Todd stared at Ava so intently that she felt like she must have something on her face. She shifted again. “It wouldn’t just be his story. It would be mine too.”