Authors: Yolanda Wallace
“Cool. Tell me when and where.”
“The Remember When Inn tomorrow afternoon around one. I’ll let HR know you’re coming. The owner, Bud Norman, has final say on all hiring decisions. He drops by every day after lunch. He’ll take a look at your application, ask you a few questions, and show you around the property.”
“So I’m brown-nosing the wrong person?”
“You don’t have to stop on my account, but I’ll let Bud know to expect you.”
“I’ll be there. Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me now. You haven’t gotten the job yet.”
“Details,” Jordan said with a wink.
Tatum wheeled to the bedroom and pushed the door almost closed. “Stay.”
Lincoln stationed himself outside the door and lay with his head on his paws, his eyebrows arched in anticipation.
“Where are you going to school?” Tatum asked through the partially open door.
Jordan raised her voice so Tatum could hear her in the other room. “Berkeley.”
“Really? That’s a great school.”
Jordan heard a grunt of effort and assumed Tatum was transferring in and out of her chair in order to exchange her wet sweatpants for something dry. “You don’t have to sound so surprised.”
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to.”
Tatum’s voice sounded farther away. Like she’d left the bedroom to go into the bathroom. Jordan hoped she remembered to put antiseptic on the wounds in her legs. The cuts were plentiful but, hopefully, they weren’t very deep.
“Do you need some help?”
“No, I got it,” Tatum said. “I’m almost done.”
Jordan opened the refrigerator and began to put away the groceries. She felt almost domestic. Was this how it felt to be married? Too bad this was probably as close as she would ever come to finding out.
When Tatum came out of the bedroom, Lincoln scrambled to his feet and trotted to the front door. He grabbed his leash with his mouth and turned to look at Tatum.
Jordan dried her hands on a dish towel. She had put away all the groceries, washed the canvas bag, and left it on the Formica-topped counter to dry. “Looks like someone’s ready to go for a walk.”
Lincoln dropped his leash and barked once in agreement.
“It’ll have to be a short one. I have to come back, take a shower, and get ready for work.”
Jordan tossed the dish towel on the counter and reached for her carryall. “Do you mind if I go with you? Lincoln reminds me of my girlfriend’s—” She stopped and corrected herself. “My
ex
-girlfriend’s dog. They look so much alike they could be litter mates.”
“What was her name?”
“Who, the dog or my ex?”
“Take your pick.”
“My ex’s name was Brittany. Her dog’s name was Blue, but I called her Yellow because she was afraid of everything that moved.”
Tatum laughed. “No wonder Brittany’s your
ex
-girlfriend.”
“You know, that’s the first time I’ve seen you smile for more than two seconds at a time. You should do it more often. It looks good on you.”
“I’ll get right to work on that.”
Tatum’s bone-dry sense of humor reminded Jordan of Papa George. She figured it must be a military thing.
Tatum waved Jordan over. “Come on if you’re coming.”
Tatum clipped Lincoln’s leash to his collar and opened the door. He nearly pulled her arm out of its socket as he dashed outside. Jordan walked beside them as Lincoln explored the shaded complex, stopping to smell every tree, plant, bush, and blade of grass that came within ten feet of him.
“How long have you had him?”
“About eighteen months. My aunt bought him for me. My doctors suggested I seek counseling after I was injured, but I’m not much of a talker. My aunt decided Lincoln was the next best thing. He and I are still getting to know each other.”
“That’s surprising. I would have sworn you’d known each other all your lives.”
Jordan could have said the same thing about herself and Tatum. How was it possible to feel so comfortable with someone she barely knew?
“Are you in the military?” Tatum asked, pointing to the dog tags dangling around Jordan’s neck.
“Oh, God, no. I prefer to fight my battles with words instead of a gun. These are my grandfather’s. My grandmother gave them to me after he died. Prostate cancer. Probably brought on by all the Agent Orange he was sprayed with when he was in the bush. I wear these tags when I want to feel close to him.” She curled her fingers around the worn metal tags. “Papa George died when I was a kid, but, this summer, I feel like I’ve lost him all over again.”
“How long was he in Vietnam?”
“A little over six years. My grandmother was stationed there, too. Not as long, but she got into some serious scrapes during the twelve months she was there.”
“My aunt served, too. Listening to her stories prompted me to join the NROTC when I was in high school and to enlist when I graduated. My father hated the stories for the same reason I loved them: they made me want to follow in my aunt’s footsteps.”
“Do you regret enlisting, considering what happened to you?”
“Not for a second. Where was your grandmother stationed?”
“All over. Saigon, Long Binh, Hanoi.”
“When?”
“From 1967 to 1968. When her tour ended, she thought about extending, but she and my grandfather decided to get married instead. They came home and started a family. My mother was born nine months after the wedding, so it isn’t hard to figure out what they did on their honeymoon. Given what she told me during the trip down here, I wonder if she was thinking of someone else the entire time.”
“What do you mean?”
“My grandmother said she’s always had feelings for someone else. Someone she met during the war.”
“She was in love with another man?”
Jordan shook her head. “Another woman.”
Jordan expected Tatum to have some kind of reaction to the response, but Tatum didn’t even flinch.
“What’s your grandmother’s name?”
“Meredith. Meredith Moser now. Back then, she was Meredith Chase.”
Tatum switched Lincoln’s lead from one hand to the other and wiped her palm on the front of her fresh pair of sweatpants. “Was she a nurse during the war?”
“Yes. How did you know?”
Jordan wondered if Grandma Meredith and Tatum’s aunt had served together during the war, but Tatum’s reply quickly put her theory to rest.
“Lucky guess. Most female service members back then were either nurses or secretaries. I had a fifty-fifty shot.”
“True. Grandma Meredith and I ended up here by accident, but she believes it’s fate. The woman she had feelings for used to live here, but I’m not sure she still does. Grandma Meredith has been looking for a couple of weeks, but she hasn’t been able to find her. I tried for a while, but I didn’t get very far.”
Not to mention her heart hadn’t been in it.
“You are in Dixie, you know. Locals aren’t very forthcoming with Yankees.”
“So I’ve noticed. I’ve tried to convince Grandma Meredith too much time has passed, but she has her heart set on making things right.”
“Did they end things on bad terms?”
“To put it mildly.”
“What was the woman’s name?”
“Natalie Robinson. Do you know her?”
It was a long shot, but Jordan felt obligated to make the effort. She had made Grandma Meredith a promise, after all. Tatum answered the question with one Jordan had been asking herself for weeks.
“Why is your grandmother looking for someone she hasn’t seen in more than forty years?”
“It’s a long story,” Jordan said softly. “I could try to tell it, but I don’t quite understand it myself.” She changed the subject for her own peace of mind. “Where did you serve?”
“Afghanistan. Kandahar and the surrounding regions.”
Jordan was relieved Tatum didn’t say Iraq. The conflict there had been reviled both at home and abroad. Still was, even though it was technically supposed to be over. The war in Afghanistan was equally tough for Jordan to swallow but was slightly more palatable. “Is that where you were…wounded?”
Tatum nodded.
“What did you do in Kandahar? Were you there before or after women were allowed in combat? I assume after.”
“No, before. I was there when women could serve only in limited roles. We could fly choppers and jets during combat missions, but we couldn’t go on sorties with ground troops.”
Jordan wondered if Grandma Meredith’s sortie counted as an official mission. If so, she was one-up on Tatum. “Were you a pilot?”
“I wish. I would have loved to have gotten in on the action. I was a translator.”
“You speak Arabic?”
“Now who seems surprised?” Lincoln raised his leg to pee against a tree, but after the half-dozen other pit stops that had preceded this one, he seemed to have run out of juice. Tatum tugged his leash and directed him back toward the condo. “I studied Spanish in high school, but one of my teachers said I’d make more use of Arabic. He gave me an hour of lessons after school every day for four years. His foresight paid off. When I graduated and completed compulsory training, Uncle Sam put me on a plane to the Middle East. I acted as an interpreter during interrogations and transcribed captured intel.”
Jordan didn’t understand how Tatum could have received such a catastrophic injury if she had spent her entire military career stuck behind a desk. “If you weren’t on the front lines, how did you end up in the line of fire?”
“My team and I were following a lead on a suspected terrorist hideout when we drove into an ambush and snipers began using our Humvee for target practice. All the members of my team were wounded, but my injuries were the most severe.”
“Where were you hit?”
“I took three bullets, one each to my shoulder, spine, and upper thigh.”
Tatum pointed out each spot. Jordan looked at her, trying to imagine the scars hidden under her clothes. Were they more superficial than the scars on Tatum’s soul or just as deep?
“How long were you over there?”
“Some might say too long.”
“What do you say?”
“Not long enough. I wanted to be there when the job was done. I still do.”
Jordan couldn’t decide if Tatum was brave or foolhardy. “Once a soldier, always a soldier?”
“Ask your grandmother. She’ll tell you. Most civilians—even ones from military families—don’t understand how it is. A war doesn’t end after one side declares victory or both sides sign peace treaties. It keeps going as long as the combatants draw breath. As long as the memories remain fresh. For me, memories are my constant companions.”
Jordan flashed back to some of the stories Grandma Meredith had told her during the drive from Wisconsin. “Are they memories or nightmares?”
“Sometimes, it feels like they’re one and the same.”
Jordan knew the feeling.
When they returned to Tatum’s condo, Lincoln stood panting in front of the door.
“I’d better get going,” Tatum said, “or I’m going to be late for work.”
“Oh, okay.” Jordan felt deflated. She wasn’t ready for her time with Tatum to come to an end, but she understood why it had to. “I’ll get out of your hair so you can get ready.”
“Would you like a lift to the beach? I drive a hand-controlled Mustang, not a fully loaded Beemer, but it gets me where I want to go.”
“I’m sure it does. Thanks for the offer, but it’s a beautiful day. I think I’ll walk. Thanks for the tip on the job, too. I’ll be sure to check it out.” She held out her hand. “It was nice meeting you, Tatum. Do your friends call you Tater Tot?”
“Among other things.”
Tatum smiled again. This time for much longer than two seconds.
Instead of spending the day on the beach, Jordan wanted to spend it hearing about Tatum’s adventures in Afghanistan and the challenges she faced after she lost the use of her legs. But unlike Jordan, who had no obligations for the next three months, Tatum had real world responsibilities she needed to attend to, and Jordan didn’t want to keep her from them.
“Maybe I’ll see you around, Tater.”
“Maybe.”
Jordan turned toward the beach. A summer that was shaping up to be nothing like any of the others she and Grandma Meredith had spent had just gotten even more interesting. Very interesting indeed.
“Well, you found me,” Natalie said. “Now what?”
Meredith hesitated. She didn’t know what step she should take next. She had dreamed of this moment for years, but she hadn’t imagined how it would play out. A plan, a strategy, or any sort of guidance would have come in handy.
“How about I buy you a cup of coffee?”
“I’m not big on drinking coffee in the middle of the day. Make it tea and you’ve got a deal.”
Natalie climbed out of the Bronco and tossed Meredith’s bicycle in the back. When Natalie closed the SUV’s rear door, Meredith stepped forward to give her a long-overdue hug. Evidently, the pain from their parting was still too fresh, even after all these years, because Natalie neatly sidestepped the attempted embrace. She opened the driver’s side door and slid behind the wheel. “Where to?”
“I’m in your hands.” After she settled into the passenger’s seat, Meredith removed her visor and sunglasses and placed both in her lap. She could tell she had a case of hat hair but hoped it wasn’t too bad.
“A friend of mine, Beverly Simmons, owns a little café not too far from here. We may be able to sneak in and out before the dinner rush arrives.”
“Sounds perfect.” Meredith sat back and openly stared at Natalie, taking her in. She shook her head in wonder. “When I left Vietnam, I never thought I’d see you again.”
“And now you’re here.”
“Now I’m here. You look—”
Natalie held up one hand in protest. “If you tell me I look exactly the same now as I did in 1967, I’m going to put you out of this car without bothering to pull over first.”
Meredith chuckled. Natalie’s appearance had changed, but her personality had certainly remained the same. “There are so many things I want to say. I don’t know where to begin.”
“Why don’t we start with the obvious? What are you doing here?”
“That’s an easy one. My granddaughter and I vacation together every summer. We pick a city at random and spend three months exploring the area. This year, we ended up here.”