Travelers Rest (19 page)

“Yeah,” Seth said, “and I’ve got a busy schedule too, you know. Physical therapy. Occupational therapy. The afternoon soaps.”

Jane smiled at Seth. He returned it. How different his mood was today from yesterday.

“So, Mr. Seth,” Sausalito said. “Time’s wasting. It’s your move, you know.”

Seth shut his eyes, opened them again. “All right, I’m thinking. I can see it all perfectly in my mind’s eye.”

“So can I, Seth,” Jon-Paul said, “and if I’m not mistaken, you’re going to be in trouble soon.”

“That’s what you think,” Seth countered. “I’m full of surprises. Now, quiet please while I concentrate.”

Jane moved back to the vinyl chair and sat quietly, taking in the scene being played out in the room. Seth occupied with the game, rising to the challenge, even animated by it. The cousins from Uganda, casting the occasional competitive glance at each other. Jon-Paul, standing calmly by the window, a tiny smile at the corner of his lips.
He knows what he’s doing,
Jane thought. And she was grateful.

Before Seth could call out his move, a man Jane didn’t recognize wheeled himself up to Seth’s door. “What’s going on, comrades?” he asked.

Sausalito looked up from his laptop. “Hello, Mr. George. We’re in the middle of a chess game here. Seth Ballantine versus Jon-Paul Pearcy. It’s a fierce competition.”

“Oh yeah?” George asked. “Well, how about if I take on the winner?”

Seth turned his head toward the door. “The game probably won’t be over for some time yet, but I’ll be glad to take you on as soon as I’m finished with Jon-Paul here.”

“Hold on there, Seth,” Jon-Paul said. “Not so fast. We’re only just getting started. I’ve barely had the chance yet to show my stuff.”

“Well, listen,” George said, “whoever wins goes up against me next. Or . . .” He paused a moment as he backed up his wheelchair and looked up and down the corridor. “Hey, Glen!” he hollered. “Come down here a minute.”

In another moment George and Glen were side by side at the door in their wheelchairs. “What’s up?” Glen said.

“You play chess?” George asked.

Glen shrugged. “Yeah, but I’m not very good.”

“Perfect,” George said. “I’ll play you while these two clowns are playing, and then the winners will play each other.”

Glen looked hesitant but Sausalito perked up. “That’s a great idea, Mr. George! But listen, why don’t we have a real tournament? Open it up to all the guys on the floor who want to play.”

His suggestion was met with an enthusiastic murmur of agreement until Hoboken said, “But you know, in the day room there are only two chess sets, and one of them is missing several pieces.”

“Some of the guys have laptops like mine and Jon-Paul’s,” Seth said. “They can play online.”

“A few have computers, yes,” Hoboken said, “but not many.”

“So we’d need to get a bunch of chess sets if we want to have a tournament,” Seth said.

“No worries,” Jon-Paul assured everyone. “Consider it done.”

“What?” Seth asked. “You’re going to go clear the shelves at Walmart?”

“Maybe he owns stock in Parker Brothers,” George said.

“Let’s just say I have my connections,” Jon-Paul said. “If you guys can find out how many chess sets we need, I’ll get them here.”

“I’ll find out for you, Mr. Jonny,” Hoboken said.

“Great. Seth, what do you think? Should we turn this thing into a full-fledged tournament?”

“Only if there’s a cash prize involved.”

“I’ll pass the hat,” George offered. “Ten-dollar entry fee.”

“Don’t be stingy, George,” Seth said. “Make it twenty.”

“Now you’re talking,” George shot back.

Glen shrugged. “My wife’s going to kill me for losing the twenty, but count me in.”

“Way to be confident, Glen,” Seth said. “You haven’t even set up your pieces and you’re apologizing to the wife for losing.”

“You don’t know Glen’s wife,” George said. “He’d have to apologize to her even if he won. This poor henpecked guy has to apologize just for living.”

Glen took off his baseball cap and swatted George. Seth and Jon-Paul laughed loudly. Hoboken closed up his computer and said, “I’m going to find out right now how many want to play. Then, cousin, you and I have to get to school.”

Sausalito’s face shone. “So when will the tournament begin?”

“Give me a couple of days,” Jon-Paul said. “Soon as I can get the chess sets here, we’ll begin.”

“Terrific!” Hoboken said. “It’s . . . what do you say? Game on!”

“Yeah, and I can feel the prize money burning a hole in my pocket even now,” Seth announced.

“Well, I have just one question,” Jane said, “and that’s for Jon-Paul.”

“And what’s that?” Jon-Paul asked.

“You’re always here playing the piano, and now you’re playing games. Don’t you ever work?”

Jon-Paul raised his brows. “Not when there are more important things to do.”

Jane smiled up at him. He somehow must have known, because he smiled back.

27

Diana,

Something wonderful is going on here, and I can’t go to bed tonight until I tell you about it. Seth and another guy named Jon-Paul have started up a chess tournament, and over the last couple of days it’s been going full steam ahead. Fourteen games are being played right now, and everyone involved has thrown $20 into the kitty, so at the end the winner will claim the prize of $560, which is nice but not nearly the best thing about all this. What’s really wonderful is that since the tournament started, there’s been a change in the atmosphere up on the fifth floor. That’s where Seth is, and of course it’s the spinal cord unit, so everyone involved in the tournament is paralyzed to some extent. Except for Jon-Paul, who isn’t a vet and isn’t paralyzed, although he’s blind (more about that in another e-mail). Oh, and Truman, the older man I mentioned who’s a doctor and who lives in the Community Living Center. Anyway, when I went to visit today, I could sense this air of excitement and expectation that wasn’t there before, as though this little bit of friendly competition has lifted everybody’s spirits. Including Seth’s!

When I arrived, Seth and Jon-Paul were playing out on the big screened-in porch, along with a bunch of other people (five or six games were under way, I guess). Seth and Jon-Paul are playing the game on computers. Two of the aides are actually making the moves for them. A few others are playing on computers too, though Jon-Paul managed to bring in some half dozen or more chess boards for people without laptops. Anyway, as I was walking down the hall to join them, I heard this huge explosion of laughter coming from the porch. I stopped to listen. Quiet, and then more laughter. It sounded more like they were having a party than playing chess. So when I got there I asked what was going on, and the aide who was making the moves for Seth (his nickname is Hoboken—I can’t remember his real name) said in that sweet Ugandan voice of his, “Mr. Seth is . . . how do you say it? . . . he’s cracking us all up with his stories.” I was stunned. Seth telling stories? Making people laugh?

Jon-Paul said (in a wink-wink kind of way) that Seth was just trying to distract him so he’d make a bad move, to which Seth assured him that all’s fair in love and war.

He was the Seth I used to know, the one who loved an audience, the one who loved to make people laugh. And the one who naturally drew people to himself because he was just so likable. Seth was enjoying himself, and I can’t tell you how good it was to see that. It’s a giant step forward!

But there’s something else too. I was talking with Hoboken alone later, after Seth was taken down to PT. He said Seth had asked him to wheel him down to the new guy’s room that morning. The new guy, Philip, just arrived from Walter Reed a few days ago. He’s a C-6, which means his injury is nearly as bad as Seth’s. From what Hoboken says, he’s pretty depressed. Just like all the men and women who are trying to adjust to their paralysis. So somehow Seth heard about him and asked Hoboken to wheel him down so he could invite Philip to join the chess tournament. Philip said no because he doesn’t know how to play chess, but instead of leaving right away Seth stayed and talked with him for a while because he could see the guy needed someone to talk to who was in the same boat. At least that’s how it seemed to Hoboken.

I don’t know whether Seth’s attempt at kindness made Philip feel any better, but I do know it makes me feel better, because when I first got here a couple of long weeks ago I never would have imagined Seth doing such a thing.

I know I should guard against being unreasonably optimistic, but I do think things are starting to turn around. I think Seth might be—as Jon-Paul puts it—beginning to take inventory of what he has left rather than thinking about what he’s lost. He can’t do what he once wanted to do with his life, but he can do
something,
and that’s what matters.

I feel much lighter tonight, much more hopeful than I’ve felt in a long while. For the first time, I’m looking forward to going to the VA hospital tomorrow to see Seth and the gang. Seth and the gang! Doesn’t that have a crazy good sound to it!

All for now, but more soon, I promise.

Love,

Jane

28

T
he next morning Jane stepped out of the elevator on Five and hurried down the hall. She saw numerous games in progress in various rooms, the opponents bent over the boards in concentration. But when she reached Seth’s room, he was alone in a wheelchair. Someone had parked him close to the window so he could see the view.

He turned to her when she walked in. “Hey,” he said.

“Where’s Jon-Paul?”

“He couldn’t get away from the office.”

“Oh, so he actually does work.”

“A little, maybe.” He tried to smile.

“Will he be coming by tomorrow?”

“I’m not sure.”

Jane dropped her pocketbook on the floor and dragged the vinyl chair close to Seth. She sat, settled her elbows on the arms of the chair and laced her fingers over her lap. She felt at a loss as to what to do now, since the plans had changed. She looked around the room, back at Seth. How could a person feel so awkward with her own fiancé?

“So—” she began.

“I’ve been sitting here thinking, Jane,” he interrupted.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. I’ve been thinking about the irony of it all.”

Jane frowned, pursed her lips. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated, as though reluctant to explain. Finally he said, “Well, I joined the National Guard to help me get through college, you know?”

Jane nodded.

“But I stayed in it for us. I thought it could help us financially.” He laughed lightly, sadly. “I actually thought it would help us.”

She took a deep breath, let it out. “Listen, Seth, you couldn’t know what was going to happen. It’s not like any of us knows the future.”

“Yeah, but still, I can’t get past the feelings of guilt.”

“I don’t understand.”

“It’s what I did to you, Jane.”

“To me?”

“I went to Iraq a perfectly normal healthy person, and I came back like this. It’s ruined everything for you.
I’ve
ruined everything for you.”

“No you haven’t, Seth. Please don’t say that.”

“But it’s true.”

“It isn’t.”

He closed his eyes as a pained expression crossed his face. “The first day you came here, you asked me to tell you that I don’t love you anymore. Do you remember that?”

“Yes.”

He looked directly at her, into her eyes. “I couldn’t say I don’t love you because I do. I do love you, Jane.”

She almost smiled. “I love you too, Seth.”

“But . . .” He paused. A muscle in his jaw quivered.

“But what?”

“I’m not sure that’s enough.”

She waited quietly for him to go on.

After a moment he said, “I don’t want your whole life to be devoted to taking care of me. You deserve more than that.”

“But what if that’s what I want?”

“You can say that now, but what about five years, ten years, twenty years down the line? You’d be a nurse, not a wife.”

“Other people do it and anyway, for better or for worse, remember?”

“That’s after you get married, not before. You don’t have to stay with me, Jane. I’m afraid if you did, you’d only grow to resent me. I couldn’t live with that. Neither of us could.”

She wanted to respond, but she wasn’t sure she could speak without breaking down. She needed a minute or two to compose herself, to put up the steel rods in her chest that made her at least appear strong, however untrue that was.

“Jane, listen,” Seth went on, “I’m sorry I asked you to help me die. That was stupid. I was just so . . .” He shook his head.

“It’s all right. I understand,” she whispered. “I know you think I don’t, but I do.”

“I wish I’d died when the bullet hit me—”

“Please don’t say that, Seth.”

“But don’t you see? It would have been so much easier.” He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “But for some reason I’m still here. So I’ve decided I’ve got to try to make the best of it. Playing chess with Jon-Paul makes me realize I still have my mind. Maybe that counts for something.”

“Of course it does. It counts for a great deal.”

“So . . .” Another sigh. “I’ve got to concentrate on getting better, whatever that means.”

She nodded and leaned forward in the chair. “I’m glad, Seth. I’m really glad.”