I walked into the kitchen. Caroline was standing over the stove. I could smell broccoli. I hate broccoli.
”Hi, honey,” she said. ”I heard they recessed the trial. What’s going on?”
”I’m going to wring that fucking dog’s neck.”
”I guess it isn’t good.”
”I’m sick of him pissing all over me. I’m sick of everybody pissing all over me.”
”What’s going on, Joe?”
”Nothing.” I marched through the kitchen and into the bedroom to change my clothes. I could feel pressure, a lot of pressure, at each of my temples, and my field of vision was narrowing. I felt a hand on my shoulder, a touch that usually comforted me. It didn’t.
”What’s wrong, Joe? Talk to me.”
”It would probably be best if you’d just leave me alone right now.”
”Leave you alone? Why? What have I done?”
”Nothing,” I said. ”That’s part of the problem.”
I’d spent part of the drive home working up a healthy anger towards Caroline. I had to provide for her, which meant I had to keep working. But I was sick of busting my ass for people who neither deserved it nor appreciated it, sick of people using me and lying to me, sick of worrying about whether what I was doing was right or wrong. I was sick of everything.
”I’m not the bad guy, baby. I love you, remember?” she said.
”A lot of fucking good it does.”
”You’ve been under a lot of strain. How about a hot bath?”
”I don’t want to take a goddamned bath. Now why don’t you do what I asked you to do and leave me the fuck alone?”
”How dare you talk to me like that!” Caroline said.
”I know you hate your job. I know you hate yourself sometimes, but that doesn’t mean you get to take it out on me. I haven’t done a thing other than love you and try to help you through a difficult time, and I’m not going to stand here and listen to you degrade me. I’m not your whipping girl, Joe! ”
All I could feel was the pressure in my head. I was losing it. I pushed past her and walked back into the kitchen.
”What are you doing?” She was right behind me.
I headed for the door. ”Where are you going?”
”Out,” I said. ”I’m going out.”
And that’s what I did. I drove to a bar in Johnson City called Fritter’s. I sat alone at the bar and drank vodka for a while. Then I asked for a shot of Ja germeister. Then another. I was there for hours.
It was raining when I left the bar, but I didn’t give a shit. I’d convinced myself that I had somewhere I needed to go. I drove across town, holding a hand over my right eye to keep from seeing double. I pulled through the gate at the Veterans Administration campus. I turned into the cemetery towards the long rows of white grave markers and made my way slowly, drunkenly, to the section where my father was buried. I got out of the car and stumbled through the rain until I found him.
Then I lay down on his grave and passed out.
I dreamed I was lying in a thicket, above a path in the Grenada jungle. I had somehow become separated from my squad. My face was covered in camouflage paint, and I was aiming a machine gun at the path. A group of six Cuban soldiers was moving towards me. I’d set out claymore mines in a ditch beside the path and concealed the wires carefully.
The point man moved into the kill zone. All that remained was for the rest of the group to get within range of the claymores. Once they were there, I’d open fire. When they hid in the ditch, I’d hit the clackers and detonate the mines. It would be a perfect massacre.
The last man moved in, and I started blasting away with the M60. I sprayed them with short bursts. The Cubans melted into the ditch line. I detonated the mines, and the earth shuddered. The Cuban guns went silent, and I moved in to mop up.
I heard the sucking sound of a chest wound coming from the point man. He was lying on his stomach in the ditch; his left arm lay severed two feet away.
I stuck my boot in his ribs and rolled him. He flopped onto his back, and I found myself staring into the bloodied face of a kid. He couldn’t have been more than sixteen years old, and he looked just like me.
I began to scream.
July 25
1:00 a.m.
Jerry Byrd found me out there in the rain. Jerry was a VA cop and army veteran I’d known for fifteen years. His wife had gone to my high school and his son had played ball with Jack. We had a good deal in common and we’d had some good times together over the years.
When Jerry woke me up, I had absolutely no idea where I was or how I got there. It was pouring rain and my teeth were chattering. He helped me to my feet and took me by the arm.
”Joe, what in the hell are you doing out here?”
”No clue.”
Jerry used his cell phone to call Caroline. He told her where I was and that we could pick up my truck the next day. Then he drove me home.
”What’s going on?” Caroline said after Jerry had left. I’d managed to down two cups of black coffee strong enough to make my tongue curl. I could tell she’d been crying, but I hoped she wouldn’t start up again. I felt bad enough as it was. ”I’ve been worried sick about you.”
”I’m sorry,” I said. ”I had a little meltdown.”
I’d always kept Caroline at least a stone’s throw from the worst of my work and my past. It was ugly and frightening, and Caroline was beautiful and kind. I was afraid I’d somehow contaminate her if I told her the truth, but more than that, I was afraid she might begin to think of me as weak and flawed.
”Talk to me,” she said. ”Please.”
”You don’t want me to. Believe me, you’re better off if I keep it to myself.”
”Joe, do you really think anything you tell me would make me love you any less?”
There was a long silence. She poured more coffee.
I sat there sipping it slowly, trying to decide whether I wanted to tell my wife that for all these years, despite all the macho bravado, she’d really been married to a scared little boy trying to prove to himself he wasn’t a coward.
”I don’t think I can tell you,” I said.
”Does it have anything to do with this case?”
”That’s part of it. It looks like they’re going to arrest Erlene Barlowe for Tester’s murder.” I was grateful for the opportunity to move the topic of conversation away from me.
”Do you think she killed Tester?”
”I know she didn’t kill Tester.”
”How do you know?”
”I just know.”
”How?”
I looked at her, deadpan. I couldn’t tell her, but Caroline is an intelligent woman. I saw the look come over her face. She got it.
”Angel told you she killed him?”
I nodded.
”And now you’re trying to decide what to do?”
”I’m just trying to survive right now. You know I’m going to have to go after Sarah on the witness stand if the trial starts back up. I can’t tell you how much I dread it.”
”Why is she doing this, Joe? What’s wrong with her?”
”Do you really want to know? It’s not something you’re going to enjoy hearing about.”
”Of course I want to know. I think I’ve earned the right.”
She had. She’d earned the right to hear about all of it. I looked at her and thought about Ma, about the regret I’d felt because she wouldn’t let me into her heart, and about the emptiness I felt because I’d never let her into mine. I thought about the nightmares, the anxiety, the depression, the nagging feeling that I was a pathetic coward. I looked at Caroline, saw the longing in her eyes, and knew I couldn’t shut my wife out any longer. I couldn’t be like my mother. It was time. It was time to open up.
I told Caroline about what Tester had done to Angel and what Uncle Raymond had done to Sarah.
When she heard what had happened to Sarah, Caroline scooted next to me and held me in her arms. As I felt her breath against my skin and smelled her familiar smell, I suddenly didn’t care whether she thought I was weak, because at that moment, I was.