“Yes, I do. You need time with your family. They care about you.”
“Yeah, right.”
“Maybe you can’t see it, but I can. And I’m getting out of the way.”
“They were more interested in what you had to say than anything I’ve ever said.”
“Maybe that’s because you have to be drunk before you’ll open up and talk to anyone.” She raised herself up and peered at Carolyn. “If they didn’t give a squat, they wouldn’t have come home every night or taken you on every vacation. They wouldn’t have moved your grandmother into a cottage next door. So don’t try to tell me they didn’t care.” She warmed to her subject. “They call every few weeks and ask when you’re coming home for a visit. You want to know the last time my dad invited me home? I can’t tell you because I can’t remember. The last time I saw my father face-to-face was more than two years ago.”
“You get letters.”
“His secretary sends a form letter once a month and encloses a check. Money, Caro, that’s what I get from my parents.” Her voice broke. Carolyn could hear her swallow. “Money’s the cheapest, easiest gift anyone can give. If I had a hint my father or mother loved me, I’d-” She sounded angry. She spit out a four-letter word and flopped down again. “I’m going back to Berkeley, and you’re staying here, if for no other reason than this might be the last time you see your brother alive.”
Carolyn could feel her shaking and realized Chel was crying. She’d never seen this side of Chel before, broken, in pain. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to leave.”
“I can’t stand seeing what I’ve missed, Caro, what I’ll never have. What you’ve had all your life and don’t have the sense to appreciate.”
She turned over and Carolyn could tell the conversation was over. She was awake for more than an hour, wondering what would happen in the morning. What would her parents say if they found out what Chel had done? Chel would learn there was no such thing as a Father Knows Best or Leave It to Beaver family.
When Carolyn awakened, Chel was gone. So was her duffel bag. Mom sat at the table with a cup of coffee. “Your friend left about an hour ago.”
“Why?” Had Mom or Dad guessed what happened last night and told her to leave?
Mom shrugged. “She didn’t say. She thanked us and said she had to get back to Berkeley.”
Carolyn avoided her gaze. “Is Charlie up yet?”
“I guess he’s sleeping in.”
After the first uncomfortable moments after Charlie got up, the two of them wandered the property, talking about all sorts of things. He’d kept up with friends and filled her in on what they were doing, not that she had ever been part of their group. He talked about the Marine Corps and Vietnam and how much he believed in what he was doing. Maybe he’d stay in and make it a career, but he wasn’t really thinking beyond the years of his enlistment. “How about you, Caro?” When he used Chel’s nickname, she knew her friend was on his mind even if he didn’t bring her up.
The whole family went to church Sunday morning. Charlie wore his uniform. He looked every inch the Marine, fit and confident. Rev. Elias announced to the congregation that Charlie was going to Vietnam. People swarmed Charlie after the service. Everyone said they would be praying for him.
Carolyn decided to skip Monday classes and stay home another day. Surprisingly, Mom and Dad didn’t quibble. Dad pulled out the slide projector, and they enjoyed pictures of trips to the beach and Colorado. That night, Carolyn dreamed of Charlie in dress blues standing in a field of white crosses. Awakening abruptly, she prayed it wasn’t a premonition.
Before leaving on Tuesday morning, she went over to say good-bye to Oma. They talked briefly about Chel. “That girl is headed for trouble.”
“You heard her story, Oma. Despite all the money, she hasn’t had an easy time of it.”
“She can use her parents as an excuse to ruin her life or as a reason to do better. It’s up to her.”
“Is that why you shared so much of your life story with her?”
Oma tipped Carolyn’s chin. “You’d better watch out for yourself, Liebling. If you don’t decide for yourself what you want from life, someone will do it for you. And you may not like the result.”
Carolyn thought that over as Charlie drove her back to Berkeley. They talked about Chel on the way. Carolyn abruptly changed the subject. “I hate the war, Charlie. I’m protesting it.”
His knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. “If Dad hadn’t fought, where would we be now?”
“We’re not talking about World War II and the Nazis.”
“We can’t all stay home hoping things will turn out right.”
“Vietnam isn’t our country.”
“We can’t turn our backs on what’s happening in the world, Carolyn.”
“I don’t care what happens to the world! I care about what happens to my brother. I’m going to do everything I can to get you back home.”
They didn’t say anything more until he pulled up in front of the apartment house. He tugged her hair. “Don’t become a radical.”
“Don’t be a hero!” She burst into tears.
He gathered her into his arms. His voice choked as he tried to reassure her he’d come back in one piece. He set her away from him and got out of the car. He opened the trunk and took out her backpack. Leaning down, he kissed her cheek. “Try to behave yourself.”
Smile dying, he looked at the door into the building. “Tell Chel I’ll write.”
Mom and Dad continued to pay college expenses, adding fifty dollars a month so Carolyn could pay her share of the rent on the apartment. When her grades dropped, they suggested she move back into the dorm. Chel said she wasn’t going back and have an RM breathing down her neck, telling her what hours she had to be in bed. But she agreed the apartment might not be such a good idea. Too many parties going on. She found a small, run-down American bungalow, furnished and within walking distance of the university, and talked Carolyn into moving in with her.
Carolyn sent her parents a change-of-address card and the new telephone number. Mom called and sounded furious. “We’re not sending rent for a house, Carolyn. We can’t afford it.”
“You can keep your money. Chel and I have it all worked out.”
“Worked out? How? She pays for everything?”
“I might quit school. Get a job. Protest the war.”
“For heaven’s sake, Carolyn. Don’t start rebelling now. We have enough to worry about with Charlie in Vietnam.”
“Which is precisely why protests are more important than classes!”
“Charlie believes in what he’s doing! Your father’s a veteran. How dare you speak against them! If you’re going to turn into some kind of hippy, don’t expect us to pay for it!” She hung up.
Carolyn held the receiver in her hand. She protested the war, not Charlie. And definitely not Dad. When had she ever said anything against her father’s service? The hurt rose up, gripping her by the throat; and then the anger came, blistering hot, defiant. She slammed the receiver down and went into the kitchen to pour a glass of red wine. When the telephone rang again, she knew it was her mother calling back. She probably wanted to lay down more laws, make more demands, throw around more threats to make Carolyn conform.
Shaking, Carolyn downed the wine like medicine and let the phone ring.
11
1967
The small house became a gathering place for anyone disenchanted with the system. Carolyn went to classes when she didn’t have other things to do, like canvassing the neighborhoods for signatures on petitions to stop the war, or attending protest rallies or giving blood.
As the fighting intensified in Vietnam, Carolyn grew more distracted. She flunked her midterms and stopped going to classes. She worried about Charlie all the time. She couldn’t sleep. Chel encouraged her to smoke pot, but that didn’t help either. Only alcohol worked, when she drank enough of it.