Dear John

  "It was."

  "I figured. When you're in college, that's what everyone asks you."

  "Everyone asks me if I like being in the army."

  "Do you?"

  "I don't know."

  She laughed, and the sound was so melodic that I knew I wanted to hear it again.

  We reached the end of the pier, and I grabbed my board. I tossed the empty beer bottle into the garbage can, hearing it clank to the bottom. Stars were coming out overhead, and the lights from the houses outlined along the dunes reminded me of bright jack-o'-lanterns.

  "Do you mind if I ask what led you to join the army? Given that you don't know whether you like it, I mean."

  It took me a second to figure out how to answer that, and I shifted my surfboard to my other arm. "I think it's safest to say that at the time, I needed to."

  She waited for me to add more, but when I didn't, she simply nodded.

  "I'll bet you're glad to be back home for a little while," she said.

  "Without a doubt."

  "I'll bet your father is glad, too, huh?"

  "I think so."

  "He is. I'm sure he's very proud of you."

  "I hope so."

  "You sound like you're not certain."

  "You'd have to meet my dad to understand. He's not much of a talker."

  I could see the moonlight reflected in her dark eyes, and her voice was soft when she spoke. "He doesn't have to talk to be proud of you. He might be the kind of father who shows it in other ways."

  I thought about that, hoping it was true. While I considered it, there was a loud scream from the house, and I caught sight of a couple of coeds near the fire. One of the guys had his arms wrapped around a girl and was pushing her forward; she was laughing and fighting him off. Brad and Susan were snuggling together nearby, but Randy had vanished.

  "You said you don't know most of the people you'll be living with?"

  She shook her head, her hair sweeping her shoulders. She swiped at another strand. "Not too well. We met most of them for the first time at the sign-up, then again today when we got here. I mean, we might have seen each other around campus now and then, and I think a lot of them know each other already, but I don't. Most of them are in fraternities and sororities. I still live in a dorm. They're a nice bunch, though."

  As she answered, I got the feeling she was the kind of person who would never say a bad thing about anyone. Her regard for others struck me as refreshing and mature, and yet, strangely, I wasn't surprised. It was part of that indefinable quality I'd sensed about her from the beginning, a manner that set her apart.

  "How old are you?" I asked as we approached the house.

  "Twenty-one. I just had a birthday last month. You?"

  "Twenty-three. Do you have brothers and sisters?"

  "No. I was an only child. Just me and my folks. My parents still live in Lenoir, and they're happy as clams after twenty-five years. Your turn."

  "The same. Except for me, it's always been just me and my dad."

  I knew my answer would lead to a follow-up about the status of my mother, but to my surprise, it didn't come. Instead she asked, "Was he the one who taught you to surf?"

  "No, I picked that up on my own when I was a kid."

  "You're good. I was watching you earlier. You made it look so easy, graceful even. It made me wish I knew how."

  "I'd be happy to teach you if you want to learn," I volunteered. "It's not that hard. I'll be out tomorrow."

  She stopped and fixed her gaze on me. "Now, don't make offers you're not sure you intend to keep." She reached for my arm, leaving me speechless, then motioned toward the bonfire. "You ready to meet some people?"

  I swallowed, feeling a sudden dryness in my throat, which was just about the strangest thing that had ever happened to me.

  The house was one of those big three-storied monsters with the garage on the bottom and probably six or seven bedrooms. A massive deck circled the main level; towels were slung over the railings, and I could hear the sound of multiple conversations coming from all directions. A grill stood on the deck, and I could smell the hot dogs and chicken cooking; the guy leaning over it was shirtless and wearing a do-rag, trying to come across as urban cool. It wasn't working, but it did make me laugh.

  On the sand out front, the fire was set into a pit, with several girls in oversize sweatshirts seated in chairs circling it, all pretending to be oblivious to the boys around them. Meanwhile, the guys stood just beyond them, looking as if they were trying to pose in a way that accentuated the size of their arms or sculpted abs and acting as if they didn't notice the girls at all. I'd seen all this at Leroy's before; educated or not, kids were still kids. They were in their early twenties, and lust was in the air. Throw in the beach and beer, and I could guess what would happen later; but I would be long gone by then.

  When Savannah and I drew near, she slowed before pointing. "How about over there, by the dune?" she suggested.

  "Sure."

  We took a seat facing the fire. A few of the other girls stared, checking out the new guy, before retreating into their conversations. Randy finally wandered toward the fire with a beer, saw Savannah and me, and quickly turned his back, following the example of the girls.

  "Chicken or hot dog?" she asked, seemingly oblivious to all of this.

  "Chicken."

  "What do you want to drink?"

  The firelight made her look newly mysterious. "Whatever you're having's fine. Thanks."

  "I'll be right back."

  She headed toward the steps, and I forced myself not to follow. Instead I walked toward the fire, slipped off my shirt, and laid it over an empty chair, then returned to my seat. Glancing up, I saw do-rag flirting with Savannah, felt a surge of tension, then turned away to get a better grip on things. I knew little about her and knew even less about what she thought of me. Besides, I had no desire to start something I couldn't finish. I was leaving in a couple of weeks, and none of this would amount to anything. I told myself all those things, and I think I partially convinced myself that I'd head home just as soon as I finished eating, when my thoughts were interrupted by the sight of someone approaching. Tall and lanky, with dark hair that was already receding parted neatly to the side, he reminded me of those guys you met from time to time who looked middle-aged from birth.

  "You must be John," he said with a smile, squatting in front of me. "My name's Tim Wheddon." He extended his hand. "I heard what you did for Savannah--I know she was grateful you were there."

  I shook his hand. "It's nice to meet you."

  Despite my initial wariness, his smile was more genuine than either Brad's or Randy's had been. Nor did he mention my tattoos, which was unusual. I suppose I should mention they weren't exactly small and covered most of my arms. People have told me I'll regret it when I'm older, but at the time I got them, I really didn't care. I still don't.

  "Do you mind if I take a seat?" he asked.

  "Help yourself."

  He made himself comfortable, neither crowding me nor sitting too far away. "I'm glad you could come. I mean, it's not much, but the food's good. Are you hungry?"

  "Actually, I'm starved."

  "Surfing will do that to you."

  "Do you surf?"

  "No, but spending time in the ocean always makes me hungry. I remember that from being on vacation as a kid. We used to go to Pine Knoll Shores every summer. Have you been there?"

  "Only once. I had all I needed here."

  "Yeah, I suppose you did." He motioned to my board. "You like the long boards, huh?"

  "I like 'em both, but the waves here are better suited for the long ones. You need to ride in the Pacific to really enjoy a short board."

  "Have you been there? Hawaii, Bali, New Zealand, places like that? I've read they're the ultimate."

  "Not yet," I said, surprised he'd know about them. "One day, maybe."

  A log crackled, sending small sparks up to the sky. I brought my hands together, knowing it
was my turn. "I hear you're here to build some homes for the poor."

  "Did Savannah tell you that? Yeah, that's the plan, anyway. They're for a couple of really deserving families, and hopefully they'll be in their own homes by the end of July."

  "That's a good thing you're doing."

  "It's not just me. But hey, I wanted to ask you something."

  "Let me guess, you want me to volunteer?"

  He laughed. "No, nothing like that. That's funny, though--I've heard that before. People see me coming and usually they run the other way. I guess I'm way too easy to read. Anyway, I know it's a long shot, but I was wondering if you know my cousin. He's stationed at Fort Bragg."

  "Sorry," I said. "I'm posted in Germany."

  "At Ramstein?"

  "No. That's the air force base. But I'm relatively close. Why?"

  "I was in Frankfurt last December. I spent Christmas there with my family. That's where we're originally from, and my grandparents still live there."

  "Small world."

  "Have you learned any German?"

  "Not a bit."

  "Me neither. The sad thing is, my parents are fluent and I've heard it at home for years, and I even took a class in it before I went. But I just didn't get it, you know? I think I was lucky to pass the class, and all I could do was nod at the dinner table and pretend I understood what everyone was saying. The only saving grace was that my brother was in the same boat, so we could feel like morons together."

  I laughed. He had an open, honest face, and despite myself, I liked him.

  "Hey, can I get you anything?" he asked.

  "Savannah's taking care of it."

  "I should have guessed. Perfect hostess and all that. Always has been."

  "She said you two grew up together?"

  He nodded. "Her family's ranch is right next to ours. We went to the same schools and attended the same church for years, and then we were at the same university. She's kind of like my little sister. She's special."

  Despite the sister comment, I got the impression by the way he said "special" that his feelings ran a little deeper than he was letting on. But unlike Randy, he didn't seem at all jealous about the fact that she'd invited me here. Before I could puzzle over it, Savannah appeared on the stairs and stepped onto the sand.

  "I see you met Tim," she said, nodding. In one hand were two plates with chicken, potato salad, and chips; in the other were two cans of Diet Pepsi.

  "Yeah, I just wanted to come over and thank him for what he did," Tim explained, "then decided to bore him with family stories."

  "Good. I was hoping you two would have a chance to meet." She held up her hands; like Tim, she ignored the fact that I was shirtless. "The food's ready. Would you like my plate, Tim? I can go up and get another."

  "Nah, I'll get it," Tim said, standing. "Thanks, though. I'll let you two dig in." He brushed the sand from his shorts. "Hey, it was nice meeting you, John. If you're in the area again tomorrow or whenever, you're always welcome."

  "Thanks. Nice meeting you, too."

  A moment later, Tim was heading up the stairs. He didn't look back, merely called out a friendly hello to someone going in the opposite direction, then bounded up the rest of the way.

  Savannah handed me the plate and some plastic utensils, switched hands and offered me a soda, then took a seat beside me. Close, I noticed, but not quite close enough to touch. She propped her plate on her lap, then reached for her can before hesitating. She held up the can.

  "You were drinking beer earlier, but you said to get whatever I was getting, so I brought you one of these. I wasn't quite sure what you wanted."

  "The soda's fine."

  "You sure? There's plenty of beer in the coolers, and I've heard about you army guys."

  I snorted. "I'm sure," I said, opening my can. "I take it you don't drink."

  "I don't," she said. No defensiveness or smugness in her tone, I noted, just the truth. I liked that.

  She ate a bite of her chicken. I did the same, and in the silence, I wondered about her and Tim and whether she was aware of how he really felt about her. And I wondered how she felt about him. There was something there, but I couldn't figure it out, unless Tim was right and it was a sibling-type thing. I somehow doubted that was the case.

  "What do you do in the army?" she asked, finally putting down her fork.

  "I'm a sergeant in the infantry. Weapons squad."

  "What's it like? I mean, what do you do every day? Do you shoot guns, or blow things up, or what?"

  "Sometimes. But actually, it's pretty boring most of the time, at least when we're on base. We assemble in the morning, usually around six or so, make sure everyone's there, and then we break into squads to exercise. Basketball, running, weight lifting, whatever. Sometimes there's a class that day, anything from assembling and reassembling our weapons, or a night-terrain class, or we might head to the rifle range, or whatever. If nothing's planned, we just head back to the barracks and play video games or read or work out again or whatever for the rest of the day. Then we reassemble at four o'clock and find out what we're doing tomorrow. Then we're done."

  "Video games?"

  "I work out and read. But my buddies are experts at games. And the more violent the game, the more they like it."

  "What do you read?"

  I told her, and she considered it. "And what happens when you're sent to a war zone?"

  "Then," I said, finishing my chicken, "it's different. There's guard duty, and things are always breaking and need to be fixed, so you're busy, even when you're not out on patrol. But the infantry are the forces on the ground, so we spend a big chunk of our time away from camp."

  "Do you ever get scared?"

  I searched for the right answer. "Yeah. Sometimes. It's not like you're walking around terrified all the time, even when things are going to hell all around you. It's just that you're . . . reacting, trying to stay alive. Things are happening so fast that you don't have time to think much of anything except doing your job and trying not to die. It usually affects you afterward, once you're clear. That's when you realize how close you came, and sometimes you get the shakes or puke or whatever."

  "I'm not sure I could do what you do."

  I wasn't sure if she expected a response to that, so I switched topics. "Why special education?" I asked.

  "It's kind of a long story. You sure you want to hear it?"

  When I nodded, she drew a long breath.

  "There's this boy in Lenoir named Alan, and I've known him all my life. He's autistic, and for a long time no one knew what to do with him or how to get through to him. And it just got to me, you know? I felt so bad for him, even when I was little. When I asked my parents about it, they said that maybe the Lord had special plans for him. It didn't make any sense at first, but Alan had an older brother who was so patient with him all the time. I mean always. He never got frustrated with him, and little by little, he helped Alan. Alan's not perfect by any stretch--he still lives with his parents, and he'll never be on his own--but he's not as lost as he was when he was younger, and I just decided that I wanted to be able to help kids like Alan."

  "How old were you when you decided that?"

  "Twelve."

  "And you want to work with them in a school?"

  "No," she said. "I want to do what Alan's brother did. He used horses." She paused, collecting her thoughts. "With autistic kids . . . it's like they're locked into their own little worlds, so usually school and therapy are based on routine. But I want to show them experiences that can open new doors for them. I've seen it happen. I mean, Alan was terrified of the horses at first, but his brother kept trying, and after a while, Alan got to the point where he would pat them or rub their noses, then later even feed them. After that, he started to ride, and I remember watching his face the first time he was up there . . . it was just so incredible, you know? I mean, he was smiling, just as happy as a kid could be. And that's what I want these kids to experience. Just . . . happiness,
even if it's only for a short while. That's when I knew exactly what I wanted to do with my life. Maybe open a riding camp for autistic kids, where we can really work with them. So maybe they can feel that same happiness that Alan did."

  She put down her fork as if embarrassed, then set her plate off to the side.

  "That sounds wonderful."

  "We'll see if it happens," she said, sitting up again. "It's just a dream for now."

  "I take it you like horses, too?"

  "All girls love horses. Don't you know that? But yes, I do. I have an Arabian named Midas, and it kills me sometimes that I'm here when I could be off riding him."

  "The truth comes out."

  "As it should. But I'm still planning to stay here. I'll ride all day, every day, when I get back. Do you ride?"

  "I did once."

  "Did you like it?"

  "I was sore the next day. It hurt to walk."

  She giggled, and I realized I liked talking to her. It was easy and natural, unlike with so many people. Above me, I could see Orion's belt; just over the horizon on the water, Venus had appeared and glowed a heavy white. Guys and girls continued to tramp up and down the stairs, flirting with booze-induced courage. I sighed.

  "I should probably get going so I can visit with my dad for a while. He's probably wondering where I am. If he's still awake, that is."

  "Do you want to call him? You can use the phone."

  "No, I think I'll just head out. It's a long walk."

  "You don't have a car?"

  "No. I hitched a ride this morning."

  "Do you want Tim to drive you home? I'm sure he won't mind."

  "No, that's okay."

  "Don't be ridiculous. You said it was a long walk, right? I'll have Tim drive you. Let me get him."

  She raced off before I could stop her, and a minute later Tim was following her out of the house. "Tim is happy to take you," she said, looking way too pleased with herself.

  I turned toward Tim. "You sure?"

  "No problem at all," he assured me. "My truck's out front. You can just put your board in the back." He motioned to the board. "Need a hand?"

  "No," I said, rising, "I got it." I went to the chair and slipped on my shirt, then picked up my board. "Thanks, by the way."

  "My pleasure," he said. He patted his pocket. "I'll be back in a second with the keys. It's the green truck parked on the grass. I'll meet you out front."

  When he was gone, I turned back to Savannah. "It was nice meeting you."