Josiah, Emergent

"Josiah realized?" Mattie said.

"Yeah. He knew she got up in the morning because of him. She just couldn't beat the drink. They lived in a hovel, falling apart around them. Have him show you the place in Greeneville, if it's still there. He described it to me."

Vogel was a lot nicer one on one, Mattie thought. Smart, too.

Vogel added, "Oh, his Aunt Dotty, too, was another mother-figure and good in his life. If you ever meet her. And she was not a blood relation. He hasn't had contact with her for many years. Oh, he had a slight acquaintance who seems to have mattered a lot. A girl he danced with."

"A girl he danced with? That Erin girl? They were just kids, it was one time..." but she remembered Mark somebody who walked her home once. He was the first boy to hold her hand. "Of Hope and Love" was the most important song of Josiah's life, probably renewing the memory of that sweet dance every time he heard or sang it. For him, it wasn't just one dance with another kid. It reminded him of when he could walk, when he had hopes of love and a future with family. His mother.

"Our minds can find meaning in little things. Especially when our emotions are involved," Vogel said.

"What was the shark?" Mattie asked, hearing Josiah returing in the hall.

"Yeah, that threw me for much of a year," Dr. Vogel said. "He said there was a shark that blew up in the water. He couldn't remember the mom at all falling and exploding. She was wearing a grey burqa, though. He was remembering the first Batman movie, back in the sixties. Batman is attacked by a silly-looking grey shark, a plastic prop, that drops off his leg into the ocean and explodes. He was telling me, said a shark exploded in the water, but I didn't understand for a long time," he said. He shook his head at his own imperfection. "I thought he was thinking of Jaws, but there were inconsistencies. His mind associates whenever seriously stressed emotionally. That's not all that unusual." He sighed and smiled. "Every case is a challenge."

Josiah came back to the room having gotten some water at the fountain in the hall. Moving helped, although his knees had stiffened in the sitting and without the crutches he'd left behind he'd leaned against the wall a lot. He found his seat again.

Josiah felt Mattie's hand on his. It soothed him, as the cool plastic tabletop had before.

"She could have killed scores," Vogel said. "You had to stop her, but... why didn't you just shoot her? You ran right up to a vested suicide bomber. My God!"

"I don't know," Josiah replied, "I thought the vest might go off if a bullet hit the wrong spot, there were a lot of people between us just walking by our vehicles, I'd have to shoot through them, but it was all so fast I didn't really think it all out."

Mattie and Vogel were quiet, and Josiah looked thoughtful. He was not panicked, not desperate. He remembered the actual incident now, his men doing their jobs and ultimately saving him.

"I didn't want so many people to die," he said. He was humbled by the magnitude of evil. The horror, as Kurz would say.

He looked at Vogel, and then Mattie. "She only killed herself and the one she should have loved most."

Mattie was silent, her hand on his back. "Wow," she thought. "Josiah was wounded because he thought a mother should love her son."

Her dad would understand.

CHAPTER 15: Farrow's

Josiah had therapy every Monday for a while, then every other Monday. Sometimes Mattie was invited, usually she was not. He saw Dr. Carl Morgan, a local psychologist with experience with veterans and PTSD, who was recommended by Vogel. "I haven't met him, but he has good references and I know some of his teachers. They like him." Morgan was funny; Josiah actually looked forward to his sessions.

It was October when Mattie arranged a date. "I want to see you in the dress blues." Josiah smiled; the blues were the reason a lot of Marines had chosen that service. He had his hair cut to regulation Marine length; he wouldn't be shaggy in uniform. He wore his ribbons, some for the first time.

She made reservations at a select restaurant called Farrow's Supper House. Very expensive, very small, requiring reservations, permitting no cell phones and admitting no one after eight, it was exclusive. The cook chose the menu for the evening, and only twenty-two people were accommodated; eleven couples (occasionally an exception could be made, usually for clergy or handicapped). It was only a dinner restaurant; the meal was served when the chef was ready after eight, and the reservations and meal were charged 24 hours prior. It was $200 per couple. The chef cooked the food as she saw fit, spoke to every customer, and her husband ate with them. It was intended to be a once in a great while place, and it was.

Mattie hemmed and hawed, making them late, and then she decided to drive and she couldn't find the place even though Josiah knew they'd passed it many times in the past.

A high school-age girl opened the door for them as they approached. Josiah thanked her as he went by. Within, everyone was standing at their seats. He suspected a rat immediately. Mattie's parents were there, with Cindy and Randy, and next to them, Dr. Vogel with a woman and both in Army uniforms (she outranked him, Josiah noted immediately). Father Phil was with Mattie's family... and Aunt Dotty! Sing and Cora were there. There were others he didn't recognize.

"You set me up. I must see Aunt Dotty," he said to Mattie.

"You must introduce us," she said, "I've only talked to her on the phone."

"Hello, Josiah," Dotty said as he came near. She hugged him then, and not quickly. "Why didn't you tell me you were hurt? And a Marine?"

He shook his head. "I don't know. I... guess I let family go. This is Mattie," he said. They hugged.

"Thank you for inviting me," Dotty said.

"I'm glad you're here," Mattie replied.

"Are you staying in town?" Josiah asked.

"With Mattie's parents, until Monday. We must talk," she said.

"We will. Sunday afternoon, maybe? Dotty... I'm so glad you're here," Josiah said, with a quiver.

The chef came out as Josiah and Mattie sat. She was a middle-aged woman with reddish-brown hair and a smile that wouldn't leave her features. She went from table to table, asking names and exchanging pleasantries. She clinked a glass for people's attention.

"Hello. Welcome to Farrow's. I'm the chef and owner, Millie Farrow. Your experience here is important to me. Now, if you would all bow your heads. Father, if you'd say grace."

Phil stood and said the prayer. Everyone said, "Amen," as he finished.

Millie looked at Josiah and came to their table. "It's an honor, Lieutenant, and you must be Mattie." Mattie shook hands with her.

Millie spoke to the customers then. "Ladies, gentlemen, this is Lieutenant Josiah Langer." She put her hand on Josiah's shoulder. "I ask that you NOT stand, Lieutenant. Some of you know him and are here to celebrate him. Four years ago, he was awarded the Navy Cross, second only to the Congressional Medal of Honor, for what he did one morning in Iraq," she said. She looked at a paper in her hand and went on, reading some of the medal decree. She finally finished, and everyone stood and clapped, even Mattie. He found out later that Mrs. Farrow often did such things, having lost her older brother in Vietnam.

Millie said to the guests, "I hope you like the meal. I prepare everything with the help of my daughter and two others, and if it is not as I wanted, I will refund you. That hasn't happened yet." She winked at the room and disappeared into the kitchen.

Josiah didn't usually like it when people winked at him. Mattie knew it and put her finger to her lips, shushing him before he could joke.

A salad appeared almost immediately after the chef disappeared. Josiah looked up into familiar eyes. He'd seen them before, once.

"Hello, Josiah. Do you remember me?" the server asked. She placed a salad before him. She was beautiful still, but no longer a kid.

"Erin?" he asked.

"You remembered! I often wondered what became of you. Then when I heard "Of Hope and Love" on the radio and saw the name I wondered if it was you."

Josiah started to get up, but Erin put her hand on his shoulder. Even a dozen years passed, her touch was electric. "No, stay seated." She looked at Mattie. "Hi. Josiah and I met once at a wedding reception. I'm Erin Farrow Jeppeson."

"Mattie Morrison," Mattie said, and the women shook hands. Mattie wondered if Erin realized what that simple moment had meant to Josiah.

"It gave me hope. That dance, I mean," Josiah said. "When I was in the hospitals, I thought of it. A good memory."

Erin looked at him. "It was the first time I danced with a boy. I never forgot you. I wished I'd given you my last name."

Josiah nodded. Mattie did, too.

"You're married now?" Josiah asked, smiling.

"Yes. And a son, almost three!" she said brightly.

Josiah smiled and shook his head. There was a pause, not awkward, just quiet. "You're a mom. Wow."

Erin said, "Millie's my mom, if you haven't figured that out. I'm glad you're okay, and I'm glad you're here. With someone who loves you." She looked at Mattie, hoping to convey some understanding. "I saw your name listed here, the medal citation, and I told Mom right off, 'That's that boy you saw dance with me.'"

Josiah said, "She was laughing, if I remember."

Erin nodded and put her hand on his shoulder again. She paused before she said more. "I must get to work. I wanted to say, I'm proud of you, Josiah. I'm proud I know you. Glad you're okay." She squeezed his shoulder and left.

Josiah looked at Mattie, who looked at him. Her eyes seemed brighter. "We were just kids," he said.

"So? Kids count, too," Mattie said. "She remembers your name and details. She heard of a hero and thought it must be you."

Josiah nodded with a little smile. It was as if they were alone among so many who loved them. They didn't care what others heard.

"I wonder if it's okay to wear the uniform. I'm not on active duty," he said, almost as an apology for all the attention. "I don't even know if I'm in the reserves. Probably medically discharged. I should look at the papers I have."

Mattie looked at him. "You have trouble accepting good wishes and caring, don't you? That woman knew you were special, Josiah. She saw something in you in one dance when you were a teenager. She assumed you were that guy, that hero, when she saw your first name. You saved dozens of lives, you're permanently handicapped. You are not a charity case. You're a man, a courageous one, one people look up to, you dolt! You're a guy women want to remember."

She shook her head and smiled before going on. "You earned the damn uniform. Wear it anytime you like, out of season, in. You don't need to ask the commandant. You don't have the RIGHT to wear it?" It was as if she felt the nation owed him something. The uniform, the medals, the expense, the training, the medical care were not eleemosynary. She really thought he was somebody. She thought he deserved everything.

No. He was wrong, and he realized it then. It stunned him.

She thought he deserved HER.

"You're not done, Josiah," she said. "You have a lot more to do. Kids to raise, balls to toss, songs to sing. People to help, maybe save. Me to love." Her eyes were direct and focused on his.

It was quiet for a moment. Her parents were eating and listening.

"You'd have made a great Marine wife," he said.

"If that's a proposal, it's a sad one and you're going to have to do better," she said.

He looked directly into her eyes, seriously. "It wasn't, and I will." He saw her mother smiling.

Erin seemed to be their server. She was about them, quietly serving each course, refilling drinks, asking quietly what each would like. She said nothing more to Josiah, but she made sure she was their server.

They were pleased to find filet mignon with bacon and a light white sauce, green beans, some strange mediterranean vegetable concoction, and potatoes romanoff which had cheese and were worth thousands of calories. Dessert was strawberry-rhubarb pie, the crust tender and flaky and the filling tart and sweet.

The evening was sublime. Vogel was his patented, arrogantly-comical self. His date was a Lieutenant Colonel in supply, of all things, and thought Vogel was a hoot and a holler. Mattie's father was laughing at Vogel's description of a case, a guy who claimed to be president, and who turned out to be President Lincoln in a reenactors group. He refused to come out of character during a week before a big performance, and someone sent him to be evaluated for schizophrenia. Phil and Mattie's parents proved to be good conversationalists, and Dotty was laughing about Josiah or Mattie growing up. Sing and Cora much enjoyed talking with Randy and Cindy, and Josiah wondered at their interest in marriage and children. He appreciated the gathering. What an unusual collection of people, he thought. Good people.

Misanthropy was forgotten.

He realized he was happy. Mattie was smiling, too, knowing her big evening had gone off without a hitch.

After coffee, the guests drifted away for home or wherever they needed to go. Mattie's mom kissed Josiah on the cheek, holding tightly to both his shoulders, as her husband shook his hand. Her father kissed Mattie's cheek then and said something to her. She blushed and said, "Thanks, Dad."

"What did he say?" Josiah asked when he found himself alone with her.

"He said, 'You're a good judge of character. We won't wait up for you.'"

Mattie was tan and slender, her skin fresh and freckled and wantable, and he wondered how he could keep his lips from her neck—which seemed longer and beckoning. How could any man? How did a man not want such a woman? She had a necklace of thin gold and a small diamond solitaire almost between her breasts. She was such a wonderful slimness.

They approached her car door in the dark night, stars spangling a moonless sky. She turned and looked at him, put her hands on his shoulders. She said nothing, so he spoke.

"You are everything I ever could have... " his voice failed, but finally he finished, "hoped." Unable to speak, he could only whisper: "I thought this life was lost to me."

She nodded, her curled hair quivering. He looked at her mouth, smiling slightly, as she said, "I love you, Josiah." She kissed him softly on the lips, and he put his hands on her hips.

"I love you," he said.

It was the first moment since his wounding that he felt whole. He held the door for her, closed it gently, and thought about his mom as he went around to the passenger side.

"Mom," he thought, "she loves me."

"Son, she wants it all. Family, you, kids, life. You can give it. You always could. A good husband. A good dad."

He thought, "Thanks, Mom."

He opened the door and got in the car. He looked at the sexy dress Mattie wore, the trouble she'd gone to get hair done, to notify the chef, invite guests, the whole evening. His knee stiffened at strange moments, his legs straightened awkwardly, but now, suddenly, wonderfully, something else did. He wanted to exclaim.

They had time. The night was theirs. What more should a man want? Was there more to want? He held her hand gently as she drove.

"Will you make love to me, Josiah?" she asked quietly.

He looked at his shoes for a moment. "You know," he said, "I may need more time than others, or help."

She smiled. "We'll make do. I've looked forward to it." She squeezed his hand. She hoped that, finally, they were they.

They made love that night. Other nights, they would have sex, but that night was only love. He discovered it was quite possible to enjoy sex when crippled and awkward. Sometimes it was funny. Sometimes it was frantic. She was careful, solicitous, soft, fun, and energetic. Oh, nimble, also. He tried to be, too.

Her body joined with his as he looked up at her, lit by moonlight sneaking between the drapes. He gasped at her thin silvery outline as she raised her hands above for a few seconds, as if reaching for the ceiling or stars or heaven, her breasts so graceful and the wonderful edges of her in the bluish light: a memory he would cherish and never share with anyone. He would dream of her that way. It was the way it's supposed to be, loving and loved, and his first loving sex.

"What should I do?" he asked her, looking up, thrusting gently. "I want you to love this."

She thought, "I found him. With all of his life, his hardship, his pain, his... goodness, he wants to be wanted by me. He was in there all along.

"Now he's in me," she thought.

They enjoyed that wonderful feeling of skin to skin, of fullness and acceptance, of touch, of being them. For a few minutes, it was all there was. Her hands were on his arms, his hands roamed whatever he could reach. She lowered her mouth to his ear. "You're wonderful, so deep inside," she whispered, full of him, feeling him. She raised herself then to look down into his eyes. She felt a tear escape her eye, course down her cheek, and fall to his chest. He saw it and felt it also.

He felt the rising up, the gathering of imminent orgasm. It was upon him suddenly, and she felt it within her and sighed at the warmth spreading there with his harder thrusts. She wished that feeling would never end. She shook then, for some seconds, holding herself tight against him. His arms were about her. She relaxed and lay upon him.

"Love you," she said.

"Love you," he said.

Love with sex made imperfect people perfect for one brief moment. "Love with sex is the best of being a man and a woman," he thought, "and a whole life follows. We come from the best of us, the most we can be, when there's love."

It was a new understanding for him, and he wanted to tell the world, so he did.

He told Mattie.