Once Upon a Time in Emmitsburg

He looked at me with a broad grin, and started shuffling some papers, "Want to do more," he said. "Good idea." He called over to a nearby staff sergeant, "Medlow me get that paperwork on O.C.S. training."

Sergeant Medlow smiled at me, he got up and started rummaging through some papers, and was back in less than five minutes. Colonel Haskins looked the papers over, he looked at a calendar. "There's one opening right now."

I thought, 'Why is it there's always just one opening and why does it always have to be like right now?' I asked, "Where sir and when?"

"Fort Benning," he said. "You'd have to leave this week."

I asked, "What about additional medical training sir? Can I get any more?"

I watched as he pulled up my personnel data. "There are several programs that fit your skill set. You'd have to go back to Fort Sam again. Can you do that?"

I replied, "Yes sir. I'm ready."

He looked me over. "Go back to your immediate superior, Captain Rabinowitz. Tell him you're gone for the rest of the weekend. Go home and get packed. I'll have Medlow do up your paperwork. I'll see you tomorrow 1400 hours. Not before, not later." He stood up and held out his hand, "McLeish," he started, "We've been waiting for this. Welcome aboard."

We shook hands. 'Waiting for this,' he said. What did that mean? I was on my way again, to something.

I was gone a longer than I thought. OCS was tough, but I handled it. When I was at Fort Sam I got a lot more great training. Being on active duty meant a couple side trips where I was expected to use what I'd been taught. We went to Panama once, and once we were in northern Arizona so I made a couple visits to Monument Valley and the Grand Canyon. I didn't get home for good until January 2017. I was almost twenty-seven, armed with medical training that would've cost hundreds of thousands of dollars in the real world, but was I really as good as the army said? I didn't think so.

I was afraid, but I put in applications. Fortunately for me the county where I'd gone to high school was rapidly growing; there were openings for what one man said were "bright young men" like me. Imagine me, a "Bright young man". Thanks to my army training and classes I'd been taking on line, and additional hospital training through my unit I got a job at one of the medical facilities in the city of Frederick.

The whole time I was away I'd been texting and face timing with Aunt Katherine, Brandon, personnel in my unit, and infrequently, with Darla and Amber. The girls were moving on; I was sure they'd forgotten me. Darla had enrolled and finished her undergraduate work at McDaniel. She was attending Hood College in Frederick where she said she was majoring in the "Humanities". She was dating some lawyer named Gary Hesson. She said she was serious about him, and they planned on a wedding sometime soon. Amber had long since finished Haverford; she'd gone on to the Wharton School at the University of Pennsylvania where she'd done something in Global studies. From there she'd secured an entry level job with the Department of State. Daddy had bought her a townhouse outside Washington D.C., and she'd met a fellow named Wren Lassiter who worked somewhere doing something in the Federal government. I was told they were making plans too. Yes, I guessed that train had finally passed me by.

Brandon told me he'd been to see Mr. Havermore at the garage. He'd confronted him about the partnership. Brandon said I should forget it. I didn't tell Brandon I already had, but I did thank him for what he did.

I worked hard at the hospital. I put in a lot of hours, and I took other peoples' shifts. I wasn't trying to "get ahead" or make a name for myself. No, I simply wanted to help people. I especially liked being around kids, I enjoyed seeing the moms and dads caring for their little ones.

Being in the medical field in the Reserves also meant spending time at a couple veterans' hospitals. Funny about that, in World War Two, Korea, and even Vietnam the very worst injuries were usually fatal. Nowadays many of the boys, and girls, who came back from the Middle East had injuries too terrible to mention, yet they lived, or at least were kept alive. I felt guilty sometimes; we'd go to a hospital, work with guys who'd sustained absolutely horrific injuries, we'd do it again and again, then appear one weekend to find out this or that soldier had finally perished. I was ashamed because of the relief I felt knowing their long suffering, often alone with no family, had finally come to an end. It pissed me off sometimes; out on the street most people, if they saw a uniform and said "thank you for your service' they thought they'd done all they needed to do. I said something once to a doctor where I worked. He agreed, but added, "Look they volunteered didn't they?" I didn't like that, but kept my mouth shut.

Once in a while I got news about the girls. We had several mutual acquaintances; more than a few of whom had some insight into what our relationship had been, or could have been. It was stupid, I felt stupid; I'd had an occasion or two with each girl when I might've been able to exploit an opportunity, yet I never had. Now they really had left me behind. I hated myself. I still loved them. Once in a while I'd see a dark Mercedes or an older BMW and I'd think, maybe it was theirs, maybe I should hang around, maybe we could talk, maybe have a date?

I got on the Internet and checked out where Amber lived; it was a nice place in a good neighborhood. I had stupid fantasies; I pretended Amber had a break down and I was driving by. I'd fix her car, we'd talk, we'd set up a date. I was an idiot. I was so lonely, my only relief was work, and my continued medical studies. In fact, I'd come to love the new technologies, and thanks to my proximity to the hospitals in Baltimore I could study with and under some pretty good medical minds.

While at Fort Benning me and some fellows had started traveling the southern circuit; one of the places I came to enjoy was Nashville. I never was much of a music fan, but some of the stuff was pretty good. I liked the old songs. There was one by Lacy Dalton... "Then one night in some empty room where no curtains ever hung like a miracle some golden words rolled off of someone's tongue. And after years of being nothing they're all looking right at you..." I knew nothing like that ever really happened.

I was working late one night, I remember it was a Thursday, and I was filling in for a colleague upstairs in I.C.U when downstairs in Emergency an ambulance pulled in. I thought nothing of it; things like that happened all the time. Fifteen minutes later I got a call. I was wanted down in Emergency. 'What the hell,' I thought. I went downstairs.

I got to TRIAGE and the nurse on duty, a young woman I knew said, "Somebody's been asking for you. They're in room 21."

A little befuddled I asked, "Who?"

The nurse knew me, she said, "Amber Wexler just came in. She was involved in an accident on Rte. 15. Somebody failed to grant right of way and T-boned her. Nobody else was hurt."

Oh no! Amber hurt! The nurse activated the door and I hurried inside. Darla was there. She stepped up to me, fell in my arms and whimpered, "Daddy and Mommy are in Ocean City. Amber's hurt. She's been asking for you."

I turned toward the bed, and there she was. God what a sight! A sight for her anyway; her hair was a tangled mess, makeup all askew, eyes wide with a terrified, maybe drugged look. As I walked over, I tried to stay calm, "Had a little mishap I hear."

I could tell she wanted to cry, but I couldn't let her do that so I quickly added, "You'll be OK, nothing to worry about." Lying like a dog I smiled, "I saw your doctor outside; he said it's all little stuff." I chuckled, "Just shaken up on the play." I couldn't tell her what I really thought, or show her how scared I really was. She believed me. I saw the look of relief in her eyes.

A nurse had followed me in, "They're heading her out for some tests." She whispered, "They're sure she has at least three maybe four broken ribs. Her left lung is collapsed. There're contusions where her shoulder harness and seatbelt were. Bruised heart, left knee looks bad, and she hit her head on her windshield."

I picked up her chart and very quietly asked, "They flying her to Baltimore?"

The nurse rolled her eyes, "Dr. Alomar has decided to keep her here."

I would've sent her to "University" down in Baltimore, but she wasn't my patient. Dr. Alomar was a good man though; I trusted him. I saw they had her on Tramadol.

"Tramadol," I said, "Good, I believe she might be allergic to Morphine."

The nurse smiled, "Itching?"

I smiled back, "I suppose."

Amber whined, "Timmy."

I got over next to her, "I'm here. You're going to be fine."

She looked up at me; talk about a sick puppy. She took my hand and whimpered, "You're staying."

I let her hold my hand, "I'm on duty honey."

The nurse touched my elbow, "Bob Anspoc's gone upstairs for you."

I thought, 'What a great group.' I took Amber's hand, "I'm here."

Darla told me, "I called Wren. He's at his place in Gaithersburg. He said to keep him informed."

"Wren," I asked? I'd forgotten.

Darla replied, "Amber's boyfriend."

I felt Amber squeeze my hand, "You won't leave?"

I looked down, "No, I'm off duty for a while."

She said, "Tell them you have to take off."

I pulled up a chair, and sat down, "I'm not going anywhere Amber." I actually had about six hours before I had to do anything, even then I'd be in the hospital.

I looked at Darla; she looked almost as bad as her sister. I told her, "Why don't you go home and get some sleep. I'll call you if there's any change."

She grabbed the other chair and pulled it over beside me, "No," she whispered. "We're all going to get through this together."

"Together." My mind flicked back to Nashville, Emmy Lou Harris; "Together Again." Here we were. I felt good, Amber was hurting, but I was at peace.

They kept Amber six days; one day in intensive care and then five more in SDI. After that they sent her home. I was in and out day and night during her step-down time. I liked the evening's best since no one else, except Darla was ever there. I got to meet Darla's fiancé; a fellow named Gary Hesson. It was a short meeting, a handshake, a hello, and a see you around. Amber's significant other never made it. Darla told me he'd been playing ball with his son, hurt his big toe, and could hardly walk. Amber tried to tell me about him, but I never paid much attention. I couldn't imagine a guy not coming to see the woman he loved because of a toe.

Amber's parent's cut their vacation short. They visited one evening while I was at work. Mr. Wexler saw me but didn't say anything. Mrs. Wexler waited until I was free, and after sending her husband home, took me to the cafeteria. I liked Mrs. Wexler, but didn't expect anything.

We each got a cup of coffee. She sat down across from me and said, "You love my daughter don't you."

Since I loved them both I wasn't sure how to answer so I said, "There're three women in my life; Mrs. Grummond, and your two daughters."

She smiled, "How diplomatic."

Mrs. Wexler was like a transitional person; there was her mother, Mrs. Grummond, then there were her two daughters. All four were beautiful. I could see the family resemblance so vividly it made me sorry. 'Somewhere,' I thought, 'there might be people who looked like me. I wished I knew, but the truth was I never would.'

I wanted to be a part of a family, a real family like the Wexler's. I told her, "Mrs. Wexler you have a beautiful family. I don't know who I love more. I love your mother; she's been special to me since like forever. Then there're your daughters; they're so beautiful and they've been so kind. All I can think of is how I want stay in their lives." I laughed.

Mrs. Wexler took a sip of coffee. She tapped her index finger on the table, "Nothing you've said so far has answered my question."

"Do I love your daughter? Yes," I said.

Mrs. Wexler looked into her coffee cup, "Its Amber, isn't it?"

I stared into my cup. "Mrs. Wexler," I began, "it might be Amber. I don't know. I think I understand Darla. I believe I know how she thinks. Amber confuses me."

She smiled at me; it was such a gracious smile I immediately thought of her mother. She drew me out of my reverie, "Carpe diem!"

"What," I said.

"Carpe diem," she repeated, "Seize the day. If you don't, you'll lose her, and you will lose all." She smiled and added, "Totalsieg oder völlige Vernichtung."

I knew that phrase, a professor used it in a history class, "total victory or utter annihilation". My stomach started to gurgle. I was afraid. I might hyperventilate and pass out! What was she saying to me? Was she telling me Amber loved me? Was she telling me I had...I had to...had to what? "Mrs. Wexler," I exclaimed, "you don't understand. Amber is..."

She interrupted me, "What don't you understand? That you're a fool? That you've got no confidence? That you're afraid? Why are you so afraid?"

I started to counter-interrupt, but she wouldn't let me.

She held up her left hand, "Don't interrupt me Tim. I know you. I know something about your past. I know where you've been. I know what you've been through, but look at yourself. Talk about bootstraps!"

"Mrs. Wexler," I said.

She got up, "I need a ride home."

I felt so foolish. I got up too, "I'll take you."

We drove to her home in silence. Mr. Wexler had already gone to bed. Mrs. Wexler invited me in. At first I demurred, citing my need to get home and get ready for my next shift, but she insisted, countering my refusal with her need to have someone guarantee everything was secure in the house. I acquiesced and we went in.

Once inside she led me to the kitchen. She showed me where the coffee pot and grounds were, and asked me to make a pot while she went upstairs for a moment. I agreed. Moments later she came down with several large books in her hands. I recognized them as picture albums. Never having had any myself, and only distantly aware of what the Cameron's had I was starting to feel uncomfortable.

Mrs. Wexler sat at her kitchen table and whispered, "We'll have to be quiet to not awaken my husband. I want you to see something."

I pretended not to notice the albums. I asked, "Coffee?"

She said, 'Of course. Fix us each a cup and then sit down here." She pushed out a chair beside her.

I fixed the coffees and sat down.

She pulled over one of the albums, "These are pictures I've taken of my girls. Lean in closer."

I leaned in closer as she opened her first album. She smelled like her daughters.

She'd brought three albums. They were all filed with pictures of herself, Mr. Wexler, Mrs. Grummond, but mostly they were filled with pictures of Darla and Amber. My first contact with Darla and Amber was when they were in middle and high school; the photographs she showed me took us back to their first beginnings. Mrs. Wexler's first comment had been, "This was me when I was carrying Amber." It showed her when she was pregnant. I had a funny feeling about that picture. Amber was inside her when that picture had been taken; it was like here was a picture where she was making someone who'd become very special to me. In a way it made me sad; I'd had a mother and she would've been pregnant with me at the same time, but I'd never get to know my mother.

Every picture had a story, and every story elicited questions from me. I learned so much that evening. I learned about each girl's birthdays, their visits from the tooth fairy, nursery school, trips with Mrs. Grummond and Genevieve when Mrs. Grummond was still very young. There were pictures of past Christmases, sitting on Santa's knee, Easter bunnies, dying Easter eggs, and Easter baskets. She had pictures of the girls using their easy bake ovens. She had God parents and pictures from their confirmations. I figured I must have just missed Darla's confirmation.

Mrs. Wexler had pictures of children's toys, and dolls, and tricycles, and bicycles, and school pictures. There was a picture about the time of their granddaddy's death. I bet they must have cried and cried. I learned about Mr. Wexler. I'd never seen him smile like that. Those albums were filled all kinds of happiness, a happiness he was every bit a part of. That man loved his girls. I thought about Brandon's father, what a difference.

I didn't get away until after 4:00 a.m. and two pots of coffee. Mrs. Wexler never put me on the spot again. She didn't have to. I knew what she wanted. I didn't know what to think; I only knew that things were closing in on me, and I didn't know what to do. I knew what I wanted though; I wanted someday to have stacks of picture albums like that, and I wanted to be in them.

Amber went home, but was incapacitated for several weeks. Her boyfriend was terribly busy with his work, and since Amber had no one else near her Washington townhouse she moved back in with her parents. Darla was home too.

For some reason they both found it necessary to pull me back into their lives. Darla liked the peanuts and the sirloin tips at the Texas Roadhouse, Amber liked the salads at Olive Garden, and I liked the crabmeat and oysters at a place on Market Street so we were eating out quite a bit. For me it was a happy time; the restaurant dining, talking about old things like their grandmother, and their childhood and high school days. It was like I was at home and a part of their family.

I knew it couldn't last; two things happened that upended what had been a too peaceful idyll.

Mrs. Grummond had Alzheimer's and had been losing touch with everything that connected her with her world. I went to see her several times. I'd only known her a few years, but I'd known her when she was vibrant and aware, and now, seeing the vicious toll this disease took on someone I'd come to love was unbearable. I was so angry. It was so unjust! She had given me everything, and now I could do nothing. Thankfully her body was falling away too. Near the end she was moved to the hospice portion of the "care facility".

I was there at the end. I'd seen people die. I'd seen families watch their loved ones in those final moments, but those had been other peoples' families. It was late afternoon; Amber, Darla, Mr. Wexler, and Genevieve were all there. They were all very tearful. I stood very quietly out of the way at the foot of the bed. A doctor stopped by every few moments. He saw what I saw; each organ in the old lady's body was gradually shutting off.

Presently her kidneys were failing. One of the nurses asked Mr. Wexler if they should get someone with a dialysis machine. He nodded affirmatively. A few moments later a smallish, slightly overweight youngish man appeared with one of those portable machines. He looked at Mrs. Grummond, then at the nurse standing by and said, "Look, I'm in a hurry."

I lost it. I started toward him shouting, "You son-of-a-bitch..." But before I got out another word I heard her. Everyone heard her. Mrs. Grummond had opened her eyes. She said "Timmy?"

I turned and looked. She was looking right at me. She recognized me. Her eyes just sparkled! I was lost! I started toward her. I wept, "Grandma Pauline!"

She smiled. She closed her eyes. Minutes later she was gone.

I was so embarrassed. I'd stepped out of my place. I wanted to run away. Still, I stayed. Crying I blurted out, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean..."

The girls stood there; they were in their own special, tearful, places each holding one of their grandmother's hands. Mr. Wexler was tearful, but still very stoic. Mrs. Wexler pushed past her husband and came to me. She put her arms around me. She hugged me. I started crying. Thankfully, she didn't say anything. Looking past Mrs. Wexler, above Mrs. Grummond's bed was a picture of Mary, our Lord's mother. It was like the whole area was suddenly suffused with a warming light. Pauline, that was Mrs. Grummond, was still with us, and she was comforting us.