"Glad to see you, Ted." I shook his hand and sat facing him on the other side of the library's table. He didn't speak, so I added, "Why so quiet?"
Ted hid behind his book. "I was just thinking—"
"About what?" Usually, when Ted thought behind a book, it was something serious.
"About us..." Ted's muffled voice trailed, and he lowered his book. "Are we... brothers... or something more?"
Did he seriously ask me something I had been wondering myself for years? He did, didn't he?
Was it okay that I didn't have an answer?
***
The memory passes through my mind, calming me, and I rise slowly to my feet, wobbling slightly under my cane. Why did I get upset again? What was it about Laffey that triggered this episode? Do I want to find out?
I turn and start back down Laffey's deck. My eyes wander to one of the narrow openings, and I enter it, rubbing my eyes to see where I am.
The small theater is air-conditioned and carries five rows of chairs. Before them is a large screen that reads, "Next Program Starts in Two Minutes."
Why not? I sit in the front row and stretch my cane across my lap. Only a few people are here with me, but they seem just as intrigued.
The film starts, and I see the date: April 16th, 1945, the Battle of Okinawa. In the eighty-minute struggle, six kamikazes and four bombs hit Laffey, yet she still floats.
My chest tightens as the Judies on the screen crash into Laffey, badly damaging Gun Mount Fifty-Three. I want to look away but can't. This is very interesting. Laffey is the Ship That Would Not Die. The Captain, Becton, steers her like a champion during the battle.
I sit in awe once the film ends. Laffey's lost thirty-two men, and seventy-one are wounded—remarkable, considering the condition she's in. I have never been so impressed by a non-aircraft carrier. I think I've found another go-to ship besides Valley Forge.
"Amazing, isn't it?" I nearly jump at the familiar voice but stop myself.
Temple hovers over me, a grin stretched across his face.
Shoot, how long have I been in this theater? I start to stand, but Temple holds out his hand. "No, you're fine. I thought you would find Laffey's story interesting, considering you're trying to avoid Yorktown. Cosgrove told me you've been here since he showed you the Flight Deck."
That Cosgrove... Does he tend to look out for other Volunteers?
I clear my throat and tell Temple, "It's not Yorktown I'm trying to avoid, sir, but..." My voice trails, so Temple finishes for me:
"The Corsair."
I sigh—"Yes, the Corsair"—and lower my head.
Temple sits beside me. "Tell me, Bill, who was your friend?" He grasps my shoulder and smiles gently. I like this guy, but Ted is between Natalie and me. It's been like this since Natalie was little. No PTSD counselor received mine and Ted's story. Temple won't, either.
I shake my head. "All you need to know, sir, is that his name was Ted."
Temple nods. "Ted."
"We called him 'Roosevelt,'" I unexpectedly add.
"'Roosevelt,'" Temple chuckles. "I like that. Anyway, your daughter is waiting on the pier with the golf cart driver to pick you up."
Wait, is it already time to go home? But I saw nothing of this place except the Volunteer Lounge, Flight Deck, and Laffey.
"There's still plenty of time to learn where you're comfortable," Temple adds, cocking an eyebrow. "Unless you want to quit after today?"
Oh, great, here we are—back with the toying.
"Just take me to my daughter," I mumble.
"Yes, sir." Temple salutes and helps me stand. On our way out of the theater, he asks, "So, this Ted of yours... Were you childhood friends?"
"We were," I explain before remembering that our history is confidential. "I mean—it's not okay to toy with someone still grieving."
"Unless we're trying to help," Temple explains, shrugging. "Seventy years is a long time to hold onto this guilt." We step over a knee knocker and stop outside the theater's narrow hallway. "Look," Temple adds, "all I'm saying is that your daughter doesn't want you to... you know... pass with this memory still haunting you."
I freeze. Is that how Natalie feels? I'm ninety-two years old, yes—my time is ending—but I've never considered Natalie's feelings during this process. It's always me, me, and me. Natalie didn't know Ted like I did, though; he once fell down a ladder during General Quarters and ended up in Sick Bay with a concussion, but he was always a little clumsy.
After that incident, I swore I would protect him for the remainder of our service. Ted did the same when I crashed my damaged Corsair on Valley Forge's Flight Deck.
Let it go, Bill; these are memories—not the present. My dear daughter's waiting for me.
***
As Temple mentioned, Natalie's on the pier beside the ramp we walked up earlier in the golf cart, her nails in her mouth. She drops her hand when she sees me and slips out of the cart, waving. "Hey, Dad!"
I know it's only been three hours, but it feels like a century since I've seen her. I notice she's carrying a bag from Groucho's, and my mouth waters. I will admit that South Carolina has lovely delis. They bring back memories of my boyhood, when life was simpler.
I kiss Natalie's cheek and slip into the cart, placing my hand on my hearing aid. I turn it up and catch Natalie saying to Temple, "How'd he do today, sir?"
My cheeks puff out, but I relax my face when Temple replies, "Not bad, considering what he's been through. I think he'll fit in here fine, Natalie. We merely need to help him see beyond the Corsair."
How long has Natalie been in touch with him and known about that Corsair?
"I hope he stays," Temple includes. "He'd be a great asset to the team. Try to help him realize that, Natalie."
She nods, and I lower the volume on my aid, my mind full of complicated thoughts that I thought weren't allowed for people my age. Natalie and I don't speak on our way down the pier, but Natalie shoots me friendly, determined looks and offers me a sandwich. It isn't until we're driving down Patriots Point Road toward the Cooper River Bridge that I decide to ask.
Caught in lunch traffic on the bridge, I clear my throat. "Natalie, how long have you known about Temple and that Corsair?"
She doesn't answer at first and examines the Cooper River, including the ocean past Fort Sumter at the end of it. Finally, she sighs. "Since the week before we moved down here. I visited Intrepid and told the volunteers there that we were moving soon. They recommended Patriots Point. I went onto their website that night and emailed Temple."
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Because I knew you would say no."
She knows me all too well. I finish my second sandwich, and we veer off the highway onto Morrison Drive just outside Downtown Charleston. Old, historic houses and buildings surround us, as does a railroad.
"Temple said you did well today," Natalie adds when we stop at an intersection and turn right, crossing the railroad.
I know. I heard, I think.
"Patriots Point is a great place for you, Daddy," Natalie says. "It's a new beginning. I have my book club, and you have others you can relate to."
Yeah, right. How many of those veterans shot down their best friend?
Natalie caresses my hand. "Just think about it, Daddy."
We stop behind a truck at another intersection beside a Circle K. It's clear on the other side, and my eyes catch a medium-sized, black dog trotting onto the road. He looks like a lab, and I wonder if he's a stray. There's no neighborhood around here, just a railroad and the gas station.
My heart flips as I watch the dog and the light turns green. The truck will stop for him, right?
That son of a bitch! The truck's driver rolls forward, and his right front tire catches the dog's back leg.
The animal flips onto the road and curls into a ball, and that son of a bitch who hit him drives forward—through the intersection. How could someone be so heartless?
"Oh no!" I yell as images of when I crashed my plane onto Valley Forge re-enter my head. "Stop the car!" I demand, reaching for the steering wheel and hazard lights.
"Why?" I get from Natalie. "You know I don't like dogs, Daddy."
I glare. I know Natalie doesn't like dogs, but seriously. "Don't be that son of a bitch who drove off," I argue, turning on the hazard lights. "Animals are living beings, too." Natalie and I stop behind the still-curled-up dog. "Let's at least get it to the vet."
Natalie hesitates before holding up one finger. "The vet, and that's it."
She can still read my mind, but arguing is currently the least of my worries.
The cars behind us honk—a few drive around us—when Natalie and I exit the vehicle and open the trunk. If they want to be sons of bitches, that's their problem, not Natalie and I's. I won't leave a suffering dog in the middle of the road during lunch hour.
Even though she shivers, Natalie removes a blanket from the trunk and nods at me. We approach the dog, who looks up from licking his injured leg. Blood's on the road, but it's less than I thought. Up close, it looks like the leg was clipped, not shattered.
"Hey, buddy," I softly say, leaning on my cane.
Natalie kneels and opens the blanket.
The dog glances at her before me. I don't see a collar around his black neck, so I guess he is a stray unless he's chipped. The vet would know.
Natalie gently puts the dog on the blanket and wraps it around him. When she picks him up, the dog whimpers.
I rub him behind his floppy ears and say, "You're okay, buddy. We won't hurt you, unlike that guy." I still can't believe how little man cares about animals at times. He clearly saw the dog, hit him, and drove off.
The dog whimpers again before licking my hand; his tail wags on the blanket's other end.
Cars continue honking and driving around Natalie and me, but we open the back door and gently set the dog down on the seat between the driver and passenger seats. My Navy brothers and I would do this if we accidentally hurt someone. I couldn't save Ted, but I could save this dog.
Once the animal is secure, Natalie and I climb back into the car and buckle up. Natalie pulls up the nearest emergency vet on her phone and turns off her hazard lights.
I comfortably rub the dog's head while we wait for the light to change. "Do you have a family, buddy?" I question. "What are you doing running astray around here?"
The dog whimpers again but fixes his big, brown eyes on me, not Natalie. I think he senses that she doesn't like dogs.
The light changes.
Natalie drives through the intersection toward North Charleston and the closest vet. "You're a good man, Daddy," she admits, smiling feebly. "This is how I know you'll do well at Patriots Points. The world needs people like you, who know how to be friends."
"Hey," I say, continuing to pat the dog, "I learned from the best." I rest my free hand on the locket in my pocket and meet the animal's eyes. "That's what I'll name you, buddy—Teddy."
The dog gives me a funny look before lying his head on his front paws.
The knot in my chest loosens for the first time in seventy years, and I finish with, "Ted, for short."