Natalie waits until we're in the car and on our way home before asking, "Who did you meet today?"
I cross my arms but uncross them when Teddy's cone appears over the dashboard. "She was a woman about your age who claimed that the name Ted is familiar."
Natalie freezes for a second, and I see a smile tugging at her lips. "What did she look like?"
I caress my chin as I try to remember the woman. "She was your size, maybe a few inches taller, and had eyes like my Ted."
"Oh!" Natalie holds up one finger. "I knew that was her!"
Her? What's Natalie talking about?
"Her name is Tallulah," Natalie continues. "I met her at my book club last weekend. She just recently moved down here, too. Nice lady. She was very interested in naval history and was excited when I told her about you."
I arch an eyebrow. "You told her about me?" My cheeks flush. "What about Ted?"
Natalie turns onto the familiar road where Teddy was hit, and a flashback of that day invades my mind (that damn driver).
"I didn't go into details," Natalie explains. She pushes Teddy into the back seat. "Down, boy. I did tell her his name, though, so that's probably what she referred to."
I giggle hauntingly. "I sometimes wonder about the friends you make, Nat."
"Why?" she questions. "She was exceptional. I told her she could learn much from you if willing."
I cross my arms and glance out the window at the familiar gas station behind the intersection. "Why doesn't she ask someone else?" I'm quiet the rest of the way to the house. Once there, I sit on the back patio with Teddy and let the mosquitos eat me alive while I ponder everything that's happened today.
Natalie dips into the house, and I haven't seen her for about ten minutes.
"What a morning," I grumble, drawing my locket and opening it. "Natalie's already made friends, Teddy, and I'm…" I lower my head. "I'm nothing but an old geezer who can't let a best friend go."
Teddy whines and sits before me. He lifts his paw and rests it on my thigh, his dark eyes staring into my broken demeanor.
"I can't let him go, Teddy," I admit. "I just can't. Natalie's tried so hard, and I've failed her." At this point, I'm surprised Natalie hasn't left me to fend for myself. I'm well enough not to go into a nursing home, but I have no wife and no Ted—only her. I've stolen Natalie's life from her because of my grief.
Teddy gives me an It's not your fault look.
"No, Teddy," I reply. "It is. This is all my fault." I wouldn't be who I am today if I had just recognized that damn airplane. My world shattered, and I've never rebuilt it. I didn't attend Ted's funeral—I couldn't. I moped in my bedroom and never hung out with my brothers again. That was another horrible mistake I made.
Before I break the Navy rule again, the back door opens, and Natalie appears in the doorway, carrying a bucket of popcorn. She trots down the stairs and approaches me. "Daddy, why are you still out here? We're supposed to watch Thirty Seconds Over Tokyo and The Fighting Lady. I've got Thirty Seconds Over Tokyo ready."
"I don't wanna," I grumble like a little kid. If I couldn't handle the Doolittle Raid at Patriots Point, there's no way I can handle Thirty Seconds Over Tokyo. Natalie should let it go and leave Teddy and me alone.
Without warning, Natalie drops the popcorn, spilling it all over the back patio. A few pieces bounce into the path that leads to the backyard. Natalie's face flushes, and she puts her foot down. "All right, Daddy, I have had it with you!"
I shiver. It's been a while since I've seen Natalie irritated.
She grips the back of one of the patio's chairs, and her fists turn white. "I've tried to help you for forty damn years! Forty damn years, and you still won't listen to me!"
"You didn't know Ted like I did!" I find myself fighting back, and I pull Teddy closer.
Natalie points at him. "If you don't at least try what Patriots Points wants you to do, then so help myself that I will take that damn dog to the Humane Society next week!"
Teddy whimpers and attempts to crawl under my chair, but his cone bumps my legs.
Natalie kicks the chair she's propped against and picks up the popcorn bucket, storming away from me. The next thing I hear is her slamming the door shut.
Soon after she disappears, a military jet flies over the house, and it seems to shake.
The side of my mouth twitches, and a few tears run down my wrinkly cheeks. I can't hide it any longer—not after witnessing that. My tears fall faster, and I bury my face in my hands.
I'm sorry, Natalie. I'm so sorry.
Ted's paw touches my thigh, but I don't move. He licks my arm, but I push him away.
It isn't long until I hear the back door opening again. A chair pulls beside me, and I feel Natalie's hand on my shoulder. "Look, Daddy, I'm sorry. Ted was your best friend, but you've never made this easy on me or yourself. And it's all because you won't talk about him."
I lower my hands and meet her eyes. "I know, Natalie, but every time I try, all I see is that blizzard."
"You must talk about the good memories—not the bad," Natalie continues. "I'm sure you and Ted never talked about anything bad during your service. I don't know how Thirty Seconds Over Tokyo and The Fighting Lady will help you, but if Temple thinks they will, we should give them a chance. Don't you think? Didn't Temple say he lost a daughter once?"
"He did," I reply, nodding. "Let me guess—he told you that, too, when you contacted him?"
Natalie shrugs and bops my nose. "You learn by doing, Daddy. Come on, let's watch Thirty Seconds Over Tokyo. I'll be there for moral support if you need it. Besides"—she rubs her forehead—"it's humid out here."
That's one thing we can agree on. Sweat drips down my face and Teddy pants. While it's shady here, humidity still wins.
I gulp and slowly stand. "Come on, Teddy."
He's instantly beside me, and we follow Natalie to the back living room. I sit in my chair before the TV, and Natalie sits in hers. Our Smart TV is on YouTube, not this Tubi Temple mentioned.
"I rented it on YouTube so we wouldn't have to deal with ads," Natalie explains. She's still a little tense.
I don't speak because I'm studying the thumbnail for the movie. It shows three young soldiers standing in a line with serious expressions while they study the unknown. Thirty Seconds Over Tokyo is under them.
I tense like Natalie and begin sweating again, even though it's cool in the house.
Natalie moves to the couch, closer to me, and says, "I'm right here, Daddy. I've heard this is a good movie."
"Yes, but…" Ted Lawson. It's unfair.
"Let's just watch." Natalie starts the movie, picks up a new bucket of popcorn on the coffee table beside us, and offers it to me.
At first, I decline, but I grab a handful of popcorn once the movie introduces Ted Lawson. I was like him when I was his age—a young kid who loved his airplane. Ted Lawson's friend, Thatcher, reminds me of my Ted. His personality is sunny, but he still fears the war and not returning home. I also forgot that the Air Force used to be the Army Air Corps.
I move toward my seat's edge when the USS Hornet comes into the picture and laugh when Ted finds himself lost in her corridors. He freaks out when he hears a bugle for the first time, too, and falls out of his cot. My Ted dropped out of his bunk and accidentally swung into me. And then, when Ted Lawson visits the Ship Store and asks for twelve cartons of cigarettes, the sailor says, "That will be $7.20."
Those were the days. This movie is vomiting all sorts of nostalgia on me. It's like I'm living in the 1940s again.
Natalie moves a chair beside me and smiles feebly.
I'm doing well, and then the Doolittle Raid happens.
Out of fuel, Ted Lawson's B-25 crashes into the ocean off the coast of China.
"No!" I yell at the damn TV. I see it. I see the snowstorm and me yelling, "Ted! Ted, can you hear me?" after shooting him down. Missing in Action, Missing in Action, Dead. I close my eyes and turn my head away from the TV.
Natalie rubs my hand. "Look, Daddy." She gently moves my head, and I open my eyes.
Ted Lawson and his crew are injured but alive. By the time the film ends almost an hour later, Ted has had his leg amputated, but he moves on and begins his life over—like what I have to do with my Ted and Patriots Point. So this is why Temple encouraged me to watch this movie. I get it, but it still hurts to see Ted Lawson return from war alive and not my Ted.
"Wow," Natalie says. "No wonder this movie has a score of 100% on Rotten Tomatoes." She grins and hugs me. "Wasn't that good, Daddy? That was so good. Perfect for you!" The last time I saw her this excited about a war movie was with 1917.
While the aftermath of the Doolittle Raid sprang hidden emotions, it was a good movie. I wonder if it'll become easier the more I watch it.
Teddy seems to think so because he limps to the TV, sits, and peers over his shoulder at me.
Natalie notices my hidden smile because she asks, "Would you like to watch it again, Daddy?"
"After dinner?" I joke, even though I'm not really.
Natalie clenches her fist. "Yes!"
I nearly forgot that we argued earlier.
That night after dinner, while Natalie, Teddy, and I watch Thirty Seconds Over Tokyo for the second time, I pen notes and observations in a notebook. My handwriting looks like chicken scratch. I sometimes even need Natalie to help me read it.
As expected, this round of the movie is more leisurely. Instead of filling my mind with terrible memories of Ted and me when I see Ted Lawson, I fill them with the good ones. The Doolittle Raid comes back more, too, and I feel like I may be able to talk about it if I try another Bulldog Tour at Patriots Point.
Temple's right. Writing about what hurts does help. I'm sure he tried the same thing when his daughter passed. At the movie's end, I unexpectedly have two full pages of notes in my notebook. I hand them to Natalie for review. It's 8:00, and the sun has just set, signaling a new day coming soon.
Once Natalie finishes reviewing my notes, she presses the notebook against her chest and says, "Daddy, may I ask you something—something I've been wondering for years?"
"What?" I stand and scoop up Teddy's leash on the coffee table, slipping it over his neck (it's time for his before-bed pee). My legs shake slightly, but I catch myself with my cane and begin passing Natalie. I temporarily read the description for Thirty Seconds Over Tokyo during the silence. "What?" I try again, facing Natalie.
She sighs, nods, and stands up, returning my notebook. Natalie crosses her arms and taps her foot for a second. It looks like she's facing an internal conflict, and the suspense is killing me.
Finally, Natalie looks up and gestures at my notebook. "Daddy, did-did you ever accept Ted's confession of being queer?"