Turning over papers and taking care not to tear or smudge them, she followed his career from domestic bases to foreign ones. He had been around the world, had been stationed in locales Vi had never heard of, couldn’t pronounce, much less spell. Teams he managed completed the construction of airfields, roads, and bridges, representing millions of man-hours and budgets of millions of dollars, which his supervisors determined had been well spent.

Vi came to a halt when she encountered a letter thanking David and his team for their contribution to combat essential forward action. Whatever that was, they merited the Presidential Unit Citation for it.

Why had David never mentioned this? He must have been incredibly proud. Didn’t this crown his military career? Had she somehow discouraged him? Had she given him the impression she wasn’t interested, didn’t care? She had complimented every achievement in his second career. They toasted every sale closed. However, here was an entire life about which she knew nothing.

She could ask The Kids. He was their dad. Surely they knew about his past life.

No. No, she couldn’t. Admit she knew nothing about David, about his most important accomplishments? She couldn’t do that.

She couldn’t read another word. Her eyes stung. What kind of wife had she been? She had been no kind of wife; she was a fraud. David had been a hero. Sure, he had been her personal hero. The men she dated disappointed her. Disillusioned, she resigned herself to a life of singledom. David rescued her and revived her belief in romance and love. They were partners, building a life together fueled by shared admiration and respect and a mutual desire to see the other party thrive. It was not only enough, it was more than she ever expected.

Admiration. Respect. She didn’t know the half of it. He wasn’t simply her personal champion. He was a national hero, a hero to his men, his superiors, to the force, and his country. David risked his life for his country, and she had treated him as if he were some ordinary guy.

With her remaining energy, she dragged the ladder to the garage. On her way to clear the living room, she spotted the Slinky lying in the hallway under the attic hatchway. Now what was she going to do with it? Stow it back in the trunk? Toss it out? It was a mystery, not knowing what it meant to him.

Vi picked it up, and, one end in each hand, jostled it back and forth, watching it expand and contract. Her hands tingled. The sensation extended to her wrists. As if hypnotized by the coil’s shifting reflection, her brain clouded.

Was it some kind of allergy? She should … she should …

Vi couldn’t finish the thought. She had to sit. Her knees folded, her legs disappeared. Her vision blurred, then faded to white …

###

I advance through the undergrowth step by cautious step. Thick with the stench of rotting vegetation, the air is suffocating. My boots are heavy. My pant legs stick to my skin in the stifling heat and humidity. While I would gladly strip them off, the bugs and the animals here are deadly. Even the plants have it in for us. It’s too easy to trip over a half-buried root or get throttled by a vine trailing from a low-hanging branch.

When I first arrived, I couldn’t believe people actually live here. They do, though. The poverty-stricken natives go around barefoot and bare-legged. Still, this is their home. They love it as much as we love our U. S. of A. We’re here to protect them so they can live in peace and security. That’s our job, and that’s what we’re doing, even though it’s costing us our comfort, our serenity, and our lives.

The dense jungle is alive with noise. Nothing like Turtle Point, the small fishing village where I grew up. There, the sound of the waves splashing against the rocks, audible from my bedroom, was a comforting lullaby. Here, the noise is the wind whipping the bamboo fronds. The call of multicolored pheasant-like birds with incredibly long tail feathers resonates across the distance. Gibbons and wild cats thrash, and growl, and insects chirp. Cicadas buzz. At least those I recognize. We have them at home, or what was home until I joined the Navy.

Now “home” is wherever I’m sent. And none of my postings have been anything like Turtle Point, which seems further away than nine thousand or so miles. Vietnam is a different world altogether.