Luca Mystery Series Box Set Page 4

  ***

  Walter Reed had its own McDonald’s, and Vinny exited it laden with dinner and the fear that his brother’s mental recovery was lagging.

  “Yo, Petey, how you doing?”

  Peter was staring at the TV and didn’t acknowledge him.

  Vinny put his dinner down and tapped his brother. “Knock, knock. Anyone home?”

  Peter slowly turned his head. “When you get here?”

  “Just walked in.”

  “Is Mom coming?”

  “Mom? Come on, Peter. Don’t you remember she passed away?”

  “Uh, yeah . . .”

  Vinny handed a bag of fries to Peter. “These are yours.”

  “Mine?”

  “Yeah, you asked me to get you french fries.”

  “I did? I don’t like fries.”

  “Geez, yes you do. Just eat them. All right?”

  “Did Mary call?”

  “How would I know?” He took a bite of his Big Mac instead of running out of the room.

  “I want a phone. Why don’t I have a phone?”

  Vinny shrugged.

  “Where’s my fucking phone!”

  “Hey, take it easy. Here, use my cell for now.”

  Peter took the phone and stared at it.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Uh, I don’t, remember her number.”

  “Whose number?”

  “You know who.”

  “How the hell would I know her number? I’ll find out, and tomorrow we’ll call, okay?”

  Peter barely nodded.

  “Hey Petey, here’s a card from Mrs. Norton.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “The next-door neighbor, the brown house; her husband is Bob.”

  Peter nodded.

  “When you get this?” Vinny picked up a shiny cane that was next to a walker.

  “Clalia brought it today. Said I’m about ready.”

  “Man, it’s light but strong.” Vinny tapped it on the ground and read the label. “Made out of some titanium alloy. Geez, everything’s hi-tech today. It’ll be good to see you using this.”

  Peter turned his attention to the TV.

  The next evening, Vinny carried his dinner up from the cafeteria, hoping that Peter had either forgotten about calling Mary or would fall asleep as he ate dinner, as was often the case. Disappointment was routine for Vinny, and before he could put his tray down in his brother’s room, it visited again.

  “You get the number?”

  “Yeah, I got it.”

  “Good. Come on. Dial it for me.”

  “Can’t we eat first?”

  “Now!”

  “Shush.” Vinny pulled his phone out, dialed, and handed it off. “Just push dial.”

  “What button?”

  “The green one.”

  “It’s ringing.”

  “Whoop-de-do.”

  “Mary, Mary, yeah, it’s me, Petey.”

  Vinny strained to hear what she was saying.

  “I’m doing good, real good. When you coming to see me?”

  Vinny cringed at the thought of her coming.

  “Oh, oh, that’d be great. I just can’t wait.”

  A brief silence was broken when Peter spoke.

  “Mary? You still there?”

  “Oh, okay, okay. You know I’m missing you. I mean, I miss you so much, and, and I love you.”

  Vinny watched Peter’s beaming face darken.

  “Okay, see you soon. I love you, Mary.”

  Vinny took the phone back. “So, when’s she coming?”

  “Next week, she said she’d try. She’ll call you to let you know.”

  “Eat.”

  “Ain’t hungry.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I don’t know, she sounded different. And when I told her I loved her, she said she knew.”

  “So?”

  Peter stared at his lap and said, “She didn’t say it back.”

  “Look, things are different now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know, time passed. Things change. That’s all. Now eat. You need your strength.”

  ***

  I graduated from a walker to using that special cane and had regained good stability when walking. It was still a struggle if I tried to jog on the treadmill, but the doctors were confident it’d get better. Besides the buzzing in my ears, sensitivity to bright light, and a metal taste in my mouth, a big problem was my eyesight. It was better than before, when I couldn’t see jack shit unless it was right in front of me, but far from normal. Every time I reached for something, I couldn’t get it the first time, so I went to see a specialist.

  Vinny and I went into a darkened room, and the doctor, an Austrian dude with an accent, had me sit in each of several machines that lined the wall. When he said my name, he hung on the first syllable, making it sound like Peetur. He reminded me to keep my chin in each of the machine’s cups, elongating my name each time. I kept forgetting, and after a while it must have bothered Vinny, because he put his hand on the back of my head and pushed me forward.

  The doctor reviewed the test results and asked me to stand. I struggled before reaching for the cane.

  “Okay Peetur, sit back down and get up, but close your eyes.”

  Surprisingly, I got up without much effort.

  “Now close your eyes again and try it without the cane.” He took my cane. “Don’t worry, Peetur, I’m right here to help if you need it.”

  I got up pretty easily, just wobbled a bit.

  “Good, Peetur, good.” He handed me the cane and took a pen out, centering it on my face. “Now follow this and let me know when it disappears from view.”

  He moved it to the left and right and up and down, “You’re operating with a fair amount of peripheral vision. Your left eye is significantly weaker, though.” He curled a finger. “Follow me.”

  We went into another low-lighted room where a large, black disk with red lights occupied an entire wall.

  “This tests the peripheral vision with a reaction component. It not only measures if you see it, but when your eyes focus on it and react to it.”

  There were foot imprints on the floor, but the doctor dragged over a tall chair.

  “Now, lights will appear randomly on the disc. As soon as you see a light, move your closest hand toward it.”

  At first it was pretty easy to get my hand in the right direction, but the speed increased, and it was challenging. Still, all in all, I thought I did well.

  “Okay Peetur, one more test, and we’re done.”

  We went back in the room with the machines and sat at a narrow table. The doctor gave me a small aluminum rod.

  “What I want you to do is stick the rod inside each of the objects I hold up.”

  He took a ring the size of a hula hoop from under the table and held it up. My first thought was this was some kind of a joke, but then I panicked, thinking I might not be able to do it. Fortunately, I was able to do it easily with both hands. I did other tests, and my confidence built. Then the doctor pulled out a pie-sized ring. I poked through with my right hand but hit the rim with my left, but I still made it in. We stopped when I couldn’t get either hand to pierce a circle the size of a tennis ball.

  The doctor opened a drawer and took out a pair of glasses that had one lens blocked out.

  “Put these on, Peetur.”

  Then he held up the pie-shaped ring, and I was able to do it with both hands. With the tennis-ball-sized circle I could do it with my right hand but not the left.

  “Peetur, you have a couple of problems: peripheral and reactionary, but depth perception is affecting you the most. Luckily, the lack of depth perception is limited to your left eye. It is really more than just a lack of, it’s, well, I’ve seen this in other TBI cases. Somehow the brain mixes the data it receives from each eye. In many cases the strong eye, say in vision, will compensate, but it could be the injury caused some damage that may or ma
y not come back.”

  I tried to follow him but was lost.

  “I’m going to have a special pair of glasses made for you.”

  “Like the ones I wore? I can’t go around like—”

  He held up a hand. “They’ll have a script that will help the focus of your right eye. The left lens will be cloudy. A film will be applied to it that will help correct depth perception.” He pointed to my left eye. “The eye will see certain parts of the spectrum but allow your right eye to determine relative distances. Your left eye will have reduced peripheral capabilities, but I am certain the benefits vastly outweigh the small downside.”

  The glasses took some getting used to, but I had to admit they worked. I gained a new measure of normality, if you can ever be normal walking around with pirate-like glasses. Looks aside, they were a critical step in getting me released to go home.

  Getting back home was made easier by Vinny, who’d left two days before to get things in order. It was a good thing, as nobody had lived in my mom’s house since I went into the service. He’d had the utilities turned on, the place cleaned, and made some modifications that Clalia said would make things easier and safer. Vinny also had my mom’s old car jump-started and serviced, and used it to pick me up.

  Riding back to New Jersey in Mom’s car brought back a bagful of mixed emotions. I still missed her and had not forgiven Vinny for taking off, leaving me to take care of her when she was sick. I didn’t have the energy or stream of thoughts to put it into words, but when I tried to gather my thoughts as we rolled up the turnpike, I started crying. When Vinny asked what was going on, I sidestepped it, saying I was happy to be heading home but scared of being on my own. He repeated his pledge to stay by my side as long as it took. I was surprised how genuine he sounded, but given his history, large pools of doubt remained.

  The street looked familiar, but if you’d asked me, I couldn’t say it was where I grew up. Then we pulled up the driveway, and the house looked different somehow. I scanned the front elevation looking for the reason as Vinny came around to help me out of the car.

  Stepping through the front door, I was hit with the smell of Windex and stale air. I paused, leaning on my cane as I scanned the living room before taking another step.

  “Wasn’t there a giant, you know, one of those Chinese carpets in here that Mom loved?”

  “Yeah, it’s rolled up in the garage. Clalia said to take all the area rugs out. You could trip over them.”

  I nodded and started to cry.

  “What’s with the tears, man? The rug will go back. Don’t worry—”

  “It’s not the rug. I’m, I guess, just, glad to be home.”

  Vinny put his arm around my shoulder. “Yeah, man, it sure is good.”

  “Couldn’t have done it without you.”

  “Me? You kidding me? I didn’t do nothing. It was all you, man. You fought like a bastard. I’m proud of you, bro.”

  I reached for a picture of our mother and started crying again.

  “Come on. Let’s eat something. I stocked the fridge with real food, not that hospital crap.”

  We headed to the kitchen, and Vinny cleared a stack of papers five inches high from the counter.

  “What’s that?”

  “Ah, papers, bills, the mail.”

  The reality of life reappeared.

  “Uh, who’s been taken care of things?”

  “Like I told you, I got it handled. Let me worry about the bills. You just get better.”

  “But I could help. I can use my Marine pay, and you’ve hardly been working.”

  “Look, let’s take one step at a time, okay? I’m gonna be going back to work. FedEx’s got a big place in Eatontown. I’ll get a temporary gig there. It’ll all work out.”

  ***

  Vinny had gone to work, and after thumbing through a pile of magazines that a couple of neighbors had brought over, I went into the kitchen and came upon an envelope that had one of those green certified mail cards on it. It was from the Middletown Township tax collector. It said a lien had been put on the house for twenty thousand dollars in unpaid taxes. That seemed like a lot of money to me and was way more than my military salary. Not knowing what to do, I put the envelope between my shirt and tee shirt so I’d remember it when I went to bed.

  The next morning, when Vinny got up and came down to eat, I waved the envelope at him.

  “You found the fucking love note from our friends in town.” He wagged his head. “I went down to see them. Told them everything, even though they fucking knew what happened to you. Said they couldn’t do anything. It’s the law, blah, blah, blah. Heartless bastards, said to file for a federal grant or some bullshit.”

  This didn’t sound good. “What’re we gonna do?”

  “Don’t worry.”

  The faint ringing in my ears began to elevate.

  “But can’t we lose Mom’s house? Then where—”

  “I said don’t worry. We’ll get it paid.”

  A mouthful of rusty metal settled in my mouth.

  “How?”

  “Well, remember when we filed those papers a while back when you were in Walter Reed?”

  I nodded, but had no idea what he was talking about.

  “Well, it’s your disability, and they said you’d get it backdated and get a lump sum amount if they approve it.”

  “Is it that much money?”

  “Not exactly, but I said I’ll handle it, and I will. I really don’t want to use your money. You need it. But we’ll have to use it until I make up the ground I lost.”

  “When we gonna get the money?”

  “I wish I knew when. I’ve been calling for a month.”

  ***

  Vinny was yelling into the phone. I rushed down the stairs and scraped my knee. I hobbled into the kitchen as he slammed down the phone.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “You believe this shit? Fucking government morons turned down your disability.”

  “How? How can they?”

  “Some bullshit about it not being a battlefield injury. Like you had a fucking choice being there!”

  “Now what?”

  “I got half a mind to call Fox News and tell him how you’re getting dicked around. They’ll help us, I bet.”

  ***

  I pulled another drawer out and rummaged through it. Where is it? When the hell is Vinny getting home?

  The front door opened. “Vinny! Where’s my blue shirt?”

  “Look in the closet, Petey.”

  “It’s not there. What happened to it?”

  I heard Vinny trudge up the stairs, then he came into my room and said, “What the hell’s going on? The place is a mess.”

  “Nothing. Just getting ready for Mary to come over. Where’s my shirt?”

  “She ain’t coming till this afternoon.”

  “So? I gotta be ready. Where’s the shirt? The blue one?”

  Vinny stepped over a pile of clothes, reached into the closet, pulling out a blue shirt. “Here it is. Now, can I get some sleep?”

  “Not that one, the one with the white collar.”

  “Pete, I don’t know what you’re talking about. This is a perfectly good shirt, and I’m beat.”

  “But it doesn’t have a white collar, and Mary likes colored shirts with white collars.”

  “Stop being so anal, okay? I’m gonna take a nap. When I get up, I’ll check around, but at least you got something nice to wear.”

  I finished getting ready, hobbled down the stairs and turned on the TV. I sat down carefully, so my clothes wouldn’t get wrinkled, and flipped through channels until I hit an episode of Gilligan’s Island.

  I’d been up most of the night thinking of what to say to Mary. Man, I missed her. I wanted to get things back to the way they were before I went to Afghanistan. Vinny told me it would take time, and I guess he was right, but geez, I was tired. I started to nod out and spread out on the couch to get comfortable.

  “Petey,
time to get up.”

  “I must’ve fallen asleep.”

  “That’s okay. You need the rest.”

  “What time is it?”

  “A quarter to one.”

  “Oh no! Mary’s coming at one. Right?”

  “Yeah. Take it easy.”

  “Why didn’t you get me up earlier?”

  “I was sleeping too. You forget I work the night shift?”

  “It’s just that I want to be ready.”

  “Look, you’re ready. I picked up the donuts, like you asked.”

  “Did you get raspberry? She loves raspberry.”

  “Yes, boss. I’ll put a pot of coffee on.”

  I grabbed my cane when the doorbell rang. As Vinny headed for the door, I smoothed my shirt and said, “Let me get it.”

  I opened the door, and there she was. I just froze, staring at her. She looked me up and down, making me nervous.

  “You gonna let me in, Peter?” Mary said, smiling.

  “Oh, sorry. Come in.”

  Why’d she call me Peter? I thought as Mary extended a thin box with a card. She pulled it back when she saw me switch hands on the cane and reach out.

  “It’s okay. I can handle it.”

  Mary said, “I got it.”

  “I can handle it!”

  “Take it easy, Peter. It’s no big deal.”

  Vinny came to the rescue, saying, “Hey, Mary. How’s it going?”

  As we headed into the kitchen, I took a couple of deep breaths and forced a smile.

  Vinny said, “Look, I’ve got some errands to run. I’ll see you guys later.”

  As soon as Vinny left the room, I said, “Man, did I miss you, Mary. Where’s my kiss?”

  I didn’t like her hesitation, but she got up and pecked my cheek.

  “That’s it? That’s all I get.”

  She slid the box and card over. “Aren’t you going to open it?”

  I ripped open the card. I was surprised there was nothing personalized on the card and pissed she signed it Mary, not Love Mary. I stared at the card for a moment before I tore off the wrapping paper, revealing a box of chocolates.

  “Thanks.”

  “So how are you doing, Peter?”

  Peter again? “I’m doing great. Really, you should have seen me. I was banged up.” I looked at my hands. “Why didn’t you come to see me in the hospital?”