Lucy, Mom and Dad used to watch the Fourth of July fireworks from the top of their Chicago apartment building along with everyone else who lived there. The fireworks shot off from Soldier Field, and even though they weren’t especially close, they had a perfect view between two other buildings. Dad was in charge of grilling hot dogs, and Mom would make Aunt Rosie’s famous macaroni salad. Ernie from the third floor brought homemade root beer, and later on, when the dessert was eaten and the fireworks watched, all the kids would run around the rooftop painting fiery shapes against the dark of night with the tips of their sparklers.
It was one of Lucy’s favorite days of the year.
This year, with the family party coming up next weekend, there were no plans for grilled hot dogs or homemade root beer. No one bought sparklers. Mom spent the day afraid of how Dad might react to the sound of distant fireworks, so Lucy worried, too.
At sundown, after pacing around the house most of the day, maybe afraid of his own reaction as well, Dad left out the sliding glass door to go for a walk. He didn’t come back for hours.
Long after bedtime, when Lucy heard the door open and close again, she crept out to the family room. Mom and Dad sat on the sofa in a patch of moonlight, Mom’s head on his shoulder. Lucy settled back into the shadows to watch.
“It isn’t the explosions I was worried about,” Dad said.
Mom reached for his hand and squeezed it.
Dad sighed. “After a long day, sometimes we’d go outside and lie on the roof of the barracks. We’d watch the live fire rounds go off into the sky, like fireworks. It was beautiful. People were dying, but the sky was beautiful.”
Lucy watched her parents’ secret moment and longed to be right between them, to feel them on either side, holding her together.
A bang went off in the distance. Bang. Bang. Both Mom and Dad startled, and the moment was broken.
Monday morning, Lucy got herself ready by spraying her Aqua Velva and counting her stones into her pockets, which were starting to fray at the seams. Her other two pairs of shorts were also showing some wear, and she packed them into a small bag so she could mend them with Aunt Rosie’s sewing kit.
As she walked into the kitchen to grab a glass of orange juice on her way next door, she was surprised to find Dad sitting at the breakfast table, shaved, showered and wearing a blue suit and red tie. His hair was a bit wonky, but Lucy supposed it took some getting used to, combing your hair with one hand. Dad’s empty sleeve was carefully folded and pinned under itself. Mom sat beside him sipping coffee.
“Where are you going?” Lucy pulled out her own chair.
“Stanford Hospital.” Dad said. “I have a meeting with Dr. Wilson about their cardiology program. Or, more specifically, if I need to train in residency or if I can use the training I already have.”
“So you won’t have to go back to school?” Lucy said.
Mom took Dad’s hand like she had last night. “Your dad was one of the top three surgeons in his program. It’s why Stanford hired him before he left for the war. They’d be lucky to have him back, with or without the added training. He can learn as he goes.”
“Of course they’d be lucky,” Lucy said. She looked at the folded sleeve and wondered if it might be better to wear the prosthetic. Sort of like wearing your best suit, you should probably go to a job interview with all your limbs.
But Lucy did not point this out to her father. Not after their last conversation about his arm. Instead, Lucy looked back and forth between Mom and Dad while they chatted about the logistics of the day—how Dad would drive Mom to her first day of work and pick her up.
“It’s okay. Richard can give me a ride home,” Mom said. Richard was Mom’s new boss. “They may want to take you out for cocktails, or dinner.”
“I’ll pick you up,” Dad said.
“Really, it’s no problem. Richard has offered to drive me home whenever you need the car.”
“I’ll pick you up!” Dad said again, with entirely too much gusto.
Mom went back to sipping coffee, her hand curled into a fist around the handle of the cup. After a couple of minutes, where the silence seemed to build itself up into what felt to Lucy like static electricity, Dad turned his attention to her.
“Giovanni said you’ve uncovered a mystery,” he said.
Happy to change the subject, Lucy talked about the helmet, the pictures and the Purple Heart she’d found with Milo.
“Did you get one?” Lucy asked. “A Purple Heart?”
“I did. Our field commander came to the hospital and handed them out of a box.” Dad looked her straight in the eye. “It’s a worthy goal, Lucia. Returning something like that to the family.”
“What if they don’t want it?” Lucy said. “What if it just reminds them of something they’ve lost?”
She couldn’t help but think of those men on the Capitol steps, the medals they’d earned getting thrown over the fence.
“What if they do want it? What if they’ve been looking for it? You can’t know the answer until you take the steps to get there. To me, it’s a medal of merit, a reminder of resilience and bravery,” Dad finished.
Lucy thought of the men who came through Mac and Cheese’s, some who’d left their families, homeless men she’d seen on the television news.
“Not everyone is resilient and brave,” Lucy said.
“That is true,” Dad said. “Sadly, that is very true.”
Lucy studied the raised scar on Dad’s chin from so long ago. “Can I see it? Your Purple Heart?”
“Of course.”
Dad scooted back from the table and went around the corner into their bedroom. Lucy heard a dresser door open and close. He walked back out with a purple box and set it down in front of Lucy.
She opened the box and touched the heart-shaped medal, the profile of George Washington and his crest, the purple ribbon with the white edges. The pin in back of the ribbon meant for it to be fastened to a jacket or a shirt and worn with honor. She expected to feel proud of her father, of what he’d sacrificed, what they’d all sacrificed, so he could save lives. More lives, he’d told her in one of his letters, than he’d probably ever save once he got back home.
But instead of feeling proud or relieved or hopeful or elated, looking at that Purple Heart made her feel like she’d stepped off a curb somewhere and just missed getting hit by a bus. Because he could have died. And sometimes, when Lucy had gone too long without seeing him during the day, she’d start to worry she had the facts wrong. That maybe he had died. That his coming home without an arm was just a dream she’d wake from at any moment.
Mom took the box from her, ran her own thumb along the ridges of George Washington’s face and then snapped it shut. She smiled at Lucy. “You also said this was important to Milo, right? Maybe this is a way you can be useful to your friend.”
“I wouldn’t say we’re friends. We just met.”
“Well, possibility, then. Do it for what might be possible, and what you might discover along the way,” Dad said, reminding Lucy of Uncle G’s definition of serendipity.
Dad stared at the purple box sitting next to a plate of buttered toast. “We are blessed, Lucia. Blessed that I am still here. This medal reminds me that I have a choice to make. Every day. We all do. To keep moving forward. A strong person knows this.”
Lucy wondered if he was talking more to himself than to her. “I am a strong person,” she said.
“Yes you are. You are my brave, strong girl. And if anyone can help Milo find the owner of that Purple Heart, it’s you.”
For the first time since he’d been home, it felt like a normal conversation, one that could have taken place before he left, and Lucy was hopeful that little by little, conversation by conversation, they’d get themselves back to where they used to be.
It was settled, then. Lucy would show Dad that she was, in fact, his brave, strong girl. That she could handle this journey of the Purple Heart, wherever it may lead her.