It was almost three in the morning. Randy and Del sat on the lower deck at Randy’s house, waiting for Larry to return from his meeting with Gunderson. The night was chilly and windy, with a brilliant canopy of stars overhead.

“He shoulda been back by now,” said Del, pressing the light on his wristwatch to check the time. “You think he ran into problems?”

Randy took a swig of beer. “Hope not.” The possible negative outcomes were so numerous, he couldn’t even begin to anticipate them all. As a lawyer, Randy was used to working his way through each potential issue in a lawsuit. Before he entered a courtroom, he had all his bases covered. Everything was ordered, considered to the last detail. He was a man who craved order the way other men might crave alcohol or sex. It was survival coding, the only way he knew to keep the horror-stained semireality of his past at bay. But in a situation like this, order was impossible.

They resumed their restless silence, heads tilted up toward the sky.

“I hated the moon when we were in Nam,” said Del.

“Yeah,” said Randy, remembering how bright the nights could be. “I never felt that way when I was a kid. Night was just . . . like dark. Didn’t matter if the moon was there or not.”

“There are so many kinds of dark,” muttered Del, leaning over and setting his empty beer bottle next to his chair. He kicked open the cooler and grabbed himself another—his third. Twisting off the cap, he said, “You know, when I was up in Grand Rapids a few weeks ago with the campaign, I met this old guy, an Ojibwe leader. We got to talking after Ray’s speech. One thing led to another and he eventually brought up the subject of the Ojibwe Vision Quest. Ever heard of it?”

Randy shook his head.

“When I was in junior high, I was given this assignment on how boys become men in different cultures. I remember it because it touched a nerve in me. A lot of cultures make boys go through a rite of passage. I was supposed to pick one of them and write a two-page paper on it. I never wrote the paper, of course, but I did do some of the reading. I thought it was all pretty interesting stuff. So, I guess, I was curious what this guy had to say.”

“And?”

“Well, the Ojibwe look at life a lot differently than we do. They think the world is filled with spirits that inhabit birds, rocks, trees, animals, the wind, the moon, everything really. Each person gets a personal vision to help him navigate his life. They receive it when they’re young—teenagers, usually. In fact, an Ojibwe’s life doesn’t really begin until he’s acquired his guiding vision.”

“Is it just for boys?” asked Randy.

“No, girls, too. They make this journey into the wilderness, where they fast and wait for their personal animal spirit guide to reveal to them the central truth of their life. When they know what it is, then they go back home and take on the mantle of adulthood.”

“Sounds . . . civilized.”

“Yeah, it does—compared to what we went through. I mean, we were just kids when we were sent to Vietnam. I figure that’s where we grew up, where we received our vision.”

“God, I hope not,” said Randy, finally seeing where Del was headed. “I suppose I had a few visions while I was there, usually when I was fucked up on something. But they weren’t anything I’d want to build my life around.”

“But don’t you get it? It’s not just the fact of the vision that makes the whole thing work, it’s the time in your life that’s important. When you’re young, you’re open to the world, to experience, to idealism, or as the Ojibwe call it, a vision quest.”

“Okay. I’ll play along. What do you suppose the animals and trees in Vietnam were trying to tell us?”

“Waste or be wasted,” said Del. “The world is a rotting sinkhole. Corpses are heavy. Leaders are arrogant assholes at best, at worst, insane. We came home with that crap lodged in our souls. That was our vision.”

And so much more, thought Randy. “Larry always said we were there for righteous reasons. Me, I thought it was wrong, but I went anyway. I was drafted and I was too ashamed to let my family think I was a coward—but that’s what I was. That’s what I learned about myself over there. I was scared the entire time.”

“You weren’t any different than any other guy. We were all grunts, peeing in the bushes or our pants, hoping the next bullet that came along didn’t have our name on it.”

“Not Larry,” said Randy.

“No,” said Del softly. “Not Larry. But we’d both be dead if it weren’t for him. If I ever saw a real hero, it was Larry Wilton.”

Randy didn’t like to think about it too hard. Larry had saved his life, for sure, but usually that’s as far as the conversation in his head got. Nam wasn’t the movies. Larry wasn’t a hero because he was a deeply principled man, a natural leader who used his moral superiority to motivate men. No, Larry was just an average guy that, for whatever reason, hadn’t been saddled with the same kind of paralyzing fear Randy had felt from the moment he set foot in country. In so many ways, Larry was in his element in Nam. He’d been such a great soldier that Randy had been a little surprised when he hadn’t made a success out of his life back home. Obviously, the requirements were different, although Randy hadn’t known that as a young man. Larry had gone from being a kind of god in Randy’s life to a screwup—-but through it all, Larry always seemed to maintain a positive outlook. For Larry, the world was an exciting place, where possibilities abounded. Maybe, in some odd way, he was a hero after all.

“The worst part for me,” said Del, “was seeing my buddies die. That’s what got me in the end. Not the bullshit about the importance of our mission, but the need to protect the only people I cared about. For that I was willing to kill—and die.” He tipped his beer bottle back and took a few swallows. “The world is a graveyard, man. Another vision to live by.”

“Hey, remember that old papa san who got the drop on us up near Phong Dien? Man, I thought we were dead meat for sure.

“But then Larry drops out of a tree right on top of the guy, making uga uga sounds like a gorilla. I remember thinking, hell, if I was gonna die, at least I’d die laughing.”

“You know, if something had happened to you or Larry, if I hadn’t had your friendship to lean on all these years, I don’t—” Randy couldn’t finish the sentence. Even now, the emotion was still so close to the surface that it choked off words. Looking away, he tried to stuff the feelings back down inside him.

“Hey, I see headlights,” said Del, standing and moving over to the railing. “This one’s gotta be Larry.”

They watched as a red Dodge Dakota pulled into the drive.

“That’s Ethan’s truck,” said Randy.

“What’s he doing out this late?”

As Ethan walked up to the house, Randy called to him from the deck. “Where you been?”

Ethan squinted into the darkness. “Oh, hi, Randy. I was . . . just out driving around.”

“Any particular reason?”

He inched his way toward the front door. “Nope. Just couldn’t sleep. But I’m tired now. Think I’ll go to bed.”

“Okay,” said Randy, shrugging at Del. “See you in the morning.”

They heard the door open and then shut.

“He doing okay?” asked Del, sitting back down.

“He misses Sherrie.”

“You and her . . . talking?”

“Not much.”

“My heart goes out to you, man. Kesia and my kids, they’re why I get up in the morning.”

Randy didn’t look at him. Instead, he walked over to the ice chest and grabbed himself a can of Coke.

“More headlights,” said Del, pointing at two pinpricks of light in the distance.

They both waited as the truck pulled into the drive.

“We’re on the deck,” called Del, as Larry cracked the door.

“Be right there.” He cut across the grass and climbed the short stairway, rubbing his hands together. “Hey boys. The brewskies would be where?”

“In the cooler,” said Randy. “What happened?”

Larry leaned over and grabbed himself a bottle. “All is well, my brothers.”

“She take the money?” asked Randy.

“Yup.”

“Where’s the file?”

Larry reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a key.

“What’s that?” asked Del.

“It’s for a locker at the YWCA on Lake Street. We gotta wait until tomorrow morning to go get it.”

Del grabbed Larry by his jacket, backed him up against the rail. “You’re telling me you gave her all that money and all you got was a lousy key?”

“Don’t worry, man. I made it real clear that I knew where she lived. If she messed with me even a little, she’d be hearin’ from me again.”

“Jesus H. Christ,” said Randy, tossing the full can of Coke over his shoulder. “We got nothing.”

“Back the hell off, you guys. We’ll have the entire file in the morning, I promise.”

“Did she tell you what she found out?” asked Randy, raking a hand through his hair.

“She talked to some people down in Waldo. Folks who remembered the night in question. I think one was the bartender at Big Chick’s Lounge. And maybe your uncle, too.”

“It doesn’t end here,” said Del, turning away from them and staring out across the dark meadow. “Not if these people are so willing to talk.”

“Let’s just wait and see,” said Larry. “Believe me, I’m all over this one. Nothin’ to worry your pretty little heads about. I’ll take care of business, just like always.”

 

Early the next morning, Randy’s eyes blinked open to the sound of a closing door. Sunlight streamed in through an open shade. Glancing at the clock on the nightstand, he saw that it was just after six. He turned over on his back and listened to a truck engine cough a couple of times and then catch. It had to be Larry’s new junker, an ‘84 Silverado.

Randy rubbed his eyes and then glanced over at the empty space next to him. He doubted he’d ever get used to sleeping alone. It was awfully early for Larry to be up, but then Randy figured Larry was as anxious to see the contents of that reporter’s file as he was. Closing his eyes, he tried to clear his mind and go back to sleep, but once his mind engaged, it was all over. He might as well get up.

For a second he considered shouting to Larry from the bedroom window to wait, that he’d toss on some clothes and go with him. But then he remembered that Katie was asleep in her room downstairs. He didn’t want to wake her. Instead, he slipped into his bathrobe and headed two flights down to the kitchen to make coffee.

Larry would be back soon enough.