CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

HOFFEN STOOD AT the fire barrel warming his hands as the temperature hung just above freezing. Close by, Kenny fabricated a Christmas tree story. Dez and Edna worked the shop. Rush hour didn’t apply to the tree business, but it picked up after dinnertime. Hoffen heard Timothy’s car pull into the lot. He couldn’t miss the sound. The engine gagged like a sick patient.

“Hey, Tim, how goes it?” Hoffen said.

“Oh, it’s goin’,” Timothy said.

“Pardon?” Hoffen said.

“My life these days.”

“You do keep busy.”

“Got to. It’s easier that way. Otherwise, I have too much time to sit around and think.”

“I understand,” Hoffen said. “Is your home warm again?”

“Yeah, we got the new furnace yesterday, and Mom came home last night.”

“Glad to hear it. How’s everything else?”

Timothy told him about the meeting with Father Schmitt and sandbagging.

“Yeah, life gets messy sometimes,” Hoffen said.

“Some days are messier than others.”

“You know, Tim, lots of things in life end messy.”

“True.”

“And some things never end.”

“What do you mean, Hoffen?”

“War is unfinished business; lots of loose ends,” Hoffen said.

“Okaaay. Where’s this coming from?”

“I asked you about your week. You told me things were fine at home, next you told me about meeting with a priest who is a former Army chaplain, and then sandbagging with a group of vets. Last Friday, you told me about being shot down and two of your crewmembers died. I saw your face when that customer last week called his son Bobby. And you walk around in an Army jacket. Do you see a pattern here, Tim? You never mentioned your girlfriend.”

“And so?”

“Tim, you’ve got unfinished business. You must realize you left the war, but it did not leave you. It traveled all the way home with you. You carry it around with you everywhere you go. Some men understand this. Others don’t want to think about it. It’s not going to leave. It’s part of your life experience. For the lucky ones, it finds a space, somewhere to fit in. Until then, it’s unfinished business, and that affects your life.”

Timothy stood silently for a few moments. Hoffen didn’t rush him.

“You sound like you know this firsthand,” Timothy said.

“Yes, I was a medical assistant in World War I. My job was to help put people back together. I learned something valuable from that experience.”

“What’s that?”

“We’re all broken in some fashion—that’s the nature of the human condition. But that’s not the issue. What counts is how we put ourselves back together,” Hoffen said.

“That’s pretty deep, but I get it.”

“I’d like to take credit for that profundity, but I’m not the first to see it. I learned it from a friend I met in Italy, Ernie. I was attached to a field hospital in Milan. Ernie was one of my patients. We hit it off immediately, both Americans. He was wounded on a Good Samaritan mission to the front. He took shrapnel to the leg, a lot of it. It nearly took off his leg.”

“I know what that feels like. What happened to him?” Timothy said.

“I left before he recovered. I wondered that myself. I was reassigned to the front in France.”

“That’s the way it is, isn’t it?” Timothy spoke from experience.

“Yes, unfinished. After the war, I stayed in France for a while. In the summer of ’21, I was walking down the Champs-Elysees and heard someone call my name. Strange hearing that in a foreign country. I looked over to the small café and saw Ernie sipping a glass of wine. We finished that bottle and another. Imagine that, all the years that passed, and I found him in Paris.”

“What was he doing there?” Timothy asked.

“He was working for a newspaper. I left him sitting there that day and never saw him again. Just one of life’s loose ends, unfinished business. There’s a lot of that in life.”

“That’s how I feel. When I came home, I left friends behind. I left one in particular on the battlefield. For the first three months I was home, I sat in front of the television watching Walter Cronkite deliver the latest war news. I went through a lot of beer in those months. I kept thinking about those we left behind and feeling guilty I was home and they were still there. You can’t leave those guys that quickly when you’ve gone through a lot together,” Timothy said. “You’re too invested in each other.”

“Good point. Feel sad—that’s okay. Be remorseful over the loss, but don’t feel guilty because you made it home. Guilt is one of the most useless emotions. Once it takes root, it spreads like weeds into other areas of your life. When a person has seen what you’ve seen, feeling sad at times is about one of the most human things you can do for yourself. What would it say about you if you didn’t feel sad about those experiences?”

“That’s a pretty good point. Guilt and loose ends pretty much describe where I’m at.”

“See? You brought home unfinished business. Once you begin finishing what you’re supposed to finish, you’ll feel better. I know,” Hoffen said.

“What do you mean what I am supposed to finish?”

“You have something you must do in this world. That’s why you’re here. That’s why you must stay true to your dreams. They are the path to your destiny.”

“You’re still patching people together, aren’t you?” Timothy said.

Hoffen smiled. “We all do something. Remember, Tim, it’s as easy to listen to the voices of hope as it is to stare into the darkness of the abyss. You’ve got a choice.”

“Speaking of darkness, I’ve got to go inside and talk to Dez. He wants an answer on his offer. I keep trying to dodge it. I’ll tell him I’ve got to wait to talk with Father Schmitt again. Dez should be okay with that,” Timothy said.

“You know how to listen to Dez? Listen with your ears, not your heart. Don’t let him in. Hear him, don’t believe him,” Hoffen said.

“Good advice. Thanks. Hey, do you want to come to dinner on Saturday after work? You can meet my mom and Cheryl.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Hoffen said.

“Great, we’ll go straight to my house after work.”

“Perfect,” Hoffen said.