Page 2 of Buddy System

Levi’s dad surmised that the next step for Levi would most likely be a transfer to Walter Reed, “Depending on his condition.” No one would give him any more specifics than I already knew. I had to ask him where Walter Reed was and found that it was in Bethesda, Maryland. I didn’t grow up in a military family, so my knowledge of things like this was lacking.

Time ground to a halt. I lost weight from not eating and worrying myself into a stupor, and each time my phone rang, I thought my heart would beat right out of my chest. Finally, I got a call telling me that Sergeant Spencer’s surgeries (yes, plural) had been successful, and he would be transferred to Walter Reed as soon as he was able to be moved. I asked if I could speak to him, and the caller had no idea what to tell me about that. He was just the messenger, he told me, and had many more calls to make. “Have a good day, ma’am,” he said and hung up.Good day? I wanted to scream.

At least I knew Levi was alive.

I waited one day before calling Walter Reed. I called every morning and every evening to see if Levi had been admitted. A week went by, and then, finally, I got an affirmative answer. I asked to be transferred to his room so I could speak with him, but I got absolutely nowhere. Nor would they tell me anything about his condition. “HIPAA rules prevent that,” they said. Caregivers would only be given information upon the patient’s discharge if it pertained to their well-being. I called his parents, and we all booked flights to Reagan Airport.

Although my imagination had come up with every scenario I could dream up, I was not in any way prepared for what I found.

Chapter

Three

Levi

Life sucks.You try to do the right thing, and it all goes to shit.

I tried to serve my country and ended up getting my menkilledin a mission that accomplished nothing.

I married the love of my life, and now I might be worse than useless for her.

I tried to save my best buddy’s life and almost got him killed too. He probably hates me for it.

It’s all my fault. My parents are going to be so disappointed in me. I love them so much. I’ve tried to be a man they could be proud of.

This is the way my mind goes—day in and day out. Rationally, I understand there are reasons these things happened that are beyond my control, but not everything. I didn’t plant bombs or purposely lead my squad into what turned out to be a slaughter. We had intelligence that we’d be able to liberate hostages, so we infiltrated the area with caution and high hopes. We wanted so badly to accomplish something good,but my people were mowed down and bombed instead. Our soldiers were trying to protect the perimeter while my special team went in with me to grab the prisoners, and immediately it became obvious that we were trapped. There were no hostages, just gunfire and a huge explosion. I can’t hear too well out of my right ear now. But that’s just the tip of the iceberg.

The mission was such an epic failure, I’m not even allowed to discuss it. I acted on orders, but somewhere along the chain of command, the information was either intercepted or pure crap from the get-go. That knowledge won’t bring back all the brave soldiers who died that day.

I can’t sleep at night. I can’t walk or even sit up. I can’t even take a decent piss. I can’t stand myself.

I hear the door open, and it’s the one person I love more than life itself. My beautiful Brooke came all the way from Kentucky to see me in Bethesda. I’m so sick of myself, I can barely face her. She looks up and down my body with tears streaming down her cheeks—no doubt checking to see if I’m all here, and then she smiles. Why? My voice sounds shattered even to me when I croak out, “Brooke.”

She rushes toward the bed. She probably senses what a wreck I am. When she gets close enough, she leans in and puts her hands on my face. I want to reach out to her, but I feel so unworthy. I’m a mess. I can’t help it though. Without consciously willing them to, my arms wrap around her, and I hold onto her for dear life. It’s more than a little awkward with my arm connected to an IV and a bunch of monitors. At least the bruises on my chest aren’t painful anymore.

Now she’s kissing me and hugging me and telling me, “I’m so happy to see you, Levi. It’s wonderful you’re going to be okay! I’m not sure what treatment you had, but they said your surgeries were successful.”

Who is she kidding? I don’t think I’ll ever be okay again.

I turn my face away. Fuck, I love this woman. She could do so much better than me. “I should send you away,” I tell her. “I’m no good for you. You need someone who’s whole. But I love you too much to make you leave.” I turn back to her. “Don’t leave me, Brooke. Please?” A blasted tear rolls out of my eye, and I feel like a stupid wuss as I stare into her silvery blue eyes. She’s always been striking with her dark hair, pale eyes, and those full lips I’ve dreamed about night after night. She’s the most stunning creature I’ve ever imagined—tall and lithe with all the right curvature, and I feel so selfish for wanting to keep her instead of setting her free like a better man would do.

Before Brooke can answer me, a doc knocks once and enters the room with a brisk step. He’s smiling as he looks at us. “Ah, Mrs. Spencer, I presume?” he asks.

Brooke straightens up and answers, “Yes, I’m Levi’s wife, Brooke Spencer.” She shakes his hand politely as he introduces himself as Dr. Winslow.

“Sergeant Spencer, I’m sure you’re still exhausted from your long trip here, but you’re doing quite well, I’m happy to report. I just reviewed the X-rays from this morning, and we can see evidence already that the bone fragments are beginning to knit together just as we’d hoped.” He looks at Brooke and then at me and continues, “Once we can get you started on a physical therapy regimen, you’ll be back walking in no time.”

“Would you mind explaining a little about his injury, Dr. Winslow?” my wife asks. I’m embarrassed to say I haven’t told her anything myself. I know I should have written to her or called before this, but I didn’t know what to say. At first, I was afraid of losing my leg or getting stuck in a wheelchair for the rest of my life. I saw so many horrendous injuries when I was in the hospital in Germany. At least all of my limbs are still attached, and I can see. That made me happy for a little while…but then I realized that my body wasn’t working the way it usedto, and I worried myself sick about Brooke’s reaction. I didn’t have a clue what to tell her, so I took the coward’s way out and stayed silent. One more reason she ought to turn tail and run.

Dr. Winslow looks at me questioningly, so I nod to him and say, “Tell her.” Someone has to break the news to her that her husband is useless. I can’t find the words. Anyway, she can probably see the bag I’m pissing into and can figure out some of it herself.

Brooke scoots a chair close to my bed, sits, and grabs my hand. She looks at the doctor with her shoulders straight and posture erect. She’s bracing herself—I can tell.

“There isn’t a lot more to tell, actually. The surgeons in Germany removed the bullet that shattered his pelvis and had to do some repair work to veins and muscles. It’s going to look rough for a while, and there will be a certain amount of swelling around the nerves. However, Levi was lucky, and the bullet missed his important parts. That’s always a worry in pelvic wounds. But, as I said, the bone is beginning to heal nicely as evidenced by calcium deposits we see in the X-rays. He’s a healthy young man and should make an excellent recovery. I’m glad to report this kind of result because we often have such drastic, life-changing things happen to our brave young soldiers.”

Brooke clears her throat and asks in a small voice that grows in volume as she speaks, “So…we shouldn’t expect any alteration to our normal…uh…activities…eventually?”

“You mean can he eat normally and have sex, right? Just to be clear.”

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