Page 1 of All We Thought We Knew
PROLOGUE
November 5, 1968
Western Union Telegram
Mr. and Mrs. Kurt Taylor
Delaney Horse Farm
Route 6
Tullahoma, Tennessee
I deeply regret to confirm that your son Lance Corporal Mark James Taylor died in Vietnam 1November 1968. He sustained fragmentation wounds to the head and body from hostile mortar fire while participating in a night operation against enemy forces. Please accept on behalf of the United States Marine Corps our sincere sympathy in your bereavement.
L. F. Chapman Jr.,
General USMC Commandant of the Marine Corps
ONE:MATTIE
TULLAHOMA, TENNESSEE
NOVEMBER 1969
The first telegram I ever read shattered my world.
The second arrived a year later and stole what little ground I’d gained over those long, mind-numbing months. It was the sole reason I’d sat on this grimy Greyhound bus for three straight days, terrified of what awaited me at the end of the line.
Your mama is dying. She needs you. Come home.
The brief message came from Dad.
It wasn’t a request.
Cool evening air carried the stench of diesel fuel through the partially open, grit-coated window as the bus pulled into the depot, two hours late thanks to an accident on the narrow highway outside of Pulaski. A handful of people stood near the terminal building waiting for a loved one or friend, but an anxious sweepof my eyes confirmed Dad was not among them. Disappointment fought to crowd out the apprehension I’d felt since receiving his telegram. He hadn’t included any words of welcome or promise of reunion. The message simply said my mother wasn’t long for this world and needed me home.
Sheneeded me home.
Did he?
Passengers gathered their belongings and made their way down the aisle to the exit. I closed my eyes and leaned my forehead against the cool glass, the decision I’d struggled with since boarding in Los Angeles still unresolved.
Do I get off and face everything and everyone I’d tried to forget since Mark’s death? Or do I stay in my seat and ride to the next city, effectively slamming the door on ever going home again?
I’d sworn I would never come back to Tullahoma. To Tennessee, for that matter. When I stormed out of the house on a bitter November day one year ago, filled with wrath and grief, I didn’t look back. Why would I? Mark was dead. My twin brother had been my world, even when he was on the other side of it fighting a war I refused to condone. Our country was committing a heinous crime keeping soldiers like Mark in Vietnam. How many of our boys had to die before someone put a stop to the madness?
“Miss?”
My eyes flew open.
The gray-haired man who’d taken over the wheel in Little Rock peered down at me from a few paces away. “This is your stop, ain’t it?”
I looked past him. The other passengers who’d purchased tickets to Tullahoma were gone. The time to make my decision had arrived.
A glance out the window revealed the sleepy town where I’d grown up. A place I never thought to see again. But I couldn’t let Mama down. Not now.
Not again.
