Remembering You Read online

  Ava thought about how red her grandfather’s face had gotten months ago when he finally confessed to her what was bothering him. She also thought about the unkind words that she’d shot back, and small rivets of pain drilled her heart. Before their last visit, they’d never had a harsh word between them. Maybe this trip would take things back to how they used to be. Maybe she’d once again feel like Grandpa Jack’s girl.

  Grandpa Jack. She pictured her sweet old grandpa and his plaid shirts in various earth-tone colors. Up every day by five o’clock, on schedule for his first nap at nine. He wasn’t a real cowboy, but he always wore cowboy boots, grunting as he put them on. And sometimes, if he was in the right mood, Grandpa Jack talked about the war.

  She remembered one fall evening when they had sat on the couch cracking walnuts. Ava had been ten or eleven and it had taken all her strength to crack the shell. Then she’d peeled it back and dug out the nut, popping each half into her mouth. Her grandpa had told her more went into her belly than the bowl. He would look at her and wink when Grandma complained there weren’t as many nuts for her cookies as she’d expected.

  It was on that night that he’d told her about crossing the Atlantic Ocean on a big ship. Most of the guys had been seasick, but not him. While other guys lost weight because they were unable to eat, he had gained because he ate their rations. He’d said the extra weight kept him warm during the cold winter’s fight. At the time, sitting before the woodstove, cuddled next to her grandfather’s side, it had been hard to picture him so far away, fighting in a different country, outside in the cold. It had been hard to imagine that the eyes she looked into were the same ones to witness all of this.

  Ava pressed the phone to her ear and tried to act nonchalant. Tried to conceal that she was smiling like the Cheshire cat. “Don’t say anything to Grandpa until I talk to my boss,” she said. “I’d hate to disappoint him.” She hoped Todd would say yes. She usually had a feeling when stories were going to hit it big. And the tingling at the base of her neck told her this one would.

  Ava pictured herself and her grandfather in front of the Eiffel Tower—holding on to his arm to steady him—as they gazed up at the large structure. The twinge of sentimentality in Ava’s gut surprised her. Her dad had disappeared long before she had a clear memory of him, and Grandpa had been the one man she’d always loved. She often wished she knew her grandfather better, but distance had made it hard. And strained silence over the last few months hadn’t helped.

  The buzzing of the cell phone in her pocket caught her by surprise. She silenced it and listened as her mom told her in greater detail about how her fall from the ladder had happened and how she’d spent ten minutes on the ground before her neighbor heard her.

  Ava’s cell phone buzzed again. She pulled the phone from her pocket and saw she had a text. Ava expected it to be from Jill, on course for their nightly chat. Jill always called to distract herself from the pain of riding her recumbent bike since she was too lazy to move the bike into the living room where the television was. But as Ava opened the message, the words were ones she hadn’t expected to see. Not now. Not ever. Angry heat rose to her cheeks.

  “Ava, can we talk? I’ve got a feeling I’ve made a horrible mistake. Love, Jay.”

  Chapter Three

  “A reunion of veterans?” Todd stroked his dark-brown goatee and furrowed his brow. “I don’t know. It sounds sort of Saving Private Ryan to me, except with old guys. Didn’t Tom Hanks and Steven Spielberg already cover that?”

  “There are so many stories. I’m not talking about making a movie here. I’m suggesting sitting down with veterans and hearing about the hard stuff. And the good stuff. Filming them talking, remembering. You know, making daily news features out of them.” Ava adjusted the angle of her chair in an attempt to avoid being distracted by the stacks of books and papers on Todd’s desk. His office was larger than hers, but you would never know.

  As in her office, Todd’s wall held a large bulletin board calendar with slots for the week’s upcoming shows, but on his, the shows posted had aired six months ago.

  “My grandpa has been friends with these guys for sixty-seven years. Their armored division liberated a concentration camp at the end of the war.” Ava’s mind scurried to remember some of the stories Grandpa and his best friend, Paul, had told as they sat near the lake, fishing poles in hand. “A small group of them were the first liberators and freed tens of thousands of Holocaust victims.”

  Todd straightened in his seat.

  “Concentration camps always draw the viewers’ attention.” A smile tipped his lips. He lifted his chin and looked at the tiled ceiling. “Those segments last year on the Japanese interment camps got big ratings.” After a moment of silence, he leaned forward and focused his eyes on hers. “But I think we need to connect with the younger generation too. I mean, why would they care? Think of the stay-at-home, Gen-X mommy who likes to spend her morning with us.”

  “I care. It’s my grandfather. I bet there are many people like me who heard the stories of the war but didn’t take the time to really listen. That could be the hook. My journey with my grandfather and his stories.” Ava hadn’t realized that was important to her until she said the words. Maybe this trip wasn’t just about Paris. Or making up for their last tiff. Or saving her job. Maybe there could be something more…for them…for their relationship. Something she couldn’t know until she journeyed with her grandfather to the places that had changed him.

  Todd stared at Ava so intently that she felt like she must have something on her face. She shifted again. “It wouldn’t just be his story. It would be mine too.”

  “I like that. Makes me think of my grandpa.” He leaned across his desk. “My grandpa was the one who was always there. He was never too busy for me.” Todd’s voice trailed off. “We made a birdhouse that I still have. I often think of his advice: ‘Make yourself the most valued person in a company, even if you’re just mopping floors.’”

  Like a statue coming to life, her typically distant boss softened before her eyes.

  “He sounds like a great man.” Ava glanced at her watch and realized it was nearly time for their weekly production meeting to start.

  Todd straightened and then nodded. “So sum it up for me. What’s the story that’s worth letting you head off to Europe during a very busy network season?”

  She didn’t answer right away but played with the black stapler on his desk, trying to wipe off the fingerprints with the sleeve of her sweater, as she tried to find her words. “When I think of World War II, I think of black-and-white photos from Life magazine, of soldiers in foxholes. Those images don’t mesh with my sweet old grandpa who spends his days watching Gilligan’s Island and Bonanza. Let’s reconcile the two. He’ll show me the places I’ve heard about my whole life. He did something that really mattered and…the world is different because of him.” She tucked her hair behind her ear. “It wouldn’t just be his story either. It would be mine too. Ours.”

  “I think that’ll work.” There was tenderness in his tone. “You should do it. We could follow you…the show I mean.” Papers fluttered to the ground, brushed off by his arm as he rose. “You can debrief in the evenings and send back video.” Todd stood, walked around his desk, and then leaned back on it, crossing his arms. “Eat cheap. Don’t buy too many souvenirs.” He winked. “We can pawn off your duties during the meeting.” He looked at his watch, which had likely cost more than Ava’s car, glanced at her with those sexy, dark eyes, and rapped her chin with his knuckle. “You’ve never let me down, Ava. Don’t mess this up.”

  * * * * *

  Ava sank into the faded red velveteen chair in the small coffee shop a few blocks from the television studio and set her cell phone next to her laptop. She ran her fingers over the tiled table, brushing away the crumbs. Even though the Mean Bean was a block farther than the chain coffeehouse, it was worth the walk. She enjoyed the quaint atmosphere—the mismatched tables, comfy plush chairs, and old photos o
f Seattle squatter settlements of the thirties.

  She usually went there in the afternoon to get a little caffeine pick-me-up and to work away from the office. Today, she had come to research where she’d be going and to research stories she’d most likely hear. On the walk over, she’d called her grandfather to get more details.

  Grandpa Jack hadn’t answered, and he didn’t have an answering machine. He wasn’t the least bit interested in a cell phone. In fact, he still used a gold rotary phone that had hung in his small kitchen for as long as she could remember. Her mom had told her to keep trying to reach him, but Ava wondered if not talking to him until she got there would be better. Maybe a face-to-face apology would be a good start to their trip.

  She opened her laptop and connected to the free wireless, also making eye contact with the barista, Jed, behind the counter. The fresh-faced college student tipped his chin at her, which was their signal he’d get started on her order. She ordered the same thing every day—no need to stand in line.

  Today the coffeehouse was especially busy—a mix of white-collar workers like her, moms with babies in designer strollers, and artsy people nestled in the corners with books and magazines. The chatter of voices swirled around her, mixing with the scents of coffee, vanilla, and cinnamon.

  She opened the search engine and typed “Eleventh Armored Division reunion.”

  The first link took her to information about their Louisville reunion and news about the previous reunion in Chicago. Her grandfather had attended these gatherings since before she was born, and he always roomed with his friend Paul. While Paul was a wealthy business owner who traveled often, her grandfather had worked in a door factory his whole life. Paul was a city boy and Grandpa Jack, a country bumpkin. The two would have never met without the war. Yet, because of their time together in the trenches, they’d been best friends ever since.

  After adding in a few more search words, she found a site with all the information about the European trip. The tour was traveling from Paris to Belgium, and then through Germany into Austria, where it would end with the annual commemoration ceremonies of KZ Mauthausen and Gusen.

  Ava didn’t understand what KZ meant, so she searched that term next. Konzentrationslager, or KZ, was the German term for concentration camp. Numerous websites popped up with information about Nazi concentration camps, including those in Upper Austria, where their tour was headed. She clicked on some of the pages, and her stomach turned at the photos of bodies stacked on horse carts, of underground weapon production plants, and of American tanks rolling through tall gates with skeletal men cheering healthy-looking GIs.

  She clicked to enlarge one photo of the liberation of Mauthausen concentration camp. Her eyes scanned the men in striped prisoner uniforms, thin right arms lifted in cheers. Then she looked at the men on the tank and truck behind it. Her heart swelled as she viewed smiles that hinted of both joy and sorrow. And then her eyes focused on one man. She knew that face. Her stomach flipped as if being tossed like a pancake, and her heart swelled with pride.

  “It’s him.”

  Jed approached with a steaming latte, and she nearly knocked it from his hand as she reached for his arm. “Look, it’s my grandfather.”

  Jed tossed his blond hair from his eyes and peered down.

  “Cool.” Jed nodded and then handed her the mug. “Sweet old photo,” he called over his shoulder as he scurried back behind the counter to attend to the line.

  Ava sank back into her seat. In the photo, her grandfather looked happy, relieved, overwhelmed. To actually see him entering the gates of the concentration camp made her grandpa’s stories seem so much more real. Jay would have been excited too, but she couldn’t call him. Wouldn’t call him.

  Instead, she opened her purse and pulled out a photocopied page that had been folded and tucked into a Christmas card. Two years ago her mom had tried to come up with a Christmas gift for her grandfather, who always claimed he didn’t need anything. Her mother’s idea started when she’d been reading some of the letters written by her father during World War II. Ava hadn’t even known about her grandpa’s letters until her mother sent one to family members with a special request. Since Grandpa had asked for cookies in his letter sixty-seven years ago, her mother had asked everyone to send him a tin of homemade cookies, along with their own personal Christmas letter—in honor of the one he had sent to his parents during the war. The cookies and letters had arrived throughout December, and Grandpa had loved it. Likewise, Ava had loved getting a glimpse into her grandfather’s life during the war.

  March 8, 1945

  Mother dear,

  I keep dreaming about your cookies and hope some will come in the mail. I haven’t been getting any packages lately. I know it isn’t your fault. It must be the mail service.

  It’s good to get out of Belgium—to make it out alive—but we have a lot of Germany stretching before us. The Germans held out against our bombing better than I thought. These towns have a lot of caves in the hills, which they run into. There’s plenty of food. When we go into a town, the people are always huddled in the basement. They have their beds down there, their food, and most of their valuables. Of course we only bomb towns when they refuse to surrender.

  The houses here in Germany have slogans written on the walls to bolster the people’s fighting spirit. One of the prominent ones is “Sieg oder Siberien,” Victory or Siberia. I guess they worry that if they don’t win, they’ll end up as slaves up in Russia.

  We traveled through some beautiful country coming here. It was wonderful, broad, fertile farming country. It reminded me of back home.

  The farmhouses and barns are very neat and kept up well. The industrial cities and the houses are very modern. Everything here is much better than anything I have seen in France or England. The Hitler regime has made many improvements here.

  I am enclosing a German army insignia which I took from a uniform I found in a basement today. There were a lot of German soldiers that got away from us. Some of them threw away their uniforms and put on civilian clothes. I wonder if we’ll find them. I wonder if I want to. I wonder if they ever wrote letters home to their mothers to ask for cookies.

  Love,

  Jack

  Ava paused. She folded up the letter and held it tight between her fingers. If she’d gotten her dates right, by this time her grandfather would have faced many battles, including the Battle of the Bulge. Yet his letter skimmed over the bombings and fighting and focused more on the scenery.

  Had he ever discussed the battles he fought in his letters? Or the friends he’d lost? Had he ever written about his fear? Ava wondered if her mother had access to the other letters. She scribbled a reminder in her notepad to ask about them.

  Goose bumps traveled up her arms as she imagined driving down the same streets he’d gone down all those years ago. What had it been like to be fighting? Or to be on enemy soil? Or what had it been like to compare the improvements in Germany with the destruction found within the walls of the concentration camps?

  “He had no idea of what was to come,” Ava jotted in her notepad. Maybe her grandfather had a hard time writing about the battles, which was understandable, but he had no idea what awaited them. As Ava sipped her coffee, she mapped the trip. They would start in France, traveling by bus through Belgium, and then through Germany into Austria. Instead of stopping at obvious tourist spots, like Berlin, they’d spend their time at small villages where her grandfather’s major battles took place.

  The tour operator’s specialty was World War II, and he had traveled with similar reunion groups from all over the world. Ava had recognized town names like Bastogne and Bayreuth from shows she’d watched on the History Channel, and even though she’d started reading through the history of her grandfather’s division, it was still hard for her to keep track of all the battles, the dates, the places. Being there would help put the pieces together, she hoped.

  Her cell phone buzzed, and she saw Jill had sent a text message. Re
ading the three simple words made it even more real: “Seriously, Paris? OMG!”

  She smiled as she read the words, but the joy of the moment was disrupted by the text message right above it that she hadn’t deleted—the one from Jay.

  Does Jay really think he made a mistake? Maybe she should call him. Then again, how could he do this? How could he say he loved her after all he’d done?

  Mostly, she hated herself for even considering responding. Where’s your backbone, Ava? She’d always considered herself strong and independent, but that was before Jay.

  I’m not sure I know who I am anymore. Or what I want. Somehow on the path to a rewarding job and marrying a man who also wanted to start a family, she’d lost herself.

  She closed her laptop and stood. She didn’t know how to respond, or if she should at all. She needed time to decide what she thought about Jay, and if she could risk her heart once more.

  But even as she deleted Jill’s text, she couldn’t make herself delete the one from Jay. She tucked the phone in her pocket, but his words replayed in her mind: I have a feeling I made a horrible mistake.

  Was she the one making a mistake now by not giving him a second chance?

  Chapter Four

  After driving most of the day, Ava pulled into Cal-Ore trailer park just in time to see the sunset cast a pink glow on Mount Shasta. She could have flown down from Seattle to Northern California, but she told herself she needed the drive—to think, to plan, to process. She’d done a little of each, mostly the processing part, trying to come to terms with the fact life wasn’t turning out as she’d always dreamed. She wasn’t succeeding at her job. Didn’t have someone to share life with. Most of her other friends were married; some had kids.