Remembering You (11 page)

Ava wanted to argue, but she knew she was standing on shaky ground. Lash out at Dennis, and she could lose Paul’s goodwill.

“Besides,” he said, “we don’t need to go there for the story. Your grandpa carries it with him. He always has.”

They walked quietly side by side as they approached the car where the men were looking around. They looked so frail, tired. Ava lowered her head. Guilt ricocheted through her. This was hard enough for them—physically, emotionally—and here she was placing more demands on them. Still, she had no choice.

“Can I get one more thing before we leave?” Ava pushed the thought of Chenogne out of her mind. “Grand-Paul, can you state your name and unit into the camera?” Ava knew Dennis was right. Pushing her grandfather too hard wouldn’t help anything. So she tried to push softly. “Grandpa, can you do just this one thing for me too? It’ll be painless, I promise.”

Her grandfather didn’t respond, and if she didn’t know better, she would have thought he had not heard her.

She got out the camera again and focused on Paul. She turned it to the low-light setting and hoped that the high-tech camera would make up for the dimming sunlight. “Okay, go ahead.”

Grand-Paul straightened and stuck out his chest. “Paul Prichard, Company B, Twenty-first Armored Infantry Battalion of the Eleventh.”

“Great.”

Then she turned to her grandpa. He narrowed his gaze, obviously still uncomfortable.

“I’m not going to ask you to tell any stories, but can you just state your name and unit for me?” she asked again.

He looked weary, and then he straightened. She turned the camera on him.

“Jackson Andrews, Company B, Twenty-first Armored Infantry Battalion, Eleventh Armored Division.” Then he narrowed his gaze. “That’s all you’re going to get.”

A lump formed in Ava’s throat. She cleared it. “Okay, if that’s how you want it.” She quickly put away her camera, wondering why she’d ever pushed for this.
Everything in my life has to be so hard these days.

It was quiet as the car pulled out and they headed into town. The guys’ eyes were intent on the views around them, and Ava wondered what they were thinking, what they weren’t saying.

Then, as they neared Bastogne, Grand-Paul started in singing “Auld Lang Syne
.
” After the first verse, Grandpa Jack joined in. Ava tried not to let her frustration ruin the trip, and as softly as possible she hummed along. She was pleasantly surprised to discover that Dennis knew the words as he joined in with the guys.

As they approached the outskirts of Bastogne, Ava spotted large gun turrets on either side of the road. She sat straighter in her seat.

“Would you look at that,” Dennis said. “Those are ours.”

“They sure are,” Paul said.

“I never would have thought…,” Grandpa Jack mumbled.

“That’s amazing—that the town still remembers and honors the liberators,” Ava said, trying to show the guys she could still be pleasant even if she didn’t get her way.

Ava pulled her digital camera out of her bag, but instead of taking a photo of the turrets, she turned and took a photo of the men.

Turning back around, she clicked the button to view the photo. The men’s faces were solemn, but their eyes held a special sparkle. The expression on their faces spoke what they didn’t say.

We’re back.

They still care.

They remember…

Chapter Twelve

Blue curtains with bright pink flowers fluttered in the open windows as Ava, Dennis, and their grandfathers sat in the hotel dining room enjoying dinner that night. The white floor was spotless, the chairs had comfortable blue cushions, and a painting of a medieval village hung near their table. Other tourists sat around the room, enjoying quiet conversation.

Grandpa Jack leaned forward, arms on the table, telling them how—after weeks of fighting—the people from Bastogne had been so thankful that the Americans had finally pushed the Germans out.

“The women brought us flowers. The men had tears in their eyes. We passed out chocolate to the children.”

Grandpa Jack spoke a little too loudly compared to the others at neighboring tables. Other customers looked over, and Ava shrank down a little bit in her seat. She didn’t want to interrupt to tell him that he was talking too loudly or that he had bread crumbs making indentions in his lower arm where his sleeve was rolled up. She couldn’t remember the last time he had told a story with such enthusiasm. Part of her was happy. The other part was frustrated.
Why can’t he share his stories with this much enthusiasm in front of a camera?

“Could you imagine the lives of those kids? All they knew was war,” Dennis said.

“Worse yet were the ones who didn’t make it. The bodies…” Grand-Paul lowered his head.

“Let’s not talk about that, Paul.” Grandpa Jack’s voice quavered. His face looked pained, as if a clear memory had surfaced.

Ava looked at him and noticed tears. Her own eyes misted. She looked at Dennis and saw him looking at her—watching her as she watched Grandpa Jack. Heat rose to her cheeks, which made her even more frustrated. He’d been rude to her on much of this trip, so why did she still blush under his gaze? Part of her wanted to ignore his attention. After all, he knew about Chenogne and refused to tell her what had happened. Yet another part of her wondered if they could ever have the type of friendship they had after high school. Could they pick up where they had left off? Was that possible? The idea both excited and frightened her.

Cigarette smoke filled the room, giving it a dim and hazy feeling. She leaned closer to the open window, appreciating the nosmoking policy in restaurants back home.

They finished their simple meal of goulash, frites, and vegetables, and Grandpa Jack seemed more solemn than he had at the beginning of the meal. Grand-Paul pushed back his chair. Without a moment’s pause, Dennis rose and helped him.

“So are you going to have a long night working on that video?” Grand-Paul asked.

“I hope not. I need to work on it, but I’m really tired.” She stood and stretched. “The jet lag’s finally hitting me.”

“Maybe you should get some rest. This is just the beginning of the trip. You don’t want to make yourself sick.” Her grandfather talked to her with the same tone as when she was five and wanted to eat a whole package of Oreos by herself. But this time he wasn’t just being grandfatherly.
He just wants me to rest because he hates that I’m doing the videos.
She squared her shoulders and tried not to let his comment pull her down.

“I wish I could rest, but I have no choice. Todd made it clear the video needs to be there three hours before the show so they can review it.” She wrinkled her nose, imagining the team assembled in Todd’s office, viewing her work. She knew she could make something decent, but could she, in this amount of time, meet their high standards?

“You seem a little nervous about it.” Grand-Paul cocked an eyebrow.

“A little is an understatement. I just want to get it right, you know? My boss is counting on this.” She didn’t mention that her boss was also counting on her to understand her grandfather in new ways. Understanding was far from what she’d achieved so far. Rather, each new destination had only brought more questions—ones her grandfather had no desire to answer.

“Let me tell you something I used to tell the people working in my company,” Paul said, stepping closer to her. “Inside, all of us feel as if we’re still in junior high. We feel awkward and think everyone around us is more handsome, smarter, or better. The best thing you can do is to take long strides ahead and tell yourself you’re at the top of the class. Have confidence in yourself, in your abilities, Ava.”

Ava looked at Dennis, remembering what he told her: “
I used to tell myself, Ava would do it, so why can’t I?
” Thinking of that, she wondered when things had changed. For too long she’d focused on what she could do well, instead of trying new things. This trip was a huge step for her—she hadn’t realized how big until now.

“I’ll be fine. A little nervous, yes, but nothing hard work and a few prayers and tears can’t solve. Besides, I can’t think of a better story to lose a little sleep over. I have to get this right because I have one amazing subject.”

Her grandpa rose from his chair and tried to get his balance.

“Off to bed, all of you.” She waved her hands to shoo him away, trying to pretend she wasn’t bothered by his decision not to participate in the videos. “Get some sleep.”

She pointed at Dennis. “Especially you. You’ll need a good night’s sleep, because I have a feeling you’ll be dragging me around tomorrow in my half-asleep state.”

“I can do that.” Dennis grabbed her hand and playfully tugged her arm. “Just as long as your feet move to follow.” His hand felt warm and the heat from it moved up her arm, spreading through the rest of her body. She took a step toward him, the tenderness in his eyes drawing her, and she rubbed her thumb over the back of his hand.

“I can do that,” he repeated.

* * * * *

Ava previewed the video while Grandpa Jack got ready for bed. She smiled into the camera, noticing that the shots were nice. The audio was clear. The scenery came across beautifully—a nice contrast to the stories Grand-Paul was sharing. Her grandpa seemed to give no mind to the video playing on the computer screen as he got into bed. It was almost as though he believed the whole project would go away if he just ignored it. He snuggled under the down comforter and was asleep nearly as soon as his head hit the pillow.

While the video was uploading onto her computer, Ava set to work on the script for the extra video she wanted to shoot. After she got everything written out as she wanted it, she changed her clothes, put on fresh makeup, restyled her hair, and then she headed downstairs.

The dining room was empty except for a young waitress who was sweeping.

“Excuse me.” Ava approached the young woman, whose hair was dyed burgundy—a color popular in Europe. “I was wondering if I could videotape.” Ava pointed to a table in the corner.

“No,
nein mur
food today.” The waitress’s accent was strong.

“Oh, no food. My camera.” Ava lifted her video camera and pointed to the table. “Vid-e-o.” She nodded.

The waitress shook her head, still not understanding.

Ava was too tired to explain. Instead, she pointed again, moved to the corner, and began setting up her tripod. The waitress watched her.

“Hollywood movie star!” She nodded, hurried to the bar, poured a beer from the tap, and then sat down to watch.

Ava set up the video camera, thankful the cameras used for fieldwork these days were smaller and less complicated than the one she’d used in school.

Ava knew how to set the manual shots, but full automatic would work just fine. Fine sounded good to her. This wasn’t about being artsy. It was about doing her best as quickly as she could so she could get some shut-eye, although the excited nervousness of putting the video together had banished her fatigue. Even though she was disappointed that her grandfather hadn’t been part of the first taping, she was excited about this project. It was an excitement she hadn’t found in her work in a long time.

She put the camera into auto focus and sat down at the table. The streets outside the hotel were silent, and inside, the hotel was quiet. In fact, the only noise other than her own breathing was the sound of the waitress sipping her beer as she watched.

Ava adjusted her shirt collar, and then she pulled out her script. It had taken her over an hour to write and rewrite it. She’d used the Internet to search out facts about the Eleventh Armored Division and Belgium during the war. She glanced at the words again, knowing she didn’t have time to memorize it. She’d do her best and read what she couldn’t remember. Surely viewers would understand.

After taking a deep breath, she started the recording with the remote control under the table.

“Hallo, Bonjour. This is Ava Ellington coming to you from Belgium.” She glanced at the words on her notepad and then back to the camera again. “I’m here in Europe with my grandpa Jack. We were supposed to be on a tour with his division—the Eleventh Armored Division—but after some challenges, we headed out with another veteran and his grandson. Just two grandkids with the veterans they love. We’ve been traveling all day, heading into Belgium. We went to the hill where our grandfathers first confronted—I mean faced—the enemy, and the date was, uh… .” She blew out a breath. “Cut.” She stood, pointed the remote control, and turned off the camera.

“This is not going to work,” she said to the waitress who was nodding and smiling.

Ava brushed her hair out of her face.
Okay, Ava, think through this. It’s going to look dumb for you to sit and read these dates and facts.
She thought of her audience. Of the young mom. Of the lady in the dentist’s chair. The guy watching as he grilled his cheese sandwich. They didn’t care about dates and facts.

Deep down, Ava knew what she needed. She needed to engage the viewer first. There was footage of beautiful scenery, of the hillsides, of talk of battles, but that didn’t matter as much as two old friends walking through a field where they’d once fought. The real story started with a couple of kids who’d gone off to war.

She looked at the waitress who still sat there with her beer, and then she reset the video.

“What is the first thing that comes to mind when you think about your grandparents?” she said into the camera. “I always thought about my grandma’s homemade lemon meringue pie and the summer days when my grandfather took me fishing. I never thought of Grandpa Jack as young. Not until this week. The last few days have changed who I thought my grandpa was.

“Even though his hair is gray and his steps are slow and deliberate, I can see something else when I look into his eyes. I can see who he was in 1944—a nineteen-year-old kid from Kansas who found himself in the middle of a big war.”

Ava bit her lip and glanced up at the tin-tiled ceiling. Then she looked back at the camera. “I can imagine him fresh from boot camp heading into experiences he didn’t see coming. Experiences both good and terrible. Ones he’s carried with him his whole life.