CHAPTER
75
PULLER ADJUSTED HIS tie and then slipped on his jacket. He buttoned it up, made sure every one of his decorations was in the proper place, and then picked up his cover and put it under his arm.
His brother was waiting for him in the kitchen, also in his dress uniform, his cap riding under his arm too. His other arm was still in a sling from the injury.
“You ready, Colonel Puller?”
“I’m still technically a major, Junior. Lieutenant colonel status hasn’t come yet.”
“Matter of time. Bet you’re one of the youngest one-stars in Air Force history.”
Robert plucked an errant thread off his brother’s jacket. “We’ll see. I’ve got two years’ worth of catching up to do.”
“You ready to head out?” asked Puller.
“Let’s take a minute,” said his brother.
Puller was surprised by this. “Not having second thoughts, are you?”
Robert sat down. “No, it’s not that.”
“What then?”
“Knox told me you talked to her about Mom.”
Puller sat down, his features turning angry. “I told her that in confidence.”
“Blame me, Junior. After that exchange I heard between you before she staged killing me, I asked her about what had happened between you two.”
“Nothing happened,” snapped Puller.
“But I take it something could have?”
Puller didn’t answer right away. “Yes, it could have. But how does that tie into Mom?”
“Knox told me the most memorable moment from that night was your opening up about our mother. Knox had never seen that side of you. She told me it astonished her how sensitive, how loving you sounded when talking about Mom.”
Puller said nothing to this. He just stared down at the floor.
Robert said, “I miss her too, Junior. Think about her every day. Wondering if she’s still alive. And—”
Puller broke in, speaking forcefully. “And whether it was her choice to leave us?”
“What do you think?” asked Robert.
“I think,” began Puller, “that it’s one mystery I’ll never solve.”
Robert put a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Well, now you have me back to talk about it with. To talk about a lot of things. And you don’t have to fly to Leavenworth to do it.”
“A dream come true, Bobby. To have my big brother back.”
Robert rose. “I was thinking the very same thing, little brother. Now let’s go do this.”
They drove north. Puller parked in the lot and the two brothers walked into the facility together, removing their caps as they did so. They walked down the hall. As they drew closer to their destination Robert slowed.
“Do you really think this is a good idea?” he said.
“Yes. And you did too, apparently, until about two seconds ago.”
“I guess I’m just a little nervous.”
“Join the crowd. I’m nervous every time I come here. I’d rather take on a convoy of damn Taliban.”
Puller nudged his brother’s elbow and they kept walking. Puller nodded at a nurse he knew.
She said, “He’s up in his chair.”
“Does he know we’re coming?”
“I told him. Whether it registered or not, I don’t know.”
She looked up at Robert. “I’m glad you were able to come, sir.”
“Finally able to come,” said Robert.
Both brothers drew deep breaths and Puller opened the door and stepped in. Robert followed.
The door swung shut behind them and the two stood side by side in their pristine dress uniforms.
Across the room, in his chair, sat their father.
John Puller Sr. was dressed differently today. Usually his outfit consisted of a T-shirt and blue hospital scrub pants with slippers on his feet. His white hair was typically in disarray, his face unshaven.
This morning he had been shaved, his hair was combed, and he was dressed in pants and a collared shirt. Loafers were on his feet.
Robert looked at Puller, who was staring in amazement at his father.
“Something different today?” whispered Robert.
“Definitely,” replied Puller.
“General,” said Puller. “We’re here reporting in, sir.” He pushed Robert ahead of him. “I brought along a new man today. He’ll be reporting in to you regularly now.”
Puller Sr. turned to face them, though he didn’t get out of his chair. His gaze moved up and down both men’s uniforms before coming to rest on Robert’s face.
“Name?” said Puller Sr.
Robert glanced at his brother and received an encouraging nod before saying, “Major Robert W. Puller, USAF.”
Puller Sr. stared hard at him for a few moments before looking at his other son.
In that gaze, for the first time in a long time, Puller saw recognition. Not just seeing something. Recognition. He stepped forward and said softly, “Dad?”
Robert glanced sharply at Puller. His brother had filled him in on the subterfuge he normally employed with his father. Playing the role of XO to his father’s three stars and head of a corps.
Puller took another hesitant step toward his father.
“Dad?”
Puller Sr. slowly rose from his chair. His legs trembled a bit and his knees creaked, but he finally righted himself and stood tall and firm. His gaze left his younger son and went back to his older boy.
He took a few halting steps toward Robert.
The old man’s eyebrows were bunched together, the eyes sharp and penetrating. But at the edges Puller saw something he never had before, not even when his mother had disappeared: tears.
“B-Bob?”
When he heard the name, Puller reached out and touched the wall to keep himself upright.
Robert said in a quavering voice, “It’s… me… Dad.”
The old man crossed the room with surprising swiftness to stand in front of his son. He looked him up and down again, taking in all aspects of the uniform, his gaze coming to rest on the rows of decorations there. He reached out and touched one of them. Then his hand drifted up to his son’s face. The hair had not yet grown back, but Robert had divested himself of all the other elements of his changed appearance.
“It’s me, Dad,” he said firmly. “Back in uniform.”
Puller continued to hold on to the wall as he watched this.
Puller Sr.’s hand dipped down to his son’s uninjured one and gripped it.
“Good, son. Good.”
Then his father let go, turned and drifted back over to his chair, and slowly sat down. He turned his face to the wall.
Robert glanced at his brother, his features confused. Puller inclined his head, indicating that Robert should follow his father.
Robert walked over, pulled up another chair, and sat next to his dad. His father continued to stare at the wall, but Puller could hear his brother speaking to him in low tones. He continued to watch for a few moments and then stepped outside the room, leaned against the wall, closed his eyes, exhaled a long breath, and tried to fight back the tears.
As he slumped down to the floor, he lost that fight.