The Deposit Slip

24





The movie theater was quiet and nearly empty. Jared sat in the dark, playing with his cell phone, only occasionally concentrating on the screen.

Thursday had continued the string of useless depositions. To top that off, a brusque conversation with Jessie confirmed that their relationship was still fractured.

He hadn’t shared with Jessie his talks at the farmhouse Tuesday night. Erin’s failure to tell him the truth would only strengthen Jessie’s resolve that Jared give up the case. He also had not heard back from the investigator about the phone records.

In his discouragement Jared had, against his natural inclination, decided to get out tonight. He’d stopped at the empty house only long enough to leave a note to say he’d gone to the movie theater.

Jared looked around. The theater didn’t look much different than it did during his high school days when he and his buddies would come here on Saturday nights, staying just quiet enough to avoid being ordered to leave by sheepish uniformed classmates. The cracked vinyl seats were still surrounded by scarred wooden walls, sculpted in crenellated patterns that rose to a ceiling painted in a Greek motif. They were all reminders of the day when this movie theater, like the town, was still young and modern.

Jared slumped deeper in his seat. His mind was warm Jell-O, and he couldn’t resist a sinking sensation of futility. He had hoped the change would clear his head, but so far the movie was just a distant source of sounds and images that barely distracted.

He stiffened at a tap on his shoulder. “Jared?” a whispered voice asked.

Vic Waye sat in the row behind him, leaning close. “Can I talk to you?”

Jared nodded and followed the veteran up the aisle, past the few remaining patrons. Once they reached the empty lobby, Vic turned.

There was resolution in his eyes as Vic hooked his thumbs in his back pockets and began to speak. “Your dad said you’d be here. Uh, I’ve been thinking. About what you’re trying to do for Paul’s daughter. I think it’s a good thing.”

Jared stayed silent, waiting for Vic to get to the point.

“Verne, he appreciates it. Not suing him, I mean. He’s sorry for what he did.”

Jared nodded as Vic looked around before continuing.

“What I told you—what we told you—at the hall the other night. It wasn’t all true. I mean, we didn’t exactly lie. But, well, Paul was different the last few months before he died.”

“How.”

Vic swayed his head back and forth, searching for words. “It was that he got really quiet—even for Paul. Like he was chewing on something. Then, one day, totally different. Real . . . up—like he’d decided. Started talking again.”

“Did he tell you what had changed?”

The veteran shook his head. “No. You know, we didn’t ask. But I could see it. Something big had changed.”

Jared felt a lull of disappointment. What good was this? The pastor said as much weeks ago.

“Thanks,” Jared said.

“But,” Vic went on, “he may have told someone else. Paul was wounded badly in Vietnam. He was always trying to hide his limp, and he didn’t talk about it much. But it was there. I don’t know how he kept that farm going. He never complained. But we knew it was hard.”

Jared remembered Mort’s description of Paul being wounded. “Okay.”

“About three years ago, he started volunteering at the Veterans Hospital in Mission Falls. He met someone there, someone he connected with. I don’t think he told anyone else, but one time about a year ago when we were alone at the Legion Hall, he told me about it. A young kid. Hurt in Afghanistan. They really connected.”

“Do you have a name?”

“No.”

Jared extended a hand. “Thanks again.”

“I hope that helps.”

When the veteran left the theater, Jared waited only a moment before following him out and returning to his car.