Peter shook his head. “No, ma’am.”
“Then why are you out here in the cold? Come in, young man, come in.”
And she took him by the arm and led him inside.
“Perhaps in the sunroom,” she said, and sat him in a white wicker chair in a bright room with leaded-glass windows on three sides and a broad view of the street. “I put on a fresh pot of coffee,” she said. “You’ll have some.”
It was not a question. He nodded and sat, breathing deeply, while she brought him a cup of coffee and set out a plate of cookies. Then she perched herself on the edge of the couch, hands on her knees, leaning toward Peter. She took a deep breath, then let it out.
“Now, then,” she said. “Why are you here?”
“I hoped you would tell me a little bit about your grandson,” said Peter.
The bright smile faded into the distance. “Felix was a nice boy. Polite, never in trouble. And a hard worker.”
“He grew up with you?”
“Yes, he lived in this very house, from the age of four. Several of my grandchildren lived with me at one time or another. But Felix stayed the longest. He graduated high school, stayed away from bad influences.” The smile turned sad. “My hopes were on him more than the others.”
“He went overseas?” Peter asked.
Mrs. Castellano nodded. “It was my own fault,” she said. “He was such a kind, quiet boy. I suggested he join the Navy or the Air Force. He was good with his hands, always fixing things around the house. I hoped he would learn a trade and get money for college.” She shook her head. “He was always a skinny boy. I didn’t ever imagine he would join the Marines and get sent to the fighting. Maybe he thought he was proving something. Four years they kept him. He was always quiet before. But he came home hardly talking at all. Like he had ghosts inside him.”
Peter knew what that felt like. He felt it still, with the static sparking up inside him, even in that quiet, sunny room in Milwaukee. He rolled his shoulders to ease the tension, but it didn’t help the tightness in his chest.
“Where did Felix live, after he came home?”
“He came home to his nana.” She patted her palm on the couch cushion beside her. “I was not going to have him spending his back pay on a place of his own, not until he got a good job.” She pierced him with a glance. “Veterans Day is on Monday. We’re supposed to honor our veterans. You’d think a decorated veteran could get a job. But there were no jobs to be had. He did enroll in college, I made sure of that.”
Peter nodded. He wouldn’t have been able to resist her, either.
She shook her head. “But Felix didn’t fit there, either. He was a war veteran sitting in a classroom with children just out of high school. They had no idea of what he’d been through. And the school had no idea what to do with him.”
Peter had heard this story before, too. “Then he disappeared?”
“Months later,” she said. “He started going to a veterans’ group. I thought he might be getting better. But I arrived home one day and he was gone. He left a note.”
Mrs. Castellano reached into her shirt pocket and pulled out a piece of lined notepaper, softened from handling. The creases where it had been folded were worn. After another few months they would wear through the paper entirely. Peter imagined her carrying it with her every day, and setting it on a table beside her bed before she went to sleep.
She unfolded the note with exquisite care.
“‘Dear Nana,’” she read. “‘I have something important to do. Please don’t try to find me. If you hear anything about me, please know that I love my country, I will always love you, and I always have done what I thought was right. With love, your Felix.’”
She turned to look at Peter, eyes bright with tears. “What can he be doing?” she asked. “What can he possibly be doing?”
Peter didn’t have an answer for her.
But he was afraid it involved a large sum of money and some plastic explosive. And a disturbed young man who was good with his hands.
“Ma’am,” he said, “I wish I knew. I really do.” He wasn’t sure how to say the next thing, so he just said it. “Do you remember my asking you about another man who came to talk to you? My friend James Johnson?”
She wiped her eyes with a white handkerchief. “Yes,” she said. “He said a Marine never leaves another Marine behind. He wanted to help find my Felix.”
Then she seemed to catch herself, and stared fiercely at Peter. It was like the light of the sun focused down through a magnifying glass, but in a good way. Peter felt what it must have been like to be under this woman’s care.
“Your friend,” she said. “We spoke several times. He said he would tell me what he found. But I didn’t hear from him again. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Something happened to him.”
“Ma’am?” said Peter. “Where did you suggest Jimmy start looking for your grandson?”
—