《Bill and the Whistling Death》


 Bombs Away! | Authors Note

    Thirty Seconds Over Tokyo (1944) and my new Patriots Point Naval and Maritime Museum job inspired this story. Welcome, everyone, to Bill and the Whistling Death, a military drama about William Beckington, a retired Navy pilot of the Korean War (1950-1953). I have written war dramas before, but it''s been since middle school¡ªLOL! However, I wrote one drama in 7th grade, The Amazing Mustard Seed, that my parents enjoyed, and with this new start at Patriots Point, I decided to dip back into it. Many military dramas I see online are Romance-based; not many are friendship-based, so I decided on this approach for a new twist¡ªbecause I love to think outside the box when it comes to writing.


    This book is written in honor of my grandpa, who flew B-17s during World War II, my dad, who was on submarines during the Cold War, and all veterans still recovering from their scars. I want to give a massive shout-out to the colorful cast of characters I work with at Patriots Point. Without them, this story never would have happened. Thank you, guys! I will try my best not to disappoint you.Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    Like most of my writing, this story is plot and character-driven, so expect minimal descriptions and a screenplay-like writing style.


    I''m giving a quick heads-up to those unfamiliar with Southern culture because I know someone will wonder why Natalie, a sixty-year-old woman, calls her dad "Daddy." It is widespread for women of all ages in the Deep South to call their dads "Daddy"¡ªjust FYI. It''s part of our culture here, and I do not want to change my culture to satisfy my readers'' needs. Therefore, it is okay for Natalie to call Bill "Daddy".


    With that said, I hope you guys enjoy Bill and the Whistling Death!


    - Victoria/Viktoria


    Please do NOT plagiarize this story! I have worked very hard on her, and she does not deserve an insult like that! I do NOT want to have to turn on my wrong side¡ªjust FYI

 What to Expect | Bill and the Whistling Deaths Themes

    Hey, guys! While Bill and the Whistling Death will remain family-friendly like Thirty Seconds Over Tokyo, like any drama, it will contain a few darker themes. The themes aren''t as dark as Infrared and Milo and Maisie, but they''re still there¡ªespecially since this is another story inspired by my brother''s death. I''m going to keep trying until someone hears his story.


    FYI¡ªplease do not suggest that I turn this military drama into an LGBTQ+ Romance between two old geezers. I''m trying to prove that a story does not need a lot of Romance to be good¡ªonly good characters and a good plot. The closest Wattpad ventricle this story falls under is Slice-of-Life, but again, I will not turn it into an LGBTQ+ Romance. I have nothing against those; they''re just not for me.This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    With that said, here are only a few themes I''ve added in Bill and the Whistling Death:


    - Grief, loss, and depictions of PTSD in a non-graphic way. It''s a military drama, y''all.


    - Loss of a best friend and how it affects the surviving friend throughout their life.


    - Don''t be nonchalant. It is okay to show emotion¡ªespecially when needed¡ªeven if you''re a man.


    - Non-graphic descriptions of war and Bill''s mistake.


    - Minor swearing but nothing graphic like the f-word.


    - Finally, a military drama does not need Romance to be good¡ªjust a solid plot and good character development. Friendship is a type of love, y''all.

 Were in the Navy! | Navy Terms

    1.) Knee-Knocker ¨C a high step


    2.) Midrats ¨C midnight rations


    3.) "Dogging the door/hatch" ¨C closing and locking a door, especially during General Quarters


    4.) Ladder ¨C stairs


    5.) Sick Bay ¨C hospitalThis book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.


    6.) Galley ¨C the kitchen


    7.) Head ¨C the bathroom (the term comes from old sailing days when sailors did their business on their ship''s bow and hoped a wave would wash it overboard)


    8.) Brig ¨C the jail


    8.) CV ¨C cruiser voler (French word for "to fly")/aircraft carrier


    9.) Hangar Bay ¨C area of the ship where planes are stored and worked on


    10.) Flight Deck ¨C area of the ship where planes take off and land


    11.) Ready Room ¨C meeting space for pilots before a mission


    12.) Berthing ¨C the area of the ship where sailors sleep


    13.) Mess Hall ¨C where sailors eat


    14.) Scuttlebutt ¨C gossip by the water fountain


    15.) General Quarters - To Battle Stations!

 The Battle of the Coral Sea | Fun, Quick Facts about the USS Yorktown

    1.) The first World War II Yorktown, CV-5, was sunk the day after the Battle of Midway on June 7th, 1942.


    2.) The second World War II Yorktown, CV-10, was initially named Bonhomme Richard, but we re-named her Yorktown to honor CV-5.


    3.) CV-10''s keel was laid down on December 1st, 1941, six days before Pearl Harbor.


    4.) After Pearl Harbor, Yorktown was built in a remarkable 16 1/2 months (this happens when a country is motivated). Most of the workforce was women.


    5.) During her christening ceremony, Elanor Roosevelt, who christened CV-5, christened CV-10. Yorktown was considered an "eager" ship because she began slipping out of her slip seven minutes ahead of schedule, leaving Elanor to jump up and quickly smash the champagne bottle on her bow¡ªthe first of which didn''t break.


    6.) The Navy is superstitious. If a ship is not christened, it is considered bad luck, and all the sailors will want to join the Air Force. But no, the bottle broke after Elanor''s second attempt, just in time.


    7.) Yorktown was officially commissioned on April 15th (my dad''s birthday!), 1943, and joined the war''s Pacific Fleet. At the time of her service, she was 873 feet long (the Titanic was 883 feet long), weighed 35,000 tons (the Titanic weighed 52,000 tons), and her Flight Deck was at least 140 feet wide. The Essex-class carriers, to which Yorktown belongs, carried around 90-100 aircraft. The Hellcat was Yorktown''s best fighter plane.


    8.) Yorktown carried around 3,300 men. She''s a floating city with a complimentary airport. Amenities include the chapel, the barber shop, the ship store, the brig, the galley, berthing, the dentist, the hospital, etc. Enlisting officers were given a day job and a battle job. The average age of the men was nineteen.A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    9.) During World War II, Yorktown participated in battles such as the Truk and Marianas, the Battle of the Philippines, Iwo Jima, and Okinawa (only 146 of her men died during her entire service). She earned eleven battle stars and was awarded the Presidential Unit Citation.


    10.) While she didn''t see action in the Korean War, Yorktown (including other Essex-class carriers and the new Midway-class) was chosen for modernizations in the 1950s, including an angled Flight Deck to support jet aircraft and an enclosed bow to protect her from hurricanes. Her Flight Deck went from 873 feet to 1,000 feet with these modernizations. During the Korean War, she was re-classified as an attack carrier (CVA).


    11.) Yorktown received five more battle stars in the Vietnam War and became an anti-submarine carrier (CVS).


    12.) Yorktown was the primary ship that picked up the Apollo 8 astronauts and capsule in 1968. That project circled the Moon but didn''t land on it (that was Apollo 11).


    13.) In 1970, Yorktown was getting a little run-down, but we still had one more job for her. She starred in the movie Tora, Tora, Tora as the Japanese aircraft carrier Akagi (ironic, right?). Yorktown was officially decommissioned on June 27th, 1970, and placed in reserve.


    14.) In 1975, while Yorktown enjoyed retirement, a new naval and maritime museum was opening in Mt. Pleasant, South Carolina: Patriots Point. They asked for an aircraft carrier, so the Yorktown was towed to Charleston. A 40-foot deep trench was built, and twelve tugboats pushed her in (LOL!). Patriots Point opened in 1976, and Yorktown has been there ever since because she''s too "good" to fire (she''s also stuck in 40 feet of mud).


    15.) Yorktown has two iconic nicknames: "Fighting Lady (made famous by the 1944 documentary The Fighting Lady)", and "Lucky One" for only enduring one bomb hit during her entire service in March 1945. Five men died; that does not compare to Yorktown''s sister ship, the Franklin, which survived two bomb hits the next day, and 700 of her men died.


    16.) CV-10, the USS Yorktown, is the second-most decorated aircraft carrier next to Enterprise.


    And that''s the USS Yorktown, the centerpiece of Patriots Point Naval and Maritime Museum! Bill has a lot to learn, but I did, too.

 Chapter One: Incident At Patriots Point

    I killed my best friend. The snowstorm brewed, and I mistook him for the enemy. I let my Corsair''s rockets loose, and they shot him into the mountains. What kind of veteran am I, murdering my best friend?


    "Daddy, Daddy, we''re here." Natalie''s sweet voice frees me from the memory.


    I force a smile when I see theUSS Yorktownresting gallantly at the end of Patriots Point on the edge of Charleston, South Carolina. She''s eighteen decks high (doesn''t compare to the Ford and Nimitz-classes today), and whew, I don''t see my enemy on the 1,000-foot-long Flight Deck.


    For seventy years, I have stayed away from the Corsair. As a retired Navy pilot, though, I miss my days onValley Forge, so Natalie suggested I begin volunteering here. Reluctance is my best friend now, ever since The Incident¡ªyet here I am.


    Natalie parks in the Employee lot behind the long pier that leads to the ship.


    "There''s not a Corsair here, right?" I first ask when she shuts off the car. I''m not great with computers, so I failed to check the Patriots Point website before starting today.


    Natalie reaches back and grabs my cane, handing it to me. "Let''s not talk about that right now." She looks just like me when I was sixty: a stout girl with stringy brown hair that has not yet wholly grayed.


    My dear daughter has helped me considerably since the war, but I still want nothing to do with the Corsair. Natalie has tried me with PTSD counselors, but none worked. Nothing will rid the Whistling Death''s scream from my head as Ted went down. To Hell with you, William! That''s where I''ll go when I pass.


    Natalie exits the car and opens my door.


    Hot air washes over me like an endless heat wave, and I step into it, my blue Patriots Point volunteer shirt already sticking to my ninety-two-year-old skin. Damn, I remember when getting out of a car was easy.


    Natalie and I just moved to South Carolina from New York, so the smell of pluff mud knocks me back a step. How do South Carolinians do it?


    This is my first time on an aircraft carrier sinceValley Forge. I attempted to avoidIntrepid,Lexington,Hornet,Yorktown,and Midwaywith the possibility of running into a Corsair. Why am I here again? Oh, I know why: CV-10 looks regal sitting in the Charleston Harbor, and I miss theValley Forge.


    Natalie grasps my arm and leads me toward the pier. I see the marsh surrounding it and an eight-person red golf cart sitting beside the gatehouse at the top of it. Old geezers like me, in blue volunteer shirts, roam slowly. Most are veterans, but did any of them shoot down their best friend?


    Natalie and I stop before a gentleman in front of the gatehouse. He wears a gray Public Safety short-sleeved shirt, khaki shorts, and a Vietnam Veteran cap. His nametag reads Cory.


    "Hello," Natalie says. "We''re Natalie and William Beckington. My daddy starts today."


    "Well, I''ll be!" Cory notices the cap on my head. "Welcome, William, and thank you for your service. You served on theValley Forge?"


    I keep my mouth shut.


    Natalie nods. "Yes, he flew Corsairs during the Korean War."


    "Well, I''ll be!" Cory repeats. "We don''t have a lot of Corsair fliers here." He grins and reaches for the walkie-talkie on his belt. "I''ll let the Volunteer Coordinator know you''re here and get you a ride to the ship."


    "Thanks." Natalie faces me and points at a bench beside a photo booth. "Would you like to sit, Daddy?"


    I''m fine standing, but if she insists¡ªI approach the bench and sit, crossing one leg over the other.


    Natalie joins me and squeezes my shoulder. She always does it when she knows I''m nervous.


    Before long, a younger volunteer emerges from around Patriots Point''s gift shop, the Ship Store, and stops before Cory, who points at us. "They''re new, Sebastian, and need a ride. The Volunteer Coordinator says they can wait for him at the Info Booth."


    Sebastian nods and approaches us. "Hello, hello, and welcome to Patriots Point." He giggles and gestures at the golf cart. "Your Uber has arrived."


    Natalie giggles, too, but I remain nonchalant. One of the main lessons we learned in the Navy was to try not to show emotion, no matter how much it hurts. While I haven''t cried over Ted in years, his face remains plastered in my brain.


    I stand, and Natalie, Sebastian, and I reach the cart, where Natalie says, "You take the shotgun, Daddy."


    I thank her and slip into the ride, my butt hitting the uncomfortable seat cloth.Don''t show emotion, Bill.


    Natalie sits behind me, Sebastian beside me. The cart tips a bit but soon straightens. I now have a clear view of theUSS Yorktown, the Charleston Harbor, and the marsh. What a beautiful aircraft carrier! She''s Essex-class, like theValley Forge, and a short-class carrier compared toValley Forge. I seeYorktown, and I see her¡ªthe days Ted and I would smoke cigarettes on the Flight Deck before a big battle and play poker soon after¡ªbecause when young men know they may not survive, a game of poker relieves us.This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    On our way down the pier to the ship, Sebastian asks me, "What did you do onValley Forge?" He must''ve also seen my hat.


    I stick with a one-word answer: "Pilot."


    "He flew Corsairs," Natalie explains.


    My skin prickles, and I lower my round glasses over my nose.


    "Oh, that''s sick!" Sebastian says. "You''ll love it here, um..." His voice trails.


    "Bill," I say. Ted called me that, so I never let the nickname go. I used to call him "Roosevelt". We were Bill and Roosevelt on the aircraft carrier. It got a good laugh out of all the guys. And then I shot Ted down. I distanced myself from the others for the rest of my service and only flew my plane when needed. Luckily, the war ended soon after The Incident, but that scar remains.


    Sebastian''s voice pulls me out of my trance. "Here we are. If you take this ramp and turn left, you''ll pass the galley. An elevator is at the end of it. Press M for the Hangar Bay and Information Booth."


    "Galley". Now, that rings a bell. Ted and I were always impatient when we went for the midrats.


    I lift my head and see CV-10 lurking over me. The ramp Sebastian mentioned is beside us, leading from the pier to the ship. I also notice a large staircase before the golf cart and a sign at its top that readsI Pledge Allegiance. I''m okay going up stairs, but Natalie fears I''ll fall and hurt myself. It sucks getting old.


    We enter the ship from the ramp, and the first thing I see on my left is a group of wheelchairs.


    Natalie gives me a gentle smile. "Would you like a wheelchair, Daddy?"


    To Hell with that!


    "I can still walk, Natalie," I growl, passing the chairs.


    She blushes. "Sorry."


    Natalie''s looking out for me, but I''m ninety-two, not one hundred. I don''t need a damn wheelchair.


    Natalie and I turn left in the narrow hallway, where we findYorktown''sMachine Shop. The galley is beside it. Wow, that cafeteria dining brings back memories. Although, the plastic pies and meat look a little better than what I had.


    A sense of comfort washes over me while Natalie and I follow the galley to the elevator. Within minutes, the doors open, and we are onYorktown''sHangar Bay, the Information Desk before us, and a line of airplanes on the right.


    My instincts take me to the airplanes, but Natalie approaches the Information Desk and begins chatting with another veteran behind it. I am home after seventy years. The distinct diesel smell says everything.


    I approach the first plane in the line¡ªan F9F Cougar. I remember it from the war; its unique nose and lack of a propeller distinguish it from World War II planes. An AD Skyraider, an attack aircraft, is beside it, and then there is a fighter, the Hellcat. While I know little about CV-10, I know that the Hellcat was her best fighter during World War II. Wow, it''s incredible that I still know my airplanes. What''s next, what''s next?


    I freeze and feel the blood draining from my wrinkled face. No! Why? I recognize that double-wasp engine and gull wings anywhere.


    The F4U Corsair in the Hangar Bay is black and sports the number 21 on its fuselage. Its side is decorated with a pirate skull.


    Don''t show emotion, Bill. Don''t show emotion.But it isn''t easy. That¡ªThat...!


    I storm to the Corsair and lift my cane over my head. I knock it against the plane''s propeller and yell, "You son of a bitch! You killed my best friend!"


    "Whoa!" Natalie shouts from the Info Desk. Luckily, the museum is not open yet. Natalie rushes to me and grabs my arm. She drags me away from the Corsair, past the Information Booth, and sits me on a bench before it. "Deep breaths, Daddy. Deep breaths."


    The volunteers behind the Information Desk hurry to us. "Does he need a bottle of water?" one asks.


    Natalie nods. "Yeah, I would get him one."


    "Right." The volunteer salutes and hurries back to the Info Desk.


    I shiver and rub my nose. "I''m sorry, Natalie, but... but why?" I look past her at the Medal of Honor Museum across from us. Wait, Patriots Point has a Medal of Honor Museum?


    I face Natalie again when she says, "Daddy, I''ve tried everything. Patriots Point is your key to finally moving on. You''ll be with other veterans and make tons of new friends."


    I growl. "So, you knew there was a Corsair here?"


    Natalie nods. "It''s not the Corsair that haunts you, Daddy, but the memory." She smiles at the second volunteer and then at the one who returns with the water bottle.


    "Thank you," I say, accepting it.


    Natalie kisses my forehead. "The Volunteer Coordinator is on his way up. I''m going to leave but will be back at twelve with lunch." She gestures at the volunteers. "These volunteers will take care of you. Promise. Please, Daddy, give Patriots Point a chance."


    "One day," I say, holding up my index finger. "After today, I never want to see that Corsair again."


    Natalie smirks and stands up straight. "All right. One day, it is." She gives me one last peck and nods at the volunteers, who return it. From here, Natalie leaves, and I''m alone¡ªtrapped on an aircraft carrier with my worst enemy and the brutal memory.


    "Ted!" I yelled when I realized that the plane I shot down wasn''t the enemy. I turned my Corsair and fought the storm, looking for him. "Ted!" I called into my radio. "Ted, can you hear me? Ted!"


    Nothing. I never found him or his plane and eventually had to return toValley Forge. They deemed Ted "Missing in Action", and he never returned.


    That night, in our berthing area, one of my brothers asked, "Do you want to play poker, brother?"


    "No." I sniffed and turned over in my rack, placing my pillow on my head. The guys attempted to comfort me, to no avail.


    While my mind places the memory on a loop, something tickles the corner of my eye, and I reach for it.


    Don''t be a baby, William. You''re ninety-two years old. You''re not allowed to feel emotions.


    The volunteers help me stand and escort me to the Information Booth.


    A shorter, younger man emerges from below deck and stops before me. "Hey, sorry I''m late." He runs his fingers through the hair on either side of his head (he''s bald on top) and offers me his hand. "Welcome, William Beckington. I''m Temple, the Volunteer Coordinator. Let''s get started, shall we?"


    No.That''s the only word that comes to mind.

 Chapter Two: Diesel Coffee

    While Temple is shorter¡ªhe''s not that short. His glasses resemble mine, and he sports long pants with a Patriots Point Staff shirt. "We''re so excited to have you!" he says while we walk past the Cougar to a ladder at the end of the Hangar Bay, propped against the ship''s iron plates.


    I tuck my cane and water bottle under my arm and grasp the ladder''s rails, carefully slipping down it.


    Temple waits for me at the bottom beside Tour 4''s exit, standing on a picture of a cartoon dog wearing a pilot uniform.


    "Who''s that?" I ask, pointing at the dog.


    "Scrappy," Temple answers. "He''s Patriots Point''s mascot, named after a dog who stowed away during the war."


    A dog stowaway? I never knew animals were eager to serve their country, too.


    Temple and I step over a knee knocker, and Yorktown''s walls close in on us. Aside from seasickness, I remember claustrophobia was another reason why young sailors visited Sick Bay on my ship. I was okay, but Ted always looked green around the gills¡ªat least for the first week.


    I chuckle at the memory, but my smile fades when Temple and I enter Yorktown''s Sick Bay, a thirty-two-bed hospital with more comfortable racks than the standard berthing areas.


    Temple unhooks a chain and gestures me through to a hatch at the room''s other end. He un-dogs it and pushes it open. Directly beside us is another hatch, and Temple opens it. The hatch creaks and reveals an air-conditioned room¡ªthank goodness!¡ªon the other side. It contains a small, circular table, two computer desks, a conference table, and a kitchen.


    "This is the Volunteer Lounge," Temple explains, closing the door behind us. "This is where the Volunteers sign in and out for their shift." He gestures at a coffee machine in the kitchen. "There''s coffee if you want some."


    Oh yes! I hope it tastes better than the coffee during my service. It was not Starbucks Pumpkin Spice coffee; it tasted like water with a hint of diesel, but Ted and I grew addicted. I fix a cup and join Temple at the conference table, sitting before a screen with a slideshow that reads Welcome to Patriots Point.


    I reach into my pant pocket and release a brass locket with a black-and-white picture of Ted and me during our service inside. My hair was short and brown, and I always carried a goofy smile. "Cheeky" was another one of my nicknames.


    "Who was your friend during the war?" Temple asks me suddenly. He props up his head.


    Steam puffs out of my ears, and I shut the locket. "Who told you that?" Probably Natalie.


    Temple chuckles and picks up a remote. "Your daughter."


    Of course. "I''d rather not say," I admit, lowering my head and slipping the locket back into my pocket. Ted was between Natalie and me.


    "Sorry," Temple apologizes, facing the slideshow. "We''re just trying to help. Anyway"¡ªhe clears his throat¡ª"we''re happy to have you. I''m Temple, the Volunteer Coordinator. My job is to look out for all our wonderful Volunteers."


    I don''t want to be here. Not with a damn Corsair in the Hangar Bay.


    "With you in the mix now," Temple elucidates, "we now have 160 Volunteers in total."


    160?


    "Are all of them veterans?" I find myself asking. Oh, gosh, please don''t tell me I''m interested in this torture chamber. Ted wouldn''t want me working here.


    "Most are veterans, but there are a few non-military peeps," Temple explains. "I''m a no-nonsense fellow if you should know something about me. If you have issues with another Volunteer, come to me first." His eyebrows furrow. "I also don''t like secrets and lack of communication. If you won''t be here for your shift one day, let me know beforehand."


    He''s a bit strict, isn''t he¡ªlike me. I don''t enjoy a lack of communication, either, so why did Natalie not tell me there was a Corsair here? I''ll discuss it with her when she picks me up.


    Temple straightens himself. "Anyway, if I haven''t scared you off, let''s start orientation." He lifts the remote, but before he flips the slide, he explains, "I was a Supply Officer in the Navy. Down on Tour 3 is the Ship Store. I can spend hours there talking about the replenishment of underwear."


    The side of my mouth twitches, and I let out a cheeky giggle. Is this man toying with me?


    "Ah," Temple says, turning in his seat, "there''s the human behind the grief."


    Grief? What grief? Ted died seventy years ago. "Who says I''m grieving?" I ask my new boss.


    He cocks a brow and answers, "You still live on that Navy myth? Let''s see if we can break you out of it." He flips the slideshow to the next slide here.Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    I reach for my hearing aid to block out his too-cheerful-for-me tude, but my hand stops.


    "Our Volunteers are the heart of Patriots Point," Temple explains, gesturing at the picture on the screen of a group of Volunteers standing on the pier before the Yorktown. "Depending on your interests, we could have you behind the Info Desk, driving the golf cart, sitting on the Laffey, or even pulling out the Education Carts. You may like them since you''re a pilot."


    "Laffey? What''s the Laffey?" I inquire.


    "You didn''t see her when Sebastian drove you down the pier?" Temple drums his fingers on the table. "She''s Yorktown''s next-door neighbor¡ªa battleship known as the ''Ship That Would Not Die''. During the Battle of Okinawa in ''45, she took six kamikaze hits and four bombs and still floated. We used to have a submarine, too, but she started sinking, so we had to scrap her."


    "Isn''t that what submarines do?" I find myself questioning while the Ship That Would Not Die buries itself in my brain. "Oh, gosh, I''m sorry! Was that rude?"


    Temple waves his hand. "You''re fine. We have a memorial for her on your way into Patriots Point. You may want to consider stopping by it one day. Anyway, where were we? Oh, yes."


    For the next twenty minutes, I sip my Starbucks Pumpkin Spice coffee and listen to Temple, who reviews the rules and regulations for Volunteers. It feels like my first day in a paying job.


    "The Volunteer Dinner Cruise is in November," Temple explains. "We rent out Spiritline Cruises, hold a dinner for the Volunteers, and announce the Volunteer of the Year."


    Volunteer of the Year? That sounds like an interesting goal to achieve. Wait¡ªno, William. You''re here one day and one day only. The only way to keep you longer is to eliminate the Corsair.


    "For today," Temple says at the end of his lecture, "let''s have you behind the Information Booth so you can meet a few more Volunteers and start learning Yorktown''s history. I also recommend that you check out Laffey."


    The Ship That Would Not Die. That does scream adventure. Navy guys, young and old, enjoy a good adventure. My adventure includes flipping through Ted and I''s photo album, which we began as children and added to as we grew older. I call it Willed because Ted''s will, his memory, is in it.


    A flashback crosses my mind, thinking about Willed. Ted and I were thrown into Valley Forge''s brig for a day because we fought over which pictures we wanted and didn''t want in the album during midrats. We were just kids and a little high on diesel coffee.


    Temple smiles gently. "I think you''re going to like it here, Bill. We merely need you to overcome the Navy myth to remain emotionless. You lost someone you loved; it''s okay to express that."


    Not when you''re ninety-two years old.


    "Thanks," I mumble, using my cane to help me stand. I stroll to the desk behind one of the computer desks and flip open the Volunteer Sign In and Out binder, just like Temple told me during his twenty-minute lecture. I search for my name, but my eyes are going, so I squint.


    Temple''s large hand appears beside mine, and while I''m slightly surprised, I don''t jump.


    "Here you go," Temple says, turning to the Bs in the binder. He points at my name and moves his finger to the box under it. "You just sign here. I''ve also got a gift for you."


    Gift? Isn''t it a little early for gifts? This man is so toying with me, and I don''t know how I feel about it.


    I sign in and turn. Temple stands before me, holding a gold nametag that reads Bill Beckington. Volunteers is under my name.


    "Welcome to the crew." Temple sets the nametag in my outstretched palm. "You''re one of us now."


    "One of them". For some reason, this brings another cheeky smile to my face. I unhook the magnet from the nametag''s back end and clip it to my shirt.


    Don''t show emotion, Bill.


    "Let''s get you back up to the Hangar Bay." Temple leads me out of the Volunteer Lounge, back the way we came, and up to the Hangar Bay.


    I pause momentarily on the ladder to catch my breath before climbing the rest of the way up. Climbing stairs is more challenging than descending them for me¡ªhence, my cane. It''s mainly here to help me climb stairs.


    "Hey, guys!" Temple cheerily announces when we reach the Information Booth. He gestures at me. "We''ve got our new Volunteer, William Beckington, who served on the Valley Forge. Make him feel welcome."


    Something tells me he enjoys working here a little too much.


    One of the Volunteers is the Navy guy who grabbed the water bottle for me when I first saw the Corsair. The other one''s missing, and a new guy''s here: a chubby fella named Cosgrove. Looking at his hat, I see he served in the Marine Corps. I keep my eyes on him so I don''t accidentally glance at the Corsair again. I''m staying away from that thing, no matter how much it takes.


    Just get through these next three hours, Bill, and then you''re free. However, I''d be lying if I said I didn''t feel a connection here because I do: a hint of nostalgia. Ted and I were like little kids playing hide-and-seek when we rushed around Valley Forge''s Hangar Bay and pointed out every one of the Corsair''s distinguishing features. "Whistling Death" was our favorite one. The Corsair whistled whenever she flew because wind passed through her double wasp engine.


    Oh, Ted, I wish you were here to help me through today.


    I chug the rest of my coffee and inhale to stop the building emotions.


    Before Temple leaves, he asks the Volunteers behind the desk, "Take care of him, all right? I''m going to check on the cart drivers."


    Driving a golf cart sounds fun.


    Temple exits Yorktown from the main entrance before the Information Booth. I''m alone once again, contemplating my decision here like a child who doesn''t want to tell their parent they failed their Math test.


    My hand slips into my pocket, and I wrap my aged fingers around the locket. I don''t want to make friends. No one will replace him.


    With this in mind, I stay away from the Volunteers, who wave.


    "Would you like to learn about Yorktown?" Cosgrove asks. "We''re usually not too busy during our first hour. I can take you up to the Flight Deck."


    "Um... sure," I answer without thinking. Wait! Snap!


    I hit my cane against my forehead, releasing the locket to hide my embarrassment behind my free hand. It''s safe to say that my coffee has changed back to diesel because I can''t think straight anymore.


    Drinking diesel coffee in the Navy was like alcohol for Ted and me. After a few cups, we would say something like, "Um... sure," without a second thought.


    "Let''s go, then!" Cosgrove clenches his fists and slips out from behind the Information Booth. He heads toward the elevator and faces me, friendliness and a hint of overprotection plastered on his face.


    What have I gotten myself into?

 Chapter Three: The Ship That Would Not Die

    Wow, Yorktown¡¯s Flight Deck is beyond compare; however, these planes are from the Vietnam Era, so I don¡¯t recognize them, except for Top Gun¡¯s Blue Angel (those movies make me cringe) beside what looks like an amphibious Sea King helicopter.


    Cosgrove leads me toward Yorktown¡¯s bow, pointing out planes, but my mind veers to the steel plates under me. Essex carriers have wooden decks, so why doesn¡¯t Yorktown? I prepare to ask Cosgrove but shut my mouth because I remind myself I¡¯m only spending one day here.


    Once Cosgrove and I pass the rest of the planes on the Flight Deck, the Charleston Harbor unfolds before us: the Cooper River Bridge, a sight to behold from here, and Downtown Charleston¡¯s historic, clustered buildings across the river.


    I wasn¡¯t sure about moving down here at first, but after being here a week, I realize how much history Charleston carries and how much I have to see. The culture is vastly different, based primarily on the arts. However, how do South Carolinians feel about more Northerners moving here? They especially seem to hold a grudge against Ohioans¡ªnot that I blame them.


    ¡°Isn¡¯t it beautiful?¡± Cosgrove asks beside me, his hands in his pockets. ¡°The best part of the ship is sitting in the Captain¡¯s chair in the island.¡± He points it out to me. ¡°Those pictures blow up on TikTok.¡±


    Oh, gosh, don¡¯t get me started on social media. Ted and I didn¡¯t have that when we were kids. It¡¯s incredible how times have changed in seventy years; people have switched from being social to being glued to their phones. I do not enjoy seeing children in a restaurant playing on an iPad. Ted and I would run outside and play tag while we waited for our meal. What am I going to do about it, though? After all, old geezers like me are beginning to feel like relics in a museum. Unless it¡¯s a war, people no longer show much interest in our history.


    Cosgrove reads my face and asks, ¡°You not a social media person?¡±


    ¡°I hate it.¡± It¡¯s not something I¡¯m going to sugarcoat. ¡°People overreact over the cringiest things.¡± I do, too, because I¡¯m still grieving Ted after seventy years.


    Don¡¯t show emotion, Bill. I need to keep repeating that. It¡¯ll save me from a meltdown.


    ¡°You¡¯re a funny guy.¡± A hint of a Southern accent slips off Cosgrove¡¯s tongue. ¡°I¡¯m curious to know your story.¡±


    Too bad¡ªI¡¯m not going to share it. All Cosgrove needs to know is that Ted and I were childhood friends. We thought we were queer at one point but then decided our relationship was strictly brotherly.


    Cosgrove lets my secrecy go and escorts me to Yorktown¡¯s starboard side. He points out the long pier and a smaller ship¡ªa battleship¡ªjust off it.


    Oh! That¡¯s the Laffey¡ªDD-724, it looks like. She¡¯s a baby compared to Yorktown, but something about her intrigues me. I bet it¡¯s that unique nickname, ¡°The Ship That Would Not Die¡±. ¡°Whistling Death¡± was what drew Ted and me to the Corsair.


    Cosgrove notices me staring at the Laffey and asks, ¡°Would you like to learn more about her?¡±


    Did I? At this point, I¡¯m unsure about anything, yet I find myself saying, ¡°So, she¡¯s known as the Ship That Would Not Die because she didn¡¯t sink when she was hit?¡±


    Cosgrove nods. ¡°Yes. Six kamikazes and four bombs hit her. She only lost thirty-two of her three hundred men.¡±


    Thirty-two? That¡¯s not bad. I wonder who Laffey¡¯s captain was?


    While Cosgrove and I head toward the elevator again, Cosgrove adds, ¡°Yorktown has two nicknames: ¡®Fighting Lady¡¯, made famous by the 1944 documentary, and the ¡®Lucky One¡¯, for only enduring one bomb hit during her entire service. Five men died.¡±


    Oh, wow... This ship is a tank. Only one bomb hit? And what¡¯s this documentary Cosgrove mentioned? There¡¯s so much to learn here, like the rest of Charleston, but... Ted, the Corsair. I may succeed if I stay away from that section of the Hangar Bay. Everything beyond the Corsair would be off-limits. I¡¯m sure I¡¯ll be okay if I only know Yorktown¡¯s Flight Deck and a little about the Laffey.


    The thoughts swarm through my brain like buzzing bees the entire way back to the Hangar Bay.


    Cosgrove drops me off at the Information Booth and says, ¡°If you have any questions, feel free to ask. I studied aircraft carriers in school.¡±


    Did he ever fly off one into the frigid Korean mountains, where destiny turned to disaster, though? I don¡¯t say this aloud because I don¡¯t want to get fired on my first day as a Volunteer. Oh, who am I kidding? Who cares if Temple fires me?


    I open my mouth to unleash my stubbornness but shut it when a family of parents and two children enter from Yorktown¡¯s main entrance. I step back and observe how Cosgrove interacts with them.Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    ¡°Welcome aboard the Yorktown! Is this your guys¡¯ first time here?¡± he inquires.


    ¡°It is!¡± the mother says, holding her son up to the Info Booth. ¡°Tommy here loves airplanes.¡±


    I do, too, but not because I shot down enemies during the war. Aviation was freedom for Ted and me. We were like birds who had just fledged, and I still remember that amazing first flight. It was hard to see over the Corsair¡¯s high nose and propeller, so Ted and I flew side-by-side and helped one another¡ªall up to when we landed on Valley Forge. We celebrated that night with six rounds of diesel coffee.


    Cosgrove grabs a map of Patriots Point resting on the Information Booth and opens it, sliding it between him and the family. ¡°We have four self-guided tours on Yorktown. Tour 1 takes you down to the living spaces of the sailors and the Engine Room Experience. Tour 2 takes you up to the Flight Deck. Tour 3 is the Officers¡¯ country, and Tour 4 is our museum tour, where you can see many naval exhibits, including a display of the famous Japanese battleship, the Yamato.¡±


    The Yamato? Heck, yeah! Now, I have to give Patriots Point a chance. The Yamato was the biggest Japanese warship; the only problem is that she was built for World War I, not II. Her guns did not compare to an aircraft carrier¡¯s, which could shoot 100 miles out. Yamato only lasted a few battles before we sank her. However, at least she managed to sink the USS Gambier Bay, an escort carrier. Wow, do I seriously still remember these facts? World War II fascinated Ted and me, which is another reason we ended up on an aircraft carrier.


    The family thanks Cosgrove and leaves. I wave goodbye and find him observing me.


    ¡°That¡¯s just a simple pitch you can try until you learn more of Yorktown''s history,¡± Cosgrove explains. ¡°The most common questions are ¡®Where¡¯s the bathroom?¡¯ and ¡®How do I get to the Flight Deck?¡¯¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t forget CV-5!¡± the other veteran behind the counter blurts.


    CV-5?


    ¡°Oh, yeah.¡± Cosgrove shows me Patriots Point¡¯s map. ¡°The Yorktown that came before us, CV-5, was sunk the day after the Battle of Midway in 1942. People confuse this ship with her. CV-10 was supposed to be named Bonhomme Richard, but we renamed her Yorktown to honor CV-5.¡±


    I want to say, ¡°Stop with the facts,¡± but what Cosgrove¡¯s explaining intrigues me in ways I haven¡¯t felt since the war.


    He notices this and points down the Hangar Bay toward the Corsair. ¡°There¡¯s an exhibit in Hangar Bay 1 about the Battle of Midway and CV-5. Would you like me to take you there?¡±


    And face the Corsair again? I don¡¯t think so.


    I shiver and quickly say, ¡°You know, I think I want to check out Laffey first,¡± as calmly as possible. I¡¯ll likely break my cane if I knock it against the Corsair¡¯s propeller again. I must avoid that plane as much as possible, especially since the museum is open now.


    ¡°Oh, okay.¡± Cosgrove seems a little disappointed. ¡°Will you be okay finding her?¡± It¡¯s like he¡¯s never seen another older person.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine.¡± Now is my chance to grieve peacefully on a smaller, quieter ship. The Ship That Would Not Die will be my sanctum in Hell.


    I leave the Information Booth and step back outside to Charleston¡¯s hot summer air, Laffey before me below. I carefully clutch the steep stairs¡¯ railing and use my cane to trek them. Natalie would be all over me if she were here. However, I intend to prove to her that I can still care for myself.


    My worries fade when I step onto the pier and have a good look at Laffey up close. She needs a painting touch-up, but other than that, she¡¯s well-preserved like Yorktown. She carries three gun mounts, one on her fantail, where the ramp that leads to her exits from. I cross it and find myself beside the mount. It looks like it¡¯s been changed into an exhibit. A door leads into it, and I hear a movie playing on the other side.


    I follow Laffey¡¯s deck to her bow, passing openings on my left that I want to check out, but only when I see her bow. A gush of cooler air tickles my mustache, and I scratch it.


    When I reach Laffey¡¯s bow, before another gun mount, I examine the marsh and a marina over yonder, and another memory plays in my head¡ªTed and I¡¯s first night on Valley Forge¡¯s Flight Deck. We tapped our coffee cups and puffed out a cloud from our cigarettes.


    A little taller and skinnier than me, Ted mimicked my cheeky smile and asked, ¡°What do you think¡¯s out there, Bill?¡±


    ¡°Freedom,¡± I answered, ¡°and a chance to prove to our parents that we¡¯re finally men. We¡¯ve been treated like old maids all our lives.¡±


    Ted moved closer to me. ¡°It¡¯s time to change that, brother.¡±


    I beamed. ¡°Yes, it is.¡±


    I stop a tear from falling and feebly smile at the gun mount behind me. Something about this ship¡¯s demeanor entices me. I want to know her history; no, I need to. I need to know all this history. If only I had learned it during Ted and mine¡¯s service. I may have saved him and learned not to succumb to the Lieutenant¡¯s rule: ¡°If the plane looks like an enemy, shoot her down.¡±


    And I did. We tried finding Ted via Identification Friend or Foe, but he had disappeared from the radar.


    It¡¯s all my fault. My heart pounds, and I clutch it, stumbling. No! Not another panic attack! I haven¡¯t had one in five years.


    ¡°Ted,¡± I whimper, sinking to my knees. I drop my cane and cover my face. ¡°I¡¯m so sorry.¡± My heart pounds faster, and I attempt to control my breathing. This isn¡¯t a heart attack¡ªjust something I can¡¯t control. He was my best friend, and I murdered him. If only I had called Ted beforehand and asked him where he was¡ªif only I didn¡¯t wait until afterward. I want him back, but I¡¯m never going to. This is one scar that will never heal, no matter how hard Natalie and Patriots Point try. I don¡¯t care that it¡¯s been seventy years; he was my best friend.


    ¡°Ted!¡± I yell, closing my eyes. To Hell with not showing emotion. If I¡¯m going to cry, I¡¯d rather it be on the Ship That Would Not Die. I feel safe here, not being near the Corsair.


    My hand falls into my pocket, and I draw the locket, opening it.


    I hate you, Ted. I hate that you didn¡¯t tell me. But maybe he didn¡¯t recognize me, either? After all, we were two young, inexperienced pilots who believed that even though it was a war, we would live; therefore, it wouldn¡¯t matter if we were shot down because we would be together.


    Well, together ended up being forever, and I¡¯ll never forgive myself.

 Chapter Four: The Dog in the Road

    ¡°Glad to see you, Ted.¡± I shook his hand and sat facing him on the other side of the library¡¯s table. He didn¡¯t speak, so I added, ¡°Why so quiet?¡±


    Ted hid behind his book. ¡°I was just thinking¡ª¡±


    ¡°About what?¡± Usually, when Ted thought behind a book, it was something serious.


    ¡°About us...¡± Ted¡¯s muffled voice trailed, and he lowered his book. ¡°Are we... brothers... or something more?¡±


    Did he seriously ask me something I had been wondering myself for years? He did, didn¡¯t he?


    Was it okay that I didn¡¯t have an answer?


    ***


    The memory passes through my mind, calming me, and I rise slowly to my feet, wobbling slightly under my cane. Why did I get upset again? What was it about Laffey that triggered this episode? Do I want to find out?


    I turn and start back down Laffey¡¯s deck. My eyes wander to one of the narrow openings, and I enter it, rubbing my eyes to see where I am.


    The small theater is air-conditioned and carries five rows of chairs. Before them is a large screen that reads, ¡°Next Program Starts in Two Minutes.¡±


    Why not? I sit in the front row and stretch my cane across my lap. Only a few people are here with me, but they seem just as intrigued.


    The film starts, and I see the date: April 16th, 1945, the Battle of Okinawa. In the eighty-minute struggle, six kamikazes and four bombs hit Laffey, yet she still floats.


    My chest tightens as the Judies on the screen crash into Laffey, badly damaging Gun Mount Fifty-Three. I want to look away but can¡¯t. This is very interesting. Laffey is the Ship That Would Not Die. The Captain, Becton, steers her like a champion during the battle.


    I sit in awe once the film ends. Laffey¡¯s lost thirty-two men, and seventy-one are wounded¡ªremarkable, considering the condition she¡¯s in. I have never been so impressed by a non-aircraft carrier. I think I¡¯ve found another go-to ship besides Valley Forge.


    ¡°Amazing, isn¡¯t it?¡± I nearly jump at the familiar voice but stop myself.


    Temple hovers over me, a grin stretched across his face.


    Shoot, how long have I been in this theater? I start to stand, but Temple holds out his hand. ¡°No, you¡¯re fine. I thought you would find Laffey¡¯s story interesting, considering you¡¯re trying to avoid Yorktown. Cosgrove told me you¡¯ve been here since he showed you the Flight Deck.¡±


    That Cosgrove... Does he tend to look out for other Volunteers?


    I clear my throat and tell Temple, ¡°It¡¯s not Yorktown I¡¯m trying to avoid, sir, but...¡± My voice trails, so Temple finishes for me:


    ¡°The Corsair.¡±


    I sigh¡ª¡°Yes, the Corsair¡±¡ªand lower my head.


    Temple sits beside me. ¡°Tell me, Bill, who was your friend?¡± He grasps my shoulder and smiles gently. I like this guy, but Ted is between Natalie and me. It¡¯s been like this since Natalie was little. No PTSD counselor received mine and Ted¡¯s story. Temple won¡¯t, either.


    I shake my head. ¡°All you need to know, sir, is that his name was Ted.¡±


    Temple nods. ¡°Ted.¡±


    ¡°We called him ¡®Roosevelt,¡¯¡± I unexpectedly add.


    ¡°¡®Roosevelt,¡¯¡± Temple chuckles. ¡°I like that. Anyway, your daughter is waiting on the pier with the golf cart driver to pick you up.¡±


    Wait, is it already time to go home? But I saw nothing of this place except the Volunteer Lounge, Flight Deck, and Laffey.


    ¡°There¡¯s still plenty of time to learn where you¡¯re comfortable,¡± Temple adds, cocking an eyebrow. ¡°Unless you want to quit after today?¡±


    Oh, great, here we are¡ªback with the toying.


    ¡°Just take me to my daughter,¡± I mumble.


    ¡°Yes, sir.¡± Temple salutes and helps me stand. On our way out of the theater, he asks, ¡°So, this Ted of yours... Were you childhood friends?¡±


    ¡°We were,¡± I explain before remembering that our history is confidential. ¡°I mean¡ªit¡¯s not okay to toy with someone still grieving.¡±


    ¡°Unless we¡¯re trying to help,¡± Temple explains, shrugging. ¡°Seventy years is a long time to hold onto this guilt.¡± We step over a knee knocker and stop outside the theater¡¯s narrow hallway. ¡°Look,¡± Temple adds, ¡°all I¡¯m saying is that your daughter doesn¡¯t want you to... you know... pass with this memory still haunting you.¡±Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    I freeze. Is that how Natalie feels? I¡¯m ninety-two years old, yes¡ªmy time is ending¡ªbut I¡¯ve never considered Natalie¡¯s feelings during this process. It¡¯s always me, me, and me. Natalie didn¡¯t know Ted like I did, though; he once fell down a ladder during General Quarters and ended up in Sick Bay with a concussion, but he was always a little clumsy.


    After that incident, I swore I would protect him for the remainder of our service. Ted did the same when I crashed my damaged Corsair on Valley Forge¡¯s Flight Deck.


    Let it go, Bill; these are memories¡ªnot the present. My dear daughter¡¯s waiting for me.


    ***


    As Temple mentioned, Natalie¡¯s on the pier beside the ramp we walked up earlier in the golf cart, her nails in her mouth. She drops her hand when she sees me and slips out of the cart, waving. ¡°Hey, Dad!¡±


    I know it¡¯s only been three hours, but it feels like a century since I¡¯ve seen her. I notice she¡¯s carrying a bag from Groucho¡¯s, and my mouth waters. I will admit that South Carolina has lovely delis. They bring back memories of my boyhood, when life was simpler.


    I kiss Natalie¡¯s cheek and slip into the cart, placing my hand on my hearing aid. I turn it up and catch Natalie saying to Temple, ¡°How¡¯d he do today, sir?¡±


    My cheeks puff out, but I relax my face when Temple replies, ¡°Not bad, considering what he¡¯s been through. I think he¡¯ll fit in here fine, Natalie. We merely need to help him see beyond the Corsair.¡±


    How long has Natalie been in touch with him and known about that Corsair?


    ¡°I hope he stays,¡± Temple includes. ¡°He¡¯d be a great asset to the team. Try to help him realize that, Natalie.¡±


    She nods, and I lower the volume on my aid, my mind full of complicated thoughts that I thought weren¡¯t allowed for people my age. Natalie and I don¡¯t speak on our way down the pier, but Natalie shoots me friendly, determined looks and offers me a sandwich. It isn¡¯t until we¡¯re driving down Patriots Point Road toward the Cooper River Bridge that I decide to ask.


    Caught in lunch traffic on the bridge, I clear my throat. ¡°Natalie, how long have you known about Temple and that Corsair?¡±


    She doesn¡¯t answer at first and examines the Cooper River, including the ocean past Fort Sumter at the end of it. Finally, she sighs. ¡°Since the week before we moved down here. I visited Intrepid and told the volunteers there that we were moving soon. They recommended Patriots Point. I went onto their website that night and emailed Temple.¡±


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you tell me?¡±


    ¡°Because I knew you would say no.¡±


    She knows me all too well. I finish my second sandwich, and we veer off the highway onto Morrison Drive just outside Downtown Charleston. Old, historic houses and buildings surround us, as does a railroad.


    ¡°Temple said you did well today,¡± Natalie adds when we stop at an intersection and turn right, crossing the railroad.


    I know. I heard, I think.


    ¡°Patriots Point is a great place for you, Daddy,¡± Natalie says. ¡°It¡¯s a new beginning. I have my book club, and you have others you can relate to.¡±


    Yeah, right. How many of those veterans shot down their best friend?


    Natalie caresses my hand. ¡°Just think about it, Daddy.¡±


    We stop behind a truck at another intersection beside a Circle K. It¡¯s clear on the other side, and my eyes catch a medium-sized, black dog trotting onto the road. He looks like a lab, and I wonder if he¡¯s a stray. There¡¯s no neighborhood around here, just a railroad and the gas station.


    My heart flips as I watch the dog and the light turns green. The truck will stop for him, right?


    That son of a bitch! The truck¡¯s driver rolls forward, and his right front tire catches the dog¡¯s back leg.


    The animal flips onto the road and curls into a ball, and that son of a bitch who hit him drives forward¡ªthrough the intersection. How could someone be so heartless?


    ¡°Oh no!¡± I yell as images of when I crashed my plane onto Valley Forge re-enter my head. ¡°Stop the car!¡± I demand, reaching for the steering wheel and hazard lights.


    ¡°Why?¡± I get from Natalie. ¡°You know I don¡¯t like dogs, Daddy.¡±


    I glare. I know Natalie doesn¡¯t like dogs, but seriously. ¡°Don¡¯t be that son of a bitch who drove off,¡± I argue, turning on the hazard lights. ¡°Animals are living beings, too.¡± Natalie and I stop behind the still-curled-up dog. ¡°Let¡¯s at least get it to the vet.¡±


    Natalie hesitates before holding up one finger. ¡°The vet, and that¡¯s it.¡±


    She can still read my mind, but arguing is currently the least of my worries.


    The cars behind us honk¡ªa few drive around us¡ªwhen Natalie and I exit the vehicle and open the trunk. If they want to be sons of bitches, that¡¯s their problem, not Natalie and I¡¯s. I won¡¯t leave a suffering dog in the middle of the road during lunch hour.


    Even though she shivers, Natalie removes a blanket from the trunk and nods at me. We approach the dog, who looks up from licking his injured leg. Blood¡¯s on the road, but it¡¯s less than I thought. Up close, it looks like the leg was clipped, not shattered.


    ¡°Hey, buddy,¡± I softly say, leaning on my cane.


    Natalie kneels and opens the blanket.


    The dog glances at her before me. I don¡¯t see a collar around his black neck, so I guess he is a stray unless he¡¯s chipped. The vet would know.


    Natalie gently puts the dog on the blanket and wraps it around him. When she picks him up, the dog whimpers.


    I rub him behind his floppy ears and say, ¡°You¡¯re okay, buddy. We won¡¯t hurt you, unlike that guy.¡± I still can¡¯t believe how little man cares about animals at times. He clearly saw the dog, hit him, and drove off.


    The dog whimpers again before licking my hand; his tail wags on the blanket¡¯s other end.


    Cars continue honking and driving around Natalie and me, but we open the back door and gently set the dog down on the seat between the driver and passenger seats. My Navy brothers and I would do this if we accidentally hurt someone. I couldn¡¯t save Ted, but I could save this dog.


    Once the animal is secure, Natalie and I climb back into the car and buckle up. Natalie pulls up the nearest emergency vet on her phone and turns off her hazard lights.


    I comfortably rub the dog¡¯s head while we wait for the light to change. ¡°Do you have a family, buddy?¡± I question. ¡°What are you doing running astray around here?¡±


    The dog whimpers again but fixes his big, brown eyes on me, not Natalie. I think he senses that she doesn¡¯t like dogs.


    The light changes.


    Natalie drives through the intersection toward North Charleston and the closest vet. ¡°You¡¯re a good man, Daddy,¡± she admits, smiling feebly. ¡°This is how I know you¡¯ll do well at Patriots Points. The world needs people like you, who know how to be friends.¡±


    ¡°Hey,¡± I say, continuing to pat the dog, ¡°I learned from the best.¡± I rest my free hand on the locket in my pocket and meet the animal¡¯s eyes. ¡°That¡¯s what I¡¯ll name you, buddy¡ªTeddy.¡±


    The dog gives me a funny look before lying his head on his front paws.


    The knot in my chest loosens for the first time in seventy years, and I finish with, ¡°Ted, for short.¡±

 Chapter Five: Willed

    Natalie and I sit in North Charleston¡¯s emergency vet, twiddling our fingers. Well, I¡¯m twiddling; Natalie¡¯s reading Where the Crawdads Sing.


    My eyes roam around the medium-sized, square-shaped lobby decorated with pictures of animals on the walls, and I listen to the whimpers and hisses of cats and dogs. I¡¯m sure Teddy¡¯s fine, but I want to hear it from the vet myself. I also want to know if Teddy has a family. There is just as much good in the world as evil. I want to be part of the good crowd¡ªnot the crowd who deliberately runs over a dog and drives off. Ted and I did not grow up in the U.S. we have today.


    The vet soon exits from a door at the lobby¡¯s back and stops beside the reception counter. He carries a clipboard and searches the room, calling, ¡°Mr. and Ms. Beckington?¡±


    I nudge Natalie and raise my hand. ¡°Here.¡±


    She and I stand and approach the vet, who smiles. He first tells me, ¡°Thank you for your service.¡±


    ¡°Thanks,¡± I say before jumping to Teddy. ¡°How¡¯s the dog? Will he live?¡±


    The vet nods¡ª¡°Oh, he will¡±¡ªand flips through his clipboard. ¡°His leg¡¯s not seriously broken. We¡¯re not considering surgery right now.¡±


    I sigh with relief.


    ¡°However,¡± the vet continues, ¡°he¡¯s not chipped, so I believe he¡¯s a stray.¡±


    I had a feeling he was. I nod and tighten my grip on my cane.


    ¡°He needs a foster family until he recovers,¡± the vet explains. ¡°We believe it¡¯d be better than sending him to the Humane Society. And since you guys saved the dog...¡±


    Oh, my gosh, he said it! I glance at Natalie and grin. Even older folks get excited about a possible new dog for the family.


    ¡°No, no, Daddy.¡± Natalie steps back and tucks her book under her arm. ¡°We already have the cat.¡±


    ¡°She had an owner before we adopted her,¡± I argue, ¡°and they said she gets along great with dogs.¡± I turn on a puppy face and tilt my head. ¡°Just until he recovers? We¡¯ll then take him to the Humane Society.¡±


    ¡°But¡ª!¡± Natalie counters.


    ¡°It¡¯s settled, then.¡± I face the vet. ¡°We¡¯ll care for the dog until he recovers.¡±


    ¡°Okay, I guess we have a dog now,¡± Natalie mumbles.


    ¡°We sure do,¡± I say, reaching for the vet¡¯s clipboard. ¡°Is this the paperwork?¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir.¡± The vet hands me the clipboard. ¡°We¡¯ll get the dog ready while you fill it out.¡± He glances at Natalie. ¡°Would you like to help, ma¡¯am?¡±


    ¡°No!¡± Natalie instantly protests. She retreats and holds up her hands. ¡°Sorry, I¡¯m not a dog person, sir. My dad loves them, though.¡±


    ¡°Oh, okay,¡± the vet says, studying me. ¡°Would you like to get the dog with me, sir? Your daughter can fill out the paperwork.¡±


    My heart pounds, and I offer Natalie the clipboard. ¡°Please, Natalie? I¡¯ll care for him until he recovers. You don¡¯t have to do anything.¡±


    She crosses her arms, sighs, and accepts the clipboard. ¡°Oh, all right.¡±


    Yes, I convinced her! I suddenly don¡¯t feel as old and haunted anymore. I¡¯ve got Ted back¡ªin the form of a dog¡ªand my cheeky grin overtakes my face. I don¡¯t need another veteran anymore, yet I still want to return to Patriots Point and see that Corsair.


    Don¡¯t let it get to your head, Bill.


    I follow the vet into the back of the office, and we slip into a third treatment room on the right.


    Teddy sits on the table in the small room, a bandage wrapped around his leg and a cone over his head. Seeing me, his tail wags, and he almost falls off the table, but I catch him and slip him back onto it.


    ¡°Don¡¯t strain yourself, buddy.¡±


    Before long, a vet technician enters the room. She carries a box and approaches me. ¡°Hey, Mr. Beckington.¡± The technician reaches into the box. ¡°We gathered a few things to get y¡¯all started, food and toys, and have also scheduled a follow-up appointment in two weeks to see how his leg¡¯s doing and remove the cone.¡±


    Excitement bubbles inside me like lava. ¡°Thank you.¡± Am I even an old geezer anymore? I want this dog so much. The first thing I¡¯ll do when I get home is bathe him (he¡¯s a little scruffy). Dirt and loose fur cling to his muscular body.


    ***Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    When we enter the lobby again, Natalie has just finished the paperwork. She hands the clipboard to the vet and takes the box from the technician.


    In the meantime, Teddy hops to the vet¡¯s exit and waits for me. His deep brown eyes are full of hope and joy, even though he is still in pain.


    I join him, and the door to the parking lot opens. Natalie and I are in handicapped parking directly before the building. The Animal Hospital is just off Dorchester Rd., so it is close to Park Circle and Natalie and I¡¯s (and now Teddy¡¯s) new home.


    I can¡¯t lift Teddy into the car, so we wait for Natalie.


    Once she exits the building, looking slightly nervous, she opens the back door and sets the box down. ¡°I can¡¯t believe you talked me into this, Daddy,¡± she grumbles, scooping up Teddy and slipping him into the back seat with his surprises.


    ¡°Eventually, you have to overcome your fear of dogs, dear,¡± I say.


    ¡°Just like you need to overcome that memory,¡± Natalie counters. I freeze, and Natalie adds, ¡°Sorry.¡±


    ¡°Let¡¯s just get home,¡± I whisper. I pull a tennis ball out of the box and set it between Teddy¡¯s front legs.


    We climb into the car, and Natalie starts it. She backs out of the parking space and turns toward the main road, her hands tightly clutching the steering wheel.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, too,¡± I say as we merge onto Dorchester and begin our journey home. ¡°I haven¡¯t been a very good father, have I?¡±


    ¡°No, don¡¯t say that,¡± Natalie argues, caressing my hand like before. ¡°You¡¯re a great father; I just don¡¯t want you to leave this world still haunted by that memory.¡±


    Just like Temple said.


    ¡°I love you, Daddy,¡± Natalie includes, ¡°and I¡¯m just doing what I think is best for you.¡±


    Just like Temple said.


    I remain quiet during the half-hour drive home (thanks to Charleston traffic). Natalie and I¡¯s house in Park Circle is across from a church and just off Downtown North Charleston, a small town compared to Downtown Charleston. It¡¯s only one story but a perfect size for us.


    Natalie and I, exhausted, pull into the long driveway (we just had it paved) and stop beside the front yard. Most of the driveway is narrow, thanks to the house and the neighbor¡¯s, so Natalie avoids parking too far forward. I don¡¯t blame her. I¡¯m not the best at backing up, either.


    ¡°We¡¯re here, Teddy,¡± I say to the dog when Natalie shuts off the car. ¡°Your new home until you recover.¡± A small lump forms in my throat, but I swallow it. Can I convince Natalie to adopt Teddy full-time? I don¡¯t want him to wind up back on the street¡ªan open target for reckless drivers. We have a great house and neighborhood here¡ªperfect for a dog. I won¡¯t give up Teddy again, not when I finally save him.


    Natalie carries him up the front steps¡ªI follow¡ªand we dip into the front living room. A unique, musty-like smell engulfs my nostrils. The living room only has two chairs, a couch, and a DVD/VHS player (Natalie and I are old-school). The screen-in porch branches off it.


    ¡°Sophie!¡± Natalie calls, setting Ted down. ¡°We¡¯re home!¡±


    I hear the pitter-patter of feet, and Sophie, Natalie¡¯s Maine Coon, enters the living room. She¡¯s fluffy and has enormous, fuzzy, white paws but is relatively weightless for a Maine Coon.


    Sophie sees Teddy and freezes. She lifts her tail, then lowers it and glances at Natalie.


    ¡°This is Teddy,¡± Natalie gently explains. ¡°We¡¯re fostering him for a bit.¡±


    Teddy and Sophie meet eyes and seem to stare.


    I gulp.


    Eventually, the two animals break eye contact. Teddy¡¯s tail wags, and Sophie prances to him and sniffs him. She stops at his broken leg and sits tall, noble as ever.


    I release the breath I''m holding. "How about I give you a bath?" I ask Teddy. "I''ll then show you around the house." I ensure that my cane doesn''t accidentally hit him when I pass him and head toward the front bathroom. It''s beside my bedroom and small, but it has a bathtub.


    While Natalie and I gently remove the bandage from Teddy¡¯s leg, Sophie examines us.


    Natalie places Teddy in the bathtub and helps me onto my knees.


    I pull shampoo out of Teddy¡¯s box and run the water.


    ¡°Will you be okay, Daddy?¡± Natalie inquires, grasping my shoulder.


    I nod. ¡°I¡¯ll be fine, dear. I¡¯ll let you know when I¡¯m finished.¡± After all, I can¡¯t stand alone anymore, especially if I¡¯m entirely on the ground. The chairs are okay, but the floors¡­ No.


    It¡¯s been ages since I¡¯ve bathed a dog, but I have never bathed a well-behaved one.


    Teddy winces but remains collected while I scrub behind his ears and watch the bath water turn brown due to all the dirt on him.


    ¡°How long have you been a stray?¡± I find myself asking.


    Teddy answers by shaking water onto me. He sticks his front paw over the bathtub and rests it on my hand, sadness in his eyes.


    ¡°That long, huh?¡± I inquire. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, buddy, you¡¯re safe here. I¡¯ll find a way to convince Natalie to adopt you fully, okay? Hey, do you want to see something?¡± I turn off the bathtub and remove the locket from my pocket. I show it to Teddy and open it. ¡°This is my best friend, Ted, and I when the Navy first recruited us. We were so excited to be free and serve the country.¡± I shiver and pat Teddy¡¯s head. ¡°However, I shot him down over the Korean mountains. Never saw him again.¡±


    Even though he¡¯s a dog, Teddy watches me and tilts his head.


    I grab a towel and begin drying him. ¡°I named you Teddy after my friend. I hope you don¡¯t mind. I feel like I finally have him back in the form of you. It took seventy years, but here we are. I wonder if there is such a thing as coincidences.¡±


    Teddy pants and wags his tail while I lift him out of the tub and set him beside me.


    I tie a fresh bandage around his leg and call, ¡°Natalie? I¡¯m ready now.¡±


    ¡°Coming!¡± she instantly calls from the kitchen. She¡¯s in the bathroom within thirty seconds and lugs me to my feet, handing me my cane. ¡°Oh, buddy.¡± For once, Natalie smiles at the dog. ¡°You look much better now that you¡¯re clean.¡±


    Is that a sparkle in her eyes?


    Natalie focuses on me. ¡°Why don¡¯t you and the dog rest briefly, Daddy? Take a nap? I¡¯ll work in the backyard for a while.¡±


    ¡°Thank you, dear,¡± I say. ¡°I¡¯ll take you up on that.¡± Besides, I want to look through Willed again.


    Ted and I pass Natalie and enter my bedroom on the right side of the bathroom. I sit on my queen-size bed, and Teddy plops down at my feet on the rug. I move them so he can have more space.


    Once I¡¯m sure Ted¡¯s comfortable, I open the top drawer of the old nightstand beside my bed and pull out a leather-bound photo album. I remove my Valley Forge cap and place Willed on my lap, flipping to the first generation of Ted and I¡¯s history¡ªwhen we were children. As another cheeky smile crosses my weary face, I swing my legs over the bed and rest my back on my pillows.


    ¡°This is a new start for us, Ted,¡± I say, glancing at the dog and then at the photo album, yawning. ¡°Who needs Yorktown when I have you?¡± I fall asleep on that thought.

 Chapter Six: Getting to Know Ted

    I wake from my nap thirty minutes later and find Ted snuggled on the bed with me¡ªpropped against my legs. How on Earth did he hop up here with his leg? ¡°Ted!¡± I say, and I nearly drop Willed. ¡°What are you doing here?¡± If Natalie sees him on the bed¡ªshe¡¯ll insist we turn him over to the Humane Society.


    Ted whimpers and looks up.


    ¡°Do you need to use the bathroom?¡± I inquire, patting his back.


    He whimpers again.


    ¡°I¡¯ll take that as a yes,¡± I conclude, closing Willed. I slide off the bed and help Ted, calling, ¡°Natalie?¡± She doesn¡¯t answer, so I assume she¡¯s in the garden.


    Sophie greets us in the den, her tail curled in a friendly fashion.


    ¡°Hey, Soph,¡± I say, careful not to step on her when Ted and I pass her.


    Sophie doesn¡¯t move at first¡ªshe¡¯s still checking out Ted¡ªbut it isn¡¯t long before she¡¯s purring beside my ankle in the kitchen. It has a wooden table with four seats (a perfect size for Natalie and me) and granite counters. However, we don¡¯t have a dishwasher, so we have to wash dishes the old-fashioned way.


    Natalie isn¡¯t in the garden but in the second den at the back of the house, which is our main den. She sits in her favorite chair beside the sliding glass door, legs propped up, and reads. She started that book yesterday and is already halfway through it. I wish I could read that fast.


    ¡°Natalie, did you not hear me?¡± I ask. Am I whining? ¡°I called you.¡±


    ¡°Oh, sorry, Daddy.¡± Natalie shuts the book and sets it down on the coffee table. ¡°I guess I got too involved in my book.¡± She smiles at Ted and Sophie. ¡°Hey, Ted and Sophie. Did you have a nice nap, Daddy?¡±


    I nod and pat Ted. ¡°I did, but I think Ted needs to go out.¡± He whimpers when I say this.


    ¡°Oh, all right.¡± Natalie stands and reaches for Ted¡¯s box, which she¡¯s set beside the coffee table. She removes a green, slip-on leash and slips it over Ted¡¯s head.


    He¡¯s amazingly well-trained. Why would someone toss him out? He wants to stay here as much as I do, so that may be it, too.


    I follow Natalie outside and stand on the top stair of the back steps, my hand wrapped around the railing. I notice Ted squirms a little on the leash and pulls Natalie toward me.


    ¡°No, boy,¡± she says, gently tugging the leash. ¡°You pee over here.¡±


    Ted still pulls her.


    ¡°Ted.¡± Natalie narrows her eyes before dropping her angry look. She frees the leash, and Ted hobbles up the stairs to me, tail wagging furiously.


    ¡°Look at that, Daddy,¡± Natalie says. ¡°I believe Teddy wants you to be near him.¡±


    This is all very unusual. Dogs have always liked me, but none have been as needy as Ted. What does he see in me¡ªan older man still grieving a friend or something else? If only dogs can speak, right?


    Ted backs up and waits while Natalie helps me down the stairs. I accept the leash from her and lead him to the back patio, where I point into the bushes. Ted instantly takes off, and I¡¯m left alone with Natalie.


    ¡°Impressive, Dad,¡± she says. ¡°That dog definitely likes you more than me.¡± She notices my face. ¡°However, that still does not mean we¡¯ll adopt him full-time.¡±


    ¡°Please, Natalie?¡± I find myself begging. ¡°I¡¯d be a great dog parent. It¡¯s been so long since I¡¯ve had one.¡±


    ¡°Dad, you¡¯re ninety-two years old.¡±


    My cheeks flush. ¡°So? You would only need to help me with a few things for him.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re using the dog as an excuse not to try Patriots Point.¡±


    Natalie gets me there.


    I shut down, and she nods. ¡°I knew it.¡± With that, Natalie passes me and enters the house.


    Does something snap in my heart? Is this guilt I feel? I have been a rotten father, haven¡¯t I? While I wait for Ted to finish his business, I think of what I¡¯ll say to Natalie when I return inside¡ªsomething to tell her that I care but don¡¯t know how to say it. It¡¯s been like this since Natalie started doubling down on the therapists, which was annoying because they never helped. However, Natalie never gives up.


    After Ted finishes and I escort him toward the back door, I find the strength to face Natalie again. The door opens, and she soon stands in the doorway. ¡°Take Ted to the car, Daddy. We¡¯re going to show him Downtown North Charleston.¡±This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Did I hear her right? Natalie wants to show a dog Downtown North Charleston, even after she claims I¡¯m using Ted as an excuse to forget the past? I smell an internal conflict as distinct as mine with Patriots Point and ask, ¡°Really?¡±


    Natalie claps. ¡°Come on! Let¡¯s go to Azul. We can sit outside with Ted.¡±


    I ignore the guilt and fluttery feeling in my tummy and start down the long driveway toward the car. The image of Valley Forge¡¯s Flight Deck enters my brain, and I see it: the straight, wooden deck before the Essex-class carriers received the angled Flight Deck and the planes ready for takeoff. The Corsair was big and heavy, but Ted and I still managed to fly it. I see us flying side-by-side during our first mission, remembering we were both excited and nervous. That was the day we were thrown into the brig because we fought over Willed that night during midrats.


    ¡°Dad, are you okay?¡± Natalie touches my shoulder, and Ted leans against me the best he can with his cone. He¡¯s one of those dogs, huh?


    ¡°I¡¯ll be fine,¡± I say to Natalie, smiling feebly.


    She nods, picks up Ted, and carries him to the car, slipping him in the back seat.


    I wait for her in the front, my cane across my lap, and feel the AC whip through my mustache like a feral zephyr. Before I know it, Natalie joins me, and we¡¯re off to Azul to show Ted what Downtown North Charleston is really like.


    ***


    ¡°Oh, my gosh! He¡¯s so cute!" The young woman kneels and pats Ted¡¯s back while Natalie and I wait for dinner outside Azul. The Mexican restaurant is relatively busy, but I¡¯ve still seen worse. We¡¯re in the heart of Downtown North Charleston, surrounded by old-timey buildings and the narrow street.


    ¡°What¡¯s his name?¡± the woman asks, meeting my eyes.


    ¡°Teddy, but we call him Ted.¡± I gently tug the leash, and Ted lies down on request.


    ¡°Poor baby,¡± the woman says, focusing on his cone and bandaged leg. ¡°I hope you get better soon.¡±


    ¡°He''s tough,¡± I say. ¡°Aren¡¯t you, Ted?¡±


    He looks at me questionably.


    The woman stands and smiles at me, saluting. ¡°Thank you for your service, sir. It¡¯s great that you¡¯re volunteering at Patriots Point.¡±


    Wait, what? Am I¡ª? I am! I¡¯m still wearing my Valley Forge cap and Patriots Point volunteer shirt. Why didn¡¯t Natalie let me know earlier?


    ¡°Uh, thank you,¡± I stutter, trying not to ask something rude.


    Natalie nods and sips her sweet tea. It¡¯s a sought-after drink here in S.C., next to boiled peanuts and barbecue, but I can see why; I¡¯ve never tasted such fantastic tea. I wonder where they make it.


    The woman grins at Ted before nodding and strolling down the sidewalk and around the corner toward Itinerant Books, a tiny bookstore downtown. Why do I feel like Natalie¡¯s going to take me there next? More importantly, though, why am I still wearing this damn shirt?


    I clutch it, and Natalie smirks (she and I share the same cheeky smile). ¡°So, you finally noticed you still have it on?¡±


    What is she pulling? I begin to ask, but the waiter comes with our meals and places them before us. Seeing the tamales makes my mouth water, but I wait until Natalie¡¯s settled before diving in.


    While we eat, Natalie explains, ¡°If you didn¡¯t like Patriots Point, Dad, you wouldn¡¯t still be wearing your volunteer shirt.¡±


    What if I merely forgot?


    Natalie reads my mind. ¡°Knowing you, you''re sharp as a tack. You don¡¯t forget things easily.¡±


    ¡°May we not talk about this now?¡± I plead, glancing down at Ted, who hungrily watches the tamale in my hand. ¡°There is a dog here.¡±


    Natalie snorts but covers her mouth before she spits her burritos on me. ¡°I¡¯ll never understand you, Daddy.¡±


    ¡°A dog is like a child,¡± I argue, petting Ted. ¡°They don¡¯t need to hear this unless they have to. I¡¯m not returning to Patriots Point, Natalie; I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    ¡°Then why are you still wearing the shirt?¡±


    Would you stop that?


    Natalie and I are quiet for the rest of our meal and don¡¯t speak again until we make our way to Itinerant afterward, as expected.


    I wait on the front porch with Ted while Natalie spends time in the bookstore. She takes forever, but that¡¯s Natalie. She will come out of the store with five new books and finish all five in a week. Her favorite series is Throne of Glass by Sarah J. Maas. She¡¯s collected the hardback and paperback versions of those books.


    While I wait and feel Teddy on my leg, I remember Ted and I¡¯s most incredible memory¡ªwhen we were thrown into the brig.


    The Marine guarding us pulled us out the next day, gave Ted and me a bucket of water with cloths, and pointed at one of the hatches. ¡°The hatch could use a rub-down,¡± he had said. His other hand rested on his gun.


    Ted and I groaned but wiped the hatch down until it was spick-and-span.


    The Marine carefully watched us.


    Ted waited until he turned briefly, and then he playfully pushed me with his rag.


    I glanced at him, but Ted whistled and pretended nothing happened. He did it again when I focused on the hatch.


    Finally, both of us laughed, and Ted asked, ¡°Why are we fighting again? You know you can¡¯t get rid of me that easily, Bill.¡±


    If only that were true.


    Then, Ted said something I never thought would leave his lips; however, he whispered so the Marine wouldn¡¯t hear: ¡°Do you know why? Because I love you.¡±


    And crash! If only that were true, too.


    The memory leaves my mind when Teddy lies down and his tail frantically wags.


    ¡°He loved me, Teddy,¡± I say, sniffing, ¡°but I didn¡¯t love him back. I just wanted to be friends. He didn¡¯t.¡± I guessed that Ted was queer but never thought he would openly admit it. It makes me feel even worse about shooting him down¡ªas if I never accepted it, even though I kept his secret. What hurts the most is that I¡¯m not queer.


    Natalie exits the bookstore before another grief wave hits me, five new books in her arms. They look like a mix of Fantasy and Romance, her favorite genres.


    ¡°What¡¯d you get this time?¡± I ask, urging Teddy to his feet.


    ¡°Oh, nothing that would interest you, Daddy,¡± Natalie admits, looking away from me.


    Well, damn. Natalie¡¯s giving me the cold shoulder, and I believe I know why.


    ¡°Okay, fine!¡± I say when we stop beside our car on the backside of Azul and across from the bookstore. ¡°I¡¯ll give Patriots Points one more try.¡±


    I swear that Natalie jumps out of her skin. She almost shoves Ted into the backseat but catches herself before she does and gently sets him down, facing me. ¡°Really? Really, Daddy?¡± It¡¯s like she¡¯s a child again.


    ¡°Just one more try,¡± I emphasize, climbing into the car¡¯s front seat. ¡°If you want me to continue with them, I only ask for one thing in return.¡±


    ¡°Which is?¡± Natalie questions while she starts the car.


    My eyes roll over to Ted, who yawns and soon falls asleep on his front paws.


    I nod. ¡°You reconsider adopting Ted full-time.¡±

 Chapter Seven: Release the Bulldog, Ted Lawson

    One week later


    Well, here I am¡ªback for more at Patriots Point. Natalie''s just dropped me off, and I''m riding down the pier to Yorktown.


    "Welcome home," says the cart driver.


    I am home, aren''t I? Is it weird that I''m a little excited? All I have to do is avoid the Corsair, and things may be okay. Would Ted want this, or is it only me? I''m still not sure.


    I run into Temple once I enter the ship and find my way back to the Volunteer Lounge.


    His eyes widen, and he says, "Bill, you''re back."


    "I guess I am," I mutter, opening the notebook on the desk and signing myself in. "I made a deal with Natalie. We fostered a dog last week, and she told me she''d consider adopting him full-time if I continue to try Patriots Point."


    Temple chuckles¡ª"That''s a good deal"¡ªand approaches me. "Well, all right, then! Let''s start with getting your photo for your ID badge. I''ll put you on a Bulldog Tour afterward so you can learn more about Yorktown if that''s okay."


    I shrug. "Sure, whatever." Then I realize that I''m once again being rude. "Sorry. I did it again, didn''t I?"


    "You''re fine. I''m not going to ''fire'' a Volunteer easily, especially one as exceptional as you."


    "Thanks," I say, smiling feebly. Temple''s a good guy. He cares about the Volunteers. I look for that in a boss.


    Temple escorts me to the Hangar Bay and leads me down to Hangar Bay 3, where we meet the man who takes my picture against the wall to the left of Yorktown''s back exit.


    My cheeky smile is not coming out today, so I''m sure that picture will look more like a mugshot when Temple eventually gives me my badge. Oh, well. I tried.


    Afterward, Temple returns me to the Information Desk and checks his wristwatch. "The first Bulldog Tour starts at 10:00, so learn your way around the Information Booth and hop in once the tour guide arrives."


    It''s 9:30 now. Temple mentioned that the Bulldog Tours are around an hour and a half long, putting me at 11:30, thirty minutes before my shift ends.


    "Thank you, sir." I salute, and Temple returns it.


    "You''re going to do great today, Bill."


    I hope so, but if the Bulldog Tour involves getting near the Corsair... I''m out. I''m about to ask Temple about it, but he''s already left.


    The Volunteers behind the Information Booth grin, but I lower my head and pass them, stopping at the Volunteer Manuel, sitting at the far end of the desk. I flip through it and begin reading the history of CV-10. Okay, so this is the second Yorktown. Cosgrove mentioned that. CV-5 was sunk the day after the Battle of Midway. I remember that, too.


    I flip and flip and find myself on a page about the Corsair in Hangar Bay 2. I flip the page again on instinct but then return to the Corsair. Something strange is happening here, Ted. I murdered you with this plane, yet I''m reading about it.


    Before I know it, I hear an "Ahem!" and look up.


    It''s Cosgrove. Instead of a Volunteer shirt, he wears a white Bulldog Tours one. Wait, he''s one of the tour guides? Volunteers can do that?


    "How ya doing, Bill?" he asks. "A little birdie told me you''re tagging along on my tour today?"


    My mouth drops, and I study Cosgrove. "Since when are you a tour guide?" is my first question. Stop, Bill! You''re being rude.


    "I''ve been doing it for twenty years now," Cosgrove answers, unfazed by my rudeness.


    Twenty years? I don''t even have that much time left. Volunteers stay at Patriots Point that long? That''s impressive. Then again, I''m ninety-two years old and still sharp. I could get five years here. Wait, what are you saying, Bill?


    "Over here," Cosgrove says before I reach too far into my thoughts. "It''s time to start the tour."


    Nervousness replaces my previous excitement. How will I do on this tour? I can walk up and down ladders fine, but steeper ones are a little trickier. If only I were in the Navy again.


    The tour group waits beside Yorktown''s main entrance. It is small (about ten people).


    Cosgrove waves and says, "Hello!" in a cheery voice. "Are y''all here for the Captain''s Tour?"


    "We are," a woman says. Her family members and a few other guests nod.


    "Excellent!" Does Cosgrove jump? He points at himself and then at me. "My name is Cosgrove, and I''ll be your tour guide today. This is Bill, a retired pilot of the Korean War and a new Volunteer. He''s going to tag along."The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    "Thank you for your service, sir," a few people say. "And welcome."


    "Thank you," I return, still nervous. I''m not usually a people person, so this is new. I was more social during my service but still enjoyed my alone time. Ted couldn''t be alone, though; he was an all-star social bird. It was one of the only significant differences between us, aside from Ted admitting he was queer.


    Cosgrove puts his hands together and smiles at each of his guests. "Welcome to Patriots Point¡ªspecifically CV-10, the USS Yorktown." He holds up one finger. "We are but one of the five museum ships left in the United States. Yorktown, Intrepid, Hornet, and Lexington are Essex-class carriers, while the Midway in San Diego is the only Midway-class ship."


    "Huh," a few people respond.


    "The Captain''s Tour today is about an hour and a half long," Cosgrove continues. "We will be climbing up and down stairs¡ªthe Navy calls them ''ladders''. Is everyone okay with climbing ladders?" He glances at me when he says this.


    "I''ll be fine," I admit, showing off my cane. "I''ve got my cane." It and a rotten attitude toward Patriots Point. "I''ll let you know if I need something, Cosgrove." Yeah, like a new place to volunteer.


    "Then let''s get started, shall we? Follow me!" Cosgrove''s first stop is a display of the USS Yorktown in a glass case. She looks like Valley Forge¡ªan Essex-class carrier with a straight Flight Deck. Artifacts, such as old plates and silverware, surround the model.


    Cosgrove pats the case. "This is the USS Yorktown¡ªwhat she would''ve looked like during World War II. She''s 873 feet long, and her Flight Deck is at least 140 feet wide. She''s eighteen decks high, can carry 3,000 men, and is riddled with watertight and flameproof doors, something another famous ship, the Titanic, didn''t have."


    I try zoning out during his lecture, but Cosgrove is so cheery that it''s hard to. He points out pictures and signs behind the model that showcase Yorktown''s history, starting with her christening ceremony on January 21st, 1943.


    "The Navy is superstitious," Cosgrove explains. "It''s considered bad luck if a ship isn''t properly christened, and all the sailors will want to join the Air Force." That earns a few giggles, even from me.


    Cosgrove giggles himself. "That said, during her christening ceremony, Yorktown began sliding out of her slip seven minutes ahead of schedule, leaving Eleanor Roosevelt to jump up and quickly hit the champagne bottle against her bow. It doesn''t break, so now everyone really wants to join the AAF."


    More laughs.


    "However!" Cosgrove again holds up one finger. "The bottle breaks on Eleanor''s second attempt, and the ship is christened. It''s a relief for all those young sailors."


    This man. Unfortunately, I don''t have a sense of humor anymore. I lost it when Ted died and never found it. However, I wonder how I would do if I ever decide to give tours at Patriots Point.


    The tour continues to a Doolittle Raid exhibit in Hangar Bay 3, near where I got my picture taken. A B-25B Mitchell showcases it. A photo of Donald Duck is on its olive-green fuselage. Painted under the photo are the words "Ruptured Duck". I should remember the Doolittle Raid, but it somehow slips my mind.


    "All right!" Cosgrove cheers, putting his hands together.


    Oh, boy. Here we go again. I study the B-25 and exhibit while Cosgrove tells the story.


    "It''s 1942, four months after Pearl Harbor, and the U.S.''s morale is in shambles. We need something to retaliate against the enemy and boost it. What better way to do that than with a secret mission known as the Doolittle Raid?"


    Oh, it''s starting to come back. During the Doolittle Raid, sixteen B-25s were placed on an aircraft carrier, Hornet, for a secret mission to bomb the enemy homeland. A short fellow, Jimmy Doolittle, led it.


    The lecture continues, and I find myself engulfed and standing over a model of the Hornet, CV-8 (this isn''t the Hornet that''s a museum ship today), in another glass case. Miniature models of the B-25s appear ready for take-off; they''re lined up, and I can almost see their propellers spinning.


    "After the Raid," Cosgrove elucidates near the end of his talk, "Ted Lawson, one of the Raiders, who lost his leg, wrote a bestselling book called Thirty Seconds Over Tokyo that was eventually turned into a movie: stream for $3.99 on YouTube. What a resource YouTube is, right? Great movie, though; I highly recommend it."


    "Ted?" I blurt unexpectedly. "Ted''s back?" If only.


    Cosgrove and the guests glance at me. "Ted Lawson is who I''m talking about," Cosgrove says friendlily. "He lost his leg during the Raid and wrote a book about it."


    Why do I suddenly feel heated? "So, you''re saying that Ted''s crew could save him, but I couldn''t save my Ted?" I argue, squeezing my cane.


    Cosgrove remains calm and points at a bench to the left of the Hornet model that overlooks the Charleston Harbor. "Bill, why don''t you rest for a bit?"


    I grasp my cane harder.


    Next, Cosgrove glimpses at his guests. "Sorry about him, everyone. He lost a good friend during the war. I hope you''ll forgive him."


    An older, younger woman in the crowd lifts her eyebrow and studies me.


    To prevent myself from breaking the Navy rule again, I saunter to the bench and sit, observing the calm harbor and Downtown Charleston. I hear Cosgrove behind me.


    "Since you guys are part of the Captain''s Tour, you get to climb into the B-25 and check it out. Take pictures¡ªwhatever you want to do, just watch your head. While you''re in there, imagine being stuck in it for twelve hours during this mission."


    I hate you, Ted, I repeat to myself, thinking about Cosgrove''s story. While Ted Lawson''s brothers manage to save him, I can''t save you? I''m not watching that movie. I''ll punch a hole in the screen.


    "Excuse me?" a voice says over me a minute later.


    I look up and see the woman who glanced at me when I blurted out my Ted. Her silky white hair with dirty blonde specks flops over her shoulders, and she smiles with all her white teeth. She looks to be around Natalie''s age.


    "Sorry to bother you, but you said you had a friend named Ted during the war?" the woman asks. She rubs her hands together (I see sweat drops on them).


    I huff and turn away. "I don''t want to talk about it."


    "That''s okay. I understand." The woman clears her throat. "I''m only asking because¡ª"


    "Is everyone ready?" Cosgrove interrupts. He re-hooks the chain on the backend of the B-25. The tour group is together again, excluding the woman and me.


    The woman shoots me a knowing look and returns to the group, but I remain seated, lost in my internal conflict.


    "Bill?" Cosgrove states. He hides it well, but I can tell he''s impatient.


    I sigh and push myself to my feet. "I''m sorry, Cosgrove, but I can''t do this tour."


    "We''ve only just begun, though," he argues.


    "I''m sorry," I repeat. It''s not that I can''t do the tour; I merely don''t want to¡ªnot after learning Ted Lawson''s story. What I need now is some privacy on the Flight Deck.


    With this in mind, I nod at the tour group, including the woman, and leave, contemplating why I let myself fall for Natalie''s deal in the first place.

 Chapter Eight: "I am Willian!"

    I don¡¯t understand. I¡¯m supposed to go up to Yorktown¡¯s Flight Deck, but I¡¯m standing before the Corsair, studying its gull-shaped wings and attempting to stop myself from knocking my cane against the propeller again. Why am I so conflicted about the plane that killed my best friend? I even sit on the bench beside it and begin talking to it.


    ¡°The Corsair was Ted and I¡¯s favorite World War II aircraft, so we were excited to fly it for the Korean War, even though it was a pain,¡± I explain. Landing a Corsair on a carrier took a hell of a lot of skill and patience, as well as constant communication with the LSO. Ted picked it up a bit quicker than me, but on the contrary, I wasn¡¯t seasick the first few weeks at sea. I also didn¡¯t fall out of my cot when a bugle sounded for the first time. Ted did. We laughed it off while we hurried to our Ready Room. The bugle¡¯s likely my second favorite memory of Ted and I¡¯s service.


    ¡°His face...¡± I tell the Corsair. ¡°It was hilarious.¡± I realize here that I¡¯ve been talking with it for thirty minutes because I check my wristwatch on my left wrist. ¡°Wait a minute... What am I saying?¡± I furrow my brows and shakily stand. ¡°I don¡¯t want anything to do with you,¡± I growl at the airplane.


    Why do I feel like the Corsair¡¯s staring at me?


    I leave it and find my way to the elevator. Before I press the button, I hear Temple behind me.


    ¡°Bill?¡±


    I turn, and there he is. Temple leaves the Information Booth and approaches me. ¡°What are you doing up here? I thought you were on Cosgrove¡¯s tour.¡±


    ¡°I was, but...¡± My voice trails. I want to lie, but I can¡¯t. ¡°I just need some fresh air, sir. It hurts knowing that Ted Lawson¡¯s crew could save him, but I couldn¡¯t save my Ted.¡±


    ¡°Ted Lawson?¡± Temple questions. ¡°Ted Lawson doesn¡¯t matter here. What matters is that you at least try to move past that memory. Your Ted wouldn¡¯t want you to fear the world. Ask yourself, Bill... Who are you? Ted Lawson and your Ted know, but you don¡¯t, and you haven¡¯t since that accident.¡±


    I shut down briefly before saying, ¡°I¡¯m going to the Flight Deck.¡± Here, I press the elevator¡¯s up button. ¡°I¡¯m ninety-two years old, Temple,¡± I add while I wait for it. ¡°It¡¯s too late for change.¡±


    Once the elevator reaches the Hangar Bay and I climb aboard, the last thing I hear from Temple while the door closes is, ¡°It¡¯s never too late.¡±


    ***


    I stood in the pouring rain on Valley Forge¡¯s Flight Deck, my mind numb from what I had seen and felt during Ted and I¡¯s first week on the sea. A couple of pilots were taken down to Sick Bay after crashing their airplanes on the Flight Deck, among practice drills. Ted had freaked out after hearing a bugle, and I had spent too much time in the library during my free time. While the racks were okay, they weren¡¯t comfortable like my warm bed at home¡ªand the meals weren¡¯t Mother¡¯s.


    ¡°Bill, what are you doing here in the pouring rain?¡± Ted, who had just exited the ship, shot me a funny look.


    ¡°Just getting some fresh air,¡± I answered, remembering the lesson we learned our first day on the ship: Don¡¯t show emotion. I leaned against Valley Forge¡¯s island and glanced at Ted, my hand in my pocket. ¡°What about you?¡±


    ¡°How long have we been friends, Cheeky?¡± Ted inquired. ¡°You know I need to know where you are.¡±


    I saw sadness behind his blue eyes and chuckled. ¡°Do you miss your mother, too?¡±


    Ted returned my chortle and relaxed his broad shoulders. ¡°How did you know?¡±The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ¡°Like you said...¡± I answered. ¡°How long have we been friends, Roosevelt?¡±


    Ted wrapped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me dangerously close to his chest. He knocked off my cap and rubbed his knuckle across my messy hair, tousling it more. Ted then released me and smiled lovingly. ¡°We¡¯re going to make Mother proud, Cheeky. I promise. We¡¯ll prove to her that we¡¯re men.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re right,¡± I said. Joy found its way into the hole in my heart. ¡°We¡¯ll get through this war and return home together.¡±


    ¡°Exactly.¡± Ted released a cigarette box from his pocket and held it close. ¡°Now, why don¡¯t we get out of this weather, Cheeky, and have a smoke?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be a stranger. Let¡¯s go.¡± I waited until Ted and I returned inside the carrier before accepting his cigarette. We gagged under the acute smell of diesel while Ted readied his lighter.


    However, as soon as our cigarettes were lit, Valley Forge¡¯s PA turned on, and it announced, ¡°Smoking lamp is out.¡±


    ¡°Shit!¡± Ted and I said simultaneously.


    ***


    Ah, that¡¯s a good memory¡ªTed comforting me on the Flight Deck, and the Smoking lamp is out announcement after we lit our cigarettes. Thinking back, I wish I was as optimistic as him. Ted missed his mom like me but was so happy to finally call himself a man of the ¡°land and sea¡±. I must rekindle that legacy¡­ somehow.


    It¡¯s hot on the Flight Deck, but a summer breeze transfixes me. I head toward the bow the second the elevator frees me. I am a man of the land and sea, just like my best friend. I¡¯m not as young as I used to be, but that doesn¡¯t mean I can¡¯t help guide the youth today.


    Look beyond, Bill. Temple¡¯s right¡ªyou haven¡¯t known who you are since the Incident. I have a daughter who doesn¡¯t want me to die feeling guilty, and Yorktown hopes I won¡¯t, either.


    A tanker ship off Yorktown¡¯s port side catches my attention. For a second, I want to sail with her. I even lift my hand and wave when the ship blows her foghorn.


    Who am I?


    The rest of the way to the number 10 on Yorktown¡¯s bow, I remember when I would do the same on Valley Forge, even in heavy weather.


    Who am I?


    Rekindle Ted¡¯s legacy, Bill. Try to be as optimistic as him. I stop on the number 10 and drop my cane. The strength in my legs returns, and I lift my arms into the iconic Navy LSO high signal while studying the Cooper River Bridge. It¡¯s never too late.


    Who am I?


    I close my eyes and announce to Charleston, ¡°I am William! I am a man of the land and sea, and I promise I won¡¯t let you down, Ted!¡±


    There I was, young again, and letting a wave christen me. Now, in the present, that wave has changed into the summer sunshine.


    I am William, a man of the land and sea, ready to finally give Patriots Point another chance.


    More happy memories overtake my mind, including Ted and me dancing with our brothers in our berthing section while one man played his harmonica and another his accordion. We were just kids who wanted to pretend we were dancing with a lady.


    My legs tap in a Jitterbug-like fashion with the memory. I move my arms and twirl in a circle. It¡¯s the most fun I¡¯ve had since starting at Patriots Point. What better way to Jitterbug than on the Flight Deck of an aircraft carrier while remembering the ¡°good ole¡¯ days¡±?


    Eventually, I calm down, but I gasp and quickly pick up my cane at the sight of someone.


    The woman I met at the Doolittle Raid exhibit stands before me, grinning. She waves and nervously says, ¡°Hi.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s you,¡± I say, and she nods.


    ¡°Yes, it¡¯s me.¡± The woman sticks her hands behind her and crosses her right leg over her left. ¡°I didn¡¯t know you Jitterbugged.¡±


    I giggle hauntingly. ¡°My best friend taught me. He was always the partier. He came home one night with a woman and taught us to Jitterbug.¡± We¡¯re quiet for a second, and then I add, ¡°If you don¡¯t mind me asking¡­ Why are you here? Aren¡¯t you supposed to be on the tour?¡±


    The woman approaches me and stands on my left side, examining the river and bridge. ¡°I am¡­ Was! Sorry! I¡¯d¡±¡ªshe gulps¡ª¡°I¡¯d like to know a little more about your friend.¡±


    ¡°Why? It¡¯s confidential.¡± I turn away from the woman and stick my cane between my ankles. I notice myself hunching. While I straighten myself, the woman¡¯s gentle hand grips my shoulder. Ted also had a soft grasp.


    ¡°I just¡­¡± The woman releases me. ¡°The name is familiar.¡±


    ¡°Ma¡¯am,¡± I say, turning back, ¡°there are many guys named Ted.¡±


    ¡°The name isn¡¯t as popular as it was back then, though,¡± the woman explains. ¡°Just¡­ please. Give me a chance. I think I know him.¡±


    Know him? What¡¯s she talking about? I¡¯m supposed to be looking beyond Ted¡¯s death, and here she is, making a joke.


    I feel my face flushing and tears threatening to escape. ¡°Just stop,¡± I beg, turning away again. ¡°Please.¡± Without another word, I lower my Valley Forge cap, leave, and return to my black hole.


    End of Act I: Ted "Roosevelt"


    Current Word Count: 16,036