Chapter 13
What did the bottle write on the postcard? Wish you were beer!
Ihum and sing along with the radio as I drive out of Milwaukee. I’m on my way to meet Grayson’s buddy’s widow. It’s taken me a week to put all the puzzle pieces together and figure out who the buddy and widow are. In the end, it was easy. A huge duh moment.
I started my research by going through newspaper accounts of military deaths in Afghanistan. There were way more than I thought. It was heartbreaking. From there, I tried to find a connection to Grayson. But he doesn’t talk about his time in the military. I have no idea what unit he was in let alone when exactly he was overseas.
And then I remembered something Wally said. Grayson didn’t go back to his hometown after his discharge because of his buddy’s death. Maybe his buddy was from his hometown. I know Grayson grew up in Merrill, a small town in northern Wisconsin. Sure enough, I found a story of a soldier from Merrill killed in action when his Humvee drove over an IED.
From there it was a simple Google search to find out where Liz Morris, widow of Bill Morris, lives. And now I’m driving the three hours from Milwaukee to Merrill to meet her. I didn’t call in advance. I’m not sure how she feels about Grayson. Maybe he feels guilty because she blames her husband’s death on Grayson.
It’s all a big fat mess, but I’m going to unravel everything and fix Grayson. He won’t see me coming.
After a stop for lunch, I park in front of the Morris residence around two. I would have liked to arrive earlier, but it’s Sunday, and I didn’t want to have to wait for church to get out. It’s way too cold for waiting outside. My mom may be onto something with the whole no coming up north in the winter thing.
There’s a car in the driveaway and the lights are on. Looks like Liz and her baby boy are home. No more stalling. My hand shakes as I reach for the door handle. Stop it. I berate myself. There’s nothing to be nervous about. I’m sure Liz is a lovely person.
I ring the doorbell and stomp my boots as I wait for her to answer. The door opens and a blonde woman a few inches taller than me wearing her Sunday best answers.
“Can I help you?”
I smile. “Hi. Are you Liz Morris?”
Her eyes narrow. “Who are you?”
“I’m a friend of Grayson’s.”
A little head peeks around her legs. “I’m Grayson, but I don’t know you.”
I bend down to look at him face to face. “I’m Suzie. My Grayson is an adult.”
“Oh.” His eyes widen. “Uncle Grayson?”
I nod before standing and holding my hand out to Liz. “I’m Suzie Langley. Can I come in?”
She shakes my hand. “Any friend of Grayson’s is welcome here.”
Phew. By the sound of it, she doesn’t hate Grayson. Fingers crossed she doesn’t blame him for her husband’s death. After I take off my boots and jacket, she directs me to the living room.
“Can I get you something to drink? I was making some hot cocoa for us.”
“Hot cocoa sounds lovely, but I don’t want to put you out.”
She waves off my concern. “It’s no problem. The pan is still warm.”
While she walks to the kitchen, I look around the place. It’s small but cozy and organized. Even the corner for Grayson’s toys is arranged in a proper fashion. It feels weird referring to a small boy as Grayson. Grayson is a big strong soldier, not a little boy, I think as I survey the rest of the room. The furniture is worn but clean and comfortable. It looks like Liz is doing all right for herself, except for being widowed way too young, of course.
Liz returns and hands me a mug of cocoa. I take a sip to stall. I probably should have rehearsed what I’m going to say, but I like to wing it. It’s more authentic.
“You said you’re a friend of Grayson. Is he okay?”
I put my mug down on the coffee table. “Not exactly.” When she gasps, I quickly continue. “He’s fine. Physically at least. Mentally, though, the man is messed up.”
Her eyes close and her chin drops to her chest. I feel like a total shit for bringing all this up with her, but I’m letting Grayson wallow in his grief and guilt.
“He blames himself,” she says when she lifts her head.
“Yes.”