that it’s okay if moms and dads bought the presents, ’cause they had Santa in their heart. Well, I got him in my heart, too. So, it’s okay if Connie don’t believe, ’cause I know my heart is big enough for Santa and me.”
“. . . And that was that. It didn’t matter what anyone said; Gracie believed in Santa until the day she died.” I tripped over the last word, but managed it. “Every Christmas, she’d leave him cookies. She wrote him annual letters. And when she was twelve, she adopted a family and bought them all gifts with her own money. We all helped, and on Christmas Eve, we packed up everything and put it on their porch. She left a letter with it all—a letter from Santa. We all went back to the car and she was the one who rang the doorbell, then ran.”
There was a happy memory that I hadn’t pulled out to examine in a long time. Gracie’s undisguised glee as she ran to the car.
“She said she was just letting the Santa in her heart out.”
“She sounds like she was an amazing girl,” Sam said.
“She was. All my kids are.”
“Your turn,” I said to Sam. “One thing.”
“My nickname was Romeo.” Sam smiled. “There was this guy in our unit. Tony Mulligan. His dad was Irish, his mom Italian. He was the only swarthy-skinned redhead I ever met . . .”
“Come on, Sam. You’re going to be my best man. Consider this part of your duties.”
Sam looked at his friend. Tony was one of those guys who never seemed to have it together. He was always late for everything but chow. He was the only guy Sam had ever met who could look rumpled in a newly pressed uniform, and whose hair, no matter how short, looked a mess because of the legion of cowlicks it sported. And the fact that his hair was red only called attention to its disarray. Wherever he went, Tony stood out. And unfortunately, he didn’t stand out well.
That is, he didn’t stand up well to the scrutiny until he’d met Sheila Yu. Her mother was Irish and her father was Chinese. She was working with an Irish relief agency in Afghanistan. They joked about their future babies, redheaded, tan, blue-eyed babies whose eyes would slant.
“Come with me,” Tony pressed.
Going with Tony to ask the CO for permission to marry was about the last thing Sam wanted to do, but Tony looked so desperate, which is why Sam found himself standing before the CO’s desk as Tony fumbled his way through his request.
“Listen, Mulligan, you’ve been in my office weekly, with one infraction or another, since you arrived on this base. What makes you think you’re ready to marry?”
“Sir, I . . .”
“Permission to speak freely, sir.” Sam heard the words come out of his mouth, but it was as if someone else had said them.
“Permission granted.”
“Sir, I know what you’re saying. Mulligan is one of the worst soldiers I’ve ever met. He’s the only man I know who can’t keep the beat. Not any kind of beat. When he marches, he’s always just a bit off. Not enough to get in trouble, but enough that everyone notices.”
“You’re not helping, Sam,” Tony muttered.
Sam ignored him and continued. “Frankly, he sucks as a soldier. But not with Sheila. If you saw them together, sir, you’d know. She . . .” He struggled, looking for the words to explain what he knew—what everyone who’d ever seen Tony and Sheila together knew.
“Sir, there’s a line from Jerry Maguire that’s been so overused that even a guy like me has heard it. She completes him. It’s like all those things we’ve all noticed about Tony are simply signs that he’s missing something. It’s as if his lack of rhythm when we march and all those other things are just physical manifestations of what’s missing. You might think it’s a drive to succeed or even caring about his personal appearance, but sir, what’s been missing is Sheila. You said Tony’s been in here every week, but in the last few months, has he really?”
The CO paused and
“. . . And that was that. It didn’t matter what anyone said; Gracie believed in Santa until the day she died.” I tripped over the last word, but managed it. “Every Christmas, she’d leave him cookies. She wrote him annual letters. And when she was twelve, she adopted a family and bought them all gifts with her own money. We all helped, and on Christmas Eve, we packed up everything and put it on their porch. She left a letter with it all—a letter from Santa. We all went back to the car and she was the one who rang the doorbell, then ran.”
There was a happy memory that I hadn’t pulled out to examine in a long time. Gracie’s undisguised glee as she ran to the car.
“She said she was just letting the Santa in her heart out.”
“She sounds like she was an amazing girl,” Sam said.
“She was. All my kids are.”
“Your turn,” I said to Sam. “One thing.”
“My nickname was Romeo.” Sam smiled. “There was this guy in our unit. Tony Mulligan. His dad was Irish, his mom Italian. He was the only swarthy-skinned redhead I ever met . . .”
“Come on, Sam. You’re going to be my best man. Consider this part of your duties.”
Sam looked at his friend. Tony was one of those guys who never seemed to have it together. He was always late for everything but chow. He was the only guy Sam had ever met who could look rumpled in a newly pressed uniform, and whose hair, no matter how short, looked a mess because of the legion of cowlicks it sported. And the fact that his hair was red only called attention to its disarray. Wherever he went, Tony stood out. And unfortunately, he didn’t stand out well.
That is, he didn’t stand up well to the scrutiny until he’d met Sheila Yu. Her mother was Irish and her father was Chinese. She was working with an Irish relief agency in Afghanistan. They joked about their future babies, redheaded, tan, blue-eyed babies whose eyes would slant.
“Come with me,” Tony pressed.
Going with Tony to ask the CO for permission to marry was about the last thing Sam wanted to do, but Tony looked so desperate, which is why Sam found himself standing before the CO’s desk as Tony fumbled his way through his request.
“Listen, Mulligan, you’ve been in my office weekly, with one infraction or another, since you arrived on this base. What makes you think you’re ready to marry?”
“Sir, I . . .”
“Permission to speak freely, sir.” Sam heard the words come out of his mouth, but it was as if someone else had said them.
“Permission granted.”
“Sir, I know what you’re saying. Mulligan is one of the worst soldiers I’ve ever met. He’s the only man I know who can’t keep the beat. Not any kind of beat. When he marches, he’s always just a bit off. Not enough to get in trouble, but enough that everyone notices.”
“You’re not helping, Sam,” Tony muttered.
Sam ignored him and continued. “Frankly, he sucks as a soldier. But not with Sheila. If you saw them together, sir, you’d know. She . . .” He struggled, looking for the words to explain what he knew—what everyone who’d ever seen Tony and Sheila together knew.
“Sir, there’s a line from Jerry Maguire that’s been so overused that even a guy like me has heard it. She completes him. It’s like all those things we’ve all noticed about Tony are simply signs that he’s missing something. It’s as if his lack of rhythm when we march and all those other things are just physical manifestations of what’s missing. You might think it’s a drive to succeed or even caring about his personal appearance, but sir, what’s been missing is Sheila. You said Tony’s been in here every week, but in the last few months, has he really?”
The CO paused and
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