Wednesday, November 26, 1975

Al was released from the hospital just in time for Thanksgiving. Never before had I brought more gratitude to the holiday. I wanted to make it a special celebration, so I'd contacted my mother to help me plan. I'd asked for help creating a menu for just myself and Al and any pointers on how I could make it memorable for him. She'd quickly taken control, and before I knew quite what was happening the whole family was expected to fly down to spend the holiday weekend with us. While I knew my parents were looking forward to seeing Al again, I wasn't as sure about my siblings. Both my brother and sister had tried to convince me to move on with my life and quit wasting it on such a slim hope, and while their arguments had lessened slightly after Al's photo was featured on the cover of Life five years ago, they had still doubted his return. I tried to bear in mind that they had just been concerned about me, and that's what had spurred their dissent. Besides, they were all coming to celebrate his return, weren't they?

Just the night before, when I'd called to touch base, my mother told me she and Janie were creating a menu for Thanksgiving dinner which was "guaranteed to put the meat back on his bones." I'd warned her that Al was still extremely thin, despite the fact that he'd gained quite a few pounds in the hospital. Though she'd told me that she rather knew what to expect, I suspected that she would actually be shocked when she saw him. Al had always been slender, but healthy-looking. Now he seemed so fragile that I sometimes was afraid to put my arms around him.

Captain Griffith, who had seen Al admitted to the hospital, was on hand for his release. Al was slightly embarrassed by the ceremony with which Captain Griffith made his farewells, as he repeatedly expressed his intentions to keep abreast of Al's future activities, which he said were sure to be remarkable. After ensuring that all paperwork was promptly processed, Captain Griffith escorted us downstairs (personally pushing the wheelchair the hospital insisted Al sit in) to a waiting limousine bound for the airport. He crisply returned Al's salute, and stepped back toward the hospital entrance, but didn't go inside until we pulled out of the drive.

"I can't believe this day is actually here," Al said when we were underway.

"You're coming home for real, now," I said, and leaned in for a kiss. "The house is virtually the same. Do you remember it?"

"Do I remember it? I could walk through it blindfolded. Our house was one of the things I remembered to get me through the nights at Cham Hoi." As the name of one of the most notorious of the camps he'd been imprisoned in passed his lips, he abruptly turned away to look out the windows at the passing city.

"Mom and Dad should already be there when we arrive," I said, to change the subject. "I went ahead and mailed her the spare key last week. She'll probably have a meal waiting."

Al smiled, "I always did love your mother's cooking. Of course, I'd love anyone's cooking after a couple months of hospital food. Even yours."

"Ha, a comedian." I rolled my eyes. But I was secretly thrilled that Al's sense of humor had returned in full force. If it meant I had to endure some good-natured teasing, so be it.

"Janie and Frank will fly in Thursday morning. And Rob'll drive down in time for Thanksgiving dinner," I mentioned, consulting the notes I'd scrawled across the hotel stationery about my siblings' arrival times during one of my mother's many phone calls.

"Mm-hm," Al nodded. He seemed distracted, and I hoped that he wouldn't be overwhelmed by the holiday and my mother's extravagant plans. When I asked him, he abruptly shook his head, as if he were shaking off a memory, and grinned expansively at me. "It sounds wonderful, honey." He took me into his arms and kissed me.

Soon we arrived at the airport. Thanks to Captain Griffith, our luggage had already been sent to the airlines. All that remained for us to do was to board the plane, amid stares at my dreadfully thin ex-POW husband. Some of them, coming from a small cluster of youths clad in tie-dyed shirts, had a distinctly resentful edge at the sight of Al's naval uniform. Others were steeped in pity. Still others merely gawked, following our every movement with their eyes. Al was so lost in thought he didn't appear to have noticed, but I did, and it infuriated me. I glared back defensively.

We got settled into our seats, and Al instantly took my hand, caressing it, stroking the back, palm, and each finger in turn. He kissed me on a cheek that flushed pink when he whispered huskily and sexily in my ear, "I can't wait to get you in bed."

Even so, he fell asleep shortly after take-off, which worried me. Al loved flying and almost always had been the one to stay awake while I fell asleep on commercial flights. He enjoyed watching the ground pass far below while the clouds and sky drifted past his window. My imagination began to work overtime. I was suspecting anything from residual trauma of the prison camps to the memory of his plane being shot down. Finally, common sense returned and acknowledged that Al was not yet back to full strength and needed rest. I sighed and began counting the hours and minutes until we landed in San Diego. I wanted to get him back into a familiar environment and into the warmth of our family's love.

And my family is your family, Al. I wasn't sure if he'd ever fully realize that. He still carried the pain of the abandonment he'd known throughout his childhood, I knew, even though he'd never expressed the feeling to me in so many words. Before he was a teenager he'd lost his entire family. His mother had abandoned them, his father had died, and he and his sister Trudy had been separated; Al had gone to an orphanage, and Trudy had been sent to an institution, where she'd died before Al could find her again when he came of age. Shortly before we married, Al had told me that he never knew what love was until he met me, and while touched, I'd dismissed it as a clichéd line. It wasn't until later, when I learned what his childhood had been like, that I realized the depth of what he'd said. Now more than ever, I hoped that he would be aware that my parents were there for him as if he were their own son.

I glanced at Al, whose head had fallen against my shoulder, breathing a gentle sigh of relief that he seemed to be having pleasant dreams. Though his intensive sessions with the psychiatrist had succeeded in eradicating some of the nightmare memories, others still surfaced in his sleep from time to time. Dr. Matthews had remarked that this pattern could continue for years, considering the profundity of his experience in Vietnam, though Al's conscious acknowledgment might have shortened the duration. I still didn't know exactly what my husband had gone through in Vietnam. His sessions had been closed, and Al refused to talk about it with me afterwards. I wondered if he was trying to protect me from knowing what he'd actually endured, or if he just didn't like to dwell on it after Dr. Matthews forced him to dredge up the memories.

I looked at my watch; we still had over three hours of travel. I fondled Al's cheek and brushed a kiss on the top of his sleeping head, then contentedly sighed and reached for my novel.

The taxi pulled up in front of our home, where my parent's rental car was parked in the driveway. Al froze as soon as his feet hit the pavement; I quickly paid the cab fare. The driver placed our suitcases on the sidewalk at Al's feet, only giving one curious glance before he got back in the cab and drove away. As if rooted to the ground, Al still stood with his back to me, facing the front porch of the bungalow.

I lightly touched his shoulder. "Al? Baby, is something wrong?"

He turned to face me with tears shining in his eyes, as he smiled, "It's just the same. It's just like I remember it."

I saw Mom peeking through the front room curtains at the same moment Al did. He cleared his throat and surreptitiously wiped his eyes as he bent to pick up the suitcases. Though his step was not as sure as it had been before he left for Vietnam, he made it to the porch before my mother enthusiastically flung the door open.

"Albert!" she cried, enveloping him in a warm hug after he put down the suitcases. "It's so good to see you!" Over his shoulder, her eyes communicated her concern to me at Al's weight.

"Thanks, Lillian," Al smiled, slightly caught off-guard by the welcome. "It's good to see you, too." He shifted his weight as Mom turned to hug me. "Is Pete here, too?"

"Right inside, asleep in front of the TV. Go wake him up, dear. He'll be thrilled to see you," said Mom.

Al glanced uncertainly at me. I smiled reassuringly and took his hand. "We'll wake him up, Mom. I don't know how he could sleep through all the wonderful smells from the kitchen."

My father was snoring away on the couch, oblivious to the loud Western on the television. Al looked even smaller next to his large frame. I reached over and gently shook Dad awake.

"This is a fine welcome, isn't it?" I teased.

"Beth! Hi, sweetie! Did you have a good flight?"

"Just fine. And yours?"

"Typical. Long and boring." Dad sat up with a yawn and noticed Al standing behind my shoulder. "Al! How are you, son?" He energetically pumped Al's arm. "Gee, you've lost a lot of weight. We'll have to do something about that, right, Lil?"

Mom simultaneously laughed politely and glared at Dad for mentioning Al's condition. Al discerned the scolding look and hurried to continue the conversation.

"I'm looking forward to it. It smells delicious. What is it?"

"Beef stew," Mom answered. "It still needs to cook a while." She gestured for Al to sit.

I sneaked out to retrieve the suitcases from the doorway and place them in a corner of our bedroom. I came back as Dad was telling Al how good it was to have him home. I saw Mom beckoning me to join her in the kitchen, so I left them together.

"Beth, he's so thin!" Mom wiped her eyes with a corner of her apron. "What did they do to him over there?"

I peeked to be sure neither of them was coming near the kitchen before I answered her. "I don't know exactly what happened," I whispered. "I wrote to you most of what I did know, and that was judging from what I could physically see on his body and what the doctors told me."

Mom nodded. "I saw the scars on his wrist when he shook your father's hand. But he hasn't told you anything?"

I shook my head. "He talked to the psychiatrist at Bethesda, but he won't tell me what the VC did to him."

"Maybe he'll open up when he settles in."

"I hope so," I sighed. "It's like he's got some sort of wall up when I try to discuss Vietnam with him. I don't know why he thinks he has to protect me from what happened to him."

Mom looked thoughtful for several breaths before she spoke. "I think it may be because it's what little control he has over what happened. You first saw him weak and unconscious in a hospital bed, right? I know that's not how Al would have wanted to greet you. And then, on top of that, he had to talk about what happened with a stranger. My guess is he may want things to settle down to normal. You know and I know that you're strong enough to share what happened to him, but I don't think he's ready to admit that. By keeping you from knowing what he went through, he probably feels in charge of his life again."

"That makes sense." I considered what she'd said, and then I chuckled, "You must've been reading a lot of Dear Abby, Mom. That was professional advice if ever I heard any."

She laughed too and hugged me. "Just hang in there, Beth."

"More coffee, Al?" Mom asked. She'd taken over the role of hostess after dinner, waiting on us, allowing me to spend every moment with my husband. We were in the living room, my parents on the sofa, Al and I in an oversized armchair.

"No, thank you, Lillian." Al's hand traced circles on my back.

"It's so good to have you home, Al. Beth really missed you."

Al slipped his other arm around my waist. "I missed her so much it hurt."

I closed my eyes and leaned my head against his shoulder. "But you're home now."

He bent his head and deeply breathed in the scent of my hair. His hand strayed from my waist to slide up my ribs, but with a barely audible sigh, he returned it. I opened my eyes and realized the cause of his hesitation.

Mom smiled at us with tears in her eyes. She coughed and patted Dad on the knee. "Well, Pete, we better go back to the hotel if we're going to get enough rest. We've got to pick up Janie and Frank when their plane lands in the morning."

"Hmmm?" Dad looked confused for a second. "Oh! Yeah, you're right." He stretched and yawned widely, plainly acting. "Goodnight, Beth, Al."

He took Mom's hand. She winked and smiled at me as they headed to the door. Al and I followed, distributing and receiving hugs and kisses as they walked outside. Al stood behind me in the doorway, his arms linked around my waist, as we waved goodbye and watched them drive away in the dusk.

He kissed my neck as I closed and locked the door. I turned to face my husband, giggling and wrapping my arms around him. "Could they be any more obvious?"

"Could we?" he countered with a chuckle. Taking my hand, he led me to the couch and sat down next to me, taking me into a passionate embrace. He kissed me sweetly and deeply, now allowing his hand to travel freely.

"Oh, Al, I missed you," I murmured when I could speak again. I just wanted to melt into him. It didn't seem like I could ever get close enough to him. It was all I could do not to protest when he pulled away and crossed to the record player. My heart skipped a beat when he started playing our song.

"Dance with me, Mrs. Calavicci?" he asked, huskily, over the sound of Ray Charles' voice, his hand extended.

I rose and slipped into my customary place in his arms as if the last time we'd danced had only been days ago, rather than years. He held me close, breathing hard and very near tears. The curl near my ear tickled my face from the motion of his breath as he sighed my name.

"Beth...oh my beautiful, beautiful Beth..."

I kissed his neck, his cheek, his lips, wanting nothing but to touch him and taste him. My hands moved from his shoulders to take in the silkiness of his hair. His hands, meanwhile, cupped my face as he leaned in for a kiss, eight years of pent-up desire in his eyes.

We moved to the couch again, locked in an embrace, as "Georgia" came to an end and the next record fell into place. The needle produced the romantic tones of The Carpenters' "We've Only Just Begun" as Al unfastened the top buttons on my blouse and began tracking kisses downward from my neck. I closed my eyes to the delicious sensation of his warm lips against my skin as his fingers worked the rest of the buttons free, and his hands caressed my abdomen. He slid the blouse off, and stroked my arms and back. Slowly, he kissed his way back up to meet my lips.

"You're so beautiful, Beth," he murmured. He tucked my hair behind my ear and nibbled on my earlobe. "You're the most beautiful woman in the world, and I'm lucky to have you," he whispered in my ear. "Oh, God, how I love you, Beth." He trailed kisses from my ear back to my lips.

As the kiss deepened and intensified, I unbuttoned his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders. He shrugged out of it and stripped off the T-shirt underneath, and I pulled him close, caressing his back.

Oh, dear God.

I couldn't hold back the horrified gasp as my fingers encountered the scars from the torture and beatings he'd endured, and I started crying as I traced the length of the ragged crisscrossing lines.

"Al...oh, Al." I buried my face in his neck.

"They don't hurt anymore, Beth. I promise," he whispered. He lifted my head and stroked away the tears with his thumbs, bending close to kiss me.

I couldn't stop crying. "Oh, baby, what did they do to you?"

Al tightly embraced me, then held me at arm's length and gazed intently into my eyes. "It doesn't matter now, Beth. I have you, honey. All that matters now is us."

I wiped my eyes and nodded. "I'm sorry."

He suddenly pulled me against him once more and rocked gently, "Oh, honey, don't ever be sorry for caring about me."

"I love you, Al."

He captured my mouth in his and passionately kissed me. "God, I've missed hearing you say my name that way." His breathing was getting ragged. "I want you so badly, Beth."

"I want you, too, Al."

Pressed against each other, we stood again, never once breaking the rhythm of fervent kisses as we moved toward the bedroom.

I rolled over and woke up when my hand encountered empty sheets instead of Al's shoulder. I switched on the lamp and raised my head to glance about our room, but Al was nowhere to be found. The warm memory of our lovemaking and the passion and devotion I'd seen in his eyes before falling asleep in his arms coursed through my mind. For the first time in weeks there had been true peace on my husband's face. But now something had troubled him enough to make him get up. Concerned, I slipped out of bed and threw on my robe.

I found him sitting at the dining table with a pile of letters scattered in front of him. Clad only in a pair of pajama pants, he was absently winding a red ribbon around his fingers as he read, and he jumped when I walked up and rubbed his bare arm.

"Beth? What are you doing up?" he asked, momentarily covering my hand with his own.

"Looking for you. What are you doing up?"

"Couldn't sleep," he shrugged with a wry smile. He waved at a chair as he tossed the ribbon to the side. "Have a seat, honey."

I grinned and pointed accusingly at the scattered letters. "I was going to give those to you later. I see you've been snooping."

"Well, they were addressed to me," Al grinned back. He lifted the steaming mug that rested next to his hand. "I made some coffee, do you want some?"

"Oh, that'll do wonders for someone who couldn't sleep," I teased as I moved toward the kitchen to fix myself a mug. When I came back, Al was engrossed in another letter. Sitting next to him at the table, I watched his face as he read it. With each stroke of the pen, I had dreamed and hoped for this moment. Each letter gave me a chance to write down old memories of our life together before the war. I had jotted down details of my everyday activities and updates on newspaper headlines, hoping to ease the chasm of timelessness from the POW camp for him. And, most importantly, I had expressed my dreams of the moment when we would be reunited. Now Al was finally able to share in them. He blinked and looked lovingly at me when he was done with the letter.

"How many have you read so far?"

"I guess about a third. I've been up for a while," he confessed.

"Goodness, Al, I started writing those over five years ago!"

He only shrugged and reached for another one. I sipped my coffee as I watched him, studied him, the flex in his biceps and triceps as he picked up a letter, the movement in his neck as he swallowed coffee, the softness around his eyes as he read.

Several letters later Al stared intently at me. "Beth, did you mean what you said in these letters?"

"Every word, my love." I took his hand. The sudden look of relief on his face puzzled me. "Why did you look worried when you asked that?"

Al busied himself with straightening the unread letters. "Worried? No, just tired, I guess."

I reached over to grab his chin between my thumb and forefinger, and turned his face toward me. "You looked distinctly relieved when I told you that I meant what I wrote. Why? And why would you even have to ask me that?"

Al looked in my eyes and sighed. "I've been having the same nightmare for the past few weeks. It's so real, it's almost like an actual memory."

"Well, baby, you know Dr. Matthews said you'd still have nightmares about Vietnam periodically."

"It's not about Vietnam. It's about you."

A chill ran down my spine at his words, but I waited for him to continue.

"Maybe it's more about me, actually. I don't know," Al sighed again. He cleared his throat before he went on. "But it begins when I'm in the hospital. The chaplain comes in with a letter. The letter's from you and it tells me that you thought I had died and you...remarried. And that you didn't want to have any further contact with me or ever see me again. Then he shows me the paperwork that declared me dead."

He stared down at the table then, picking up the abandoned ribbon again and twisting it in his hands. "Your signature's on the papers, Beth. I just stare at it, and then I start to run. Suddenly I'm not in the hospital anymore, but in a maze and I'm running and sobbing and calling for you, but I can't ever find you and I can't find my way out. And...and then I wake up."

"Did you have the dream tonight?" I asked, shuddering mentally at how close Al's nightmare could actually have been to coming true if I hadn't been visited by the angel. Of course, I couldn't tell Al about that. Especially not now.

He nodded in response to my question, meeting my eyes uneasily before looking at the table again. "Yeah, it was pretty intense tonight, and I couldn't go back to sleep. I watched you sleep for a while; I thought maybe that would help, but it didn't. You looked so peaceful, I didn't want to wake you, so I figured I'd get up and play solitaire or something. While I was looking around for a deck of cards, I found these letters and started to read them. I know this sounds nuts, but the dream was so real, it felt like it had actually happened or could have happened or . . . something, I dunno. That's why I needed to know if you meant these words."

I left my chair and knelt next to his, gripping his arm. "Albert, look at me, look in my eyes. Every single word came from my heart. Next to our wedding day, the happiest day of my life was when I got the call that you were coming home."

Al bent his head to mine and stroked the back of my head. "Thank you, Beth. I just needed to hear that." Pulling away, he rose and walked to the window, looking up at the stars. A melancholy expression crossed his face and he folded his arms, rubbing his palms against his biceps. I stood as well, but didn't move away from the chair he'd just vacated.

"That was one thing they couldn't take away from me. Even in the tiger cage, the stars were always there, and you were on the other side of the stars. It was you that got me through, Beth," he said, turning to face me. "I knew you were waiting for me. I held on to our love through those years, praying that I could make it just one more day to get home to you. Just one more day. That's what kept me alive no matter what they did."

I hurried over and wrapped my arms around him—the grown man who ached for love like the little lost orphan boy he'd once been. "And you are home, Al. You're home, and alive, and well, and I am never going to leave you. I love you!"

Al buried his face in my hair. "I love you so much, Beth. Do you know that?"

"Of course I do. You came back for me, didn't you?" I pulled his head down for a kiss. "Come on," I took his hand. "Let's go outside and look at the stars. Together."