Chapter 3 - Colonel Hayes
The next morning, I walked into another hospital carrying a fresh oatmeal raisin cookie.
This time, everybody knew Mr. Arthur’s name.
Colonel Arthur Hayes.
There were soldiers outside his room.
Actual soldiers.
I stopped.
“This is weird.”
General Bennett nodded.
“Arthur said the same thing.”
“Can I see him?”
“He demanded it.”
That sounded more familiar.
I entered.
Mr. Arthur was sitting upright.
He looked smaller than before.
But his eyes were exactly the same.
He looked at me.
Then at the bag.
“You’re late.”
I stared at him.
“You disappeared!”
“Technically, I was transported.”
“You scared me!”
“Technically—”
“Stop saying technically!”
Mr. Arthur smiled.
“Come here, kid.”
I ran to him.
I had never hugged him before.
Neither of us seemed to know what to do once it happened.
Finally, he patted my shoulder.
“That’s enough emotional nonsense.”
I stepped back.
“You're a colonel.”
“Retired.”
“You lied.”
“I omitted.”
“That's lying for old people.”
From behind me, Bennett laughed.
Arthur pointed at him.
“Why is he here?”
“You called him.”
“Another mistake.”
Bennett walked closer.
“You haven't changed.”
“I’m dying, not improving.”
The room went silent.
“Don't say that,” I whispered.
Arthur looked at me.
“Chloe.”
“No.”
“Kid—”
“You told me promises matter.”
“They do.”
“Then promise you're coming back.”
Arthur’s expression softened.
“I can't promise that.”
“Why?”
“Because promises should be things we can control.”
I fought tears.
“What can you promise?”
He thought.
Then held out his hand.
“I promise I'll fight.”
I put my hand in his.
“Hard?”
“As hard as I know how.”
“Deal.”
I handed him the cookie.
Arthur took one bite.
Then another.
Bennett watched.
“You know,” the general said, “I spent years trying to get this stubborn old man to answer my calls.”
Arthur pointed the cookie at him.
“You talk too much.”
“And she succeeded with baked goods.”
“Better strategy.”
A doctor entered.
“Colonel Hayes?”
Arthur sighed.
“Here comes trouble.”
The doctor smiled.
“We're ready.”
My stomach tightened.
Arthur handed me what remained of the cookie.
“Hold that.”
“Why?”
“Collateral.”
“For what?”
“So I have a reason to come back.”
They began moving his bed.
At the doorway, Arthur raised two fingers toward me.
“Hey, kid.”
“What?”
“You kept your promise.”
I swallowed.
“Now you keep yours.”
The doors closed.
Then we waited.
One hour.
Two.
Four.
Six.
At hour seven, Mom was asleep in a chair.
I sat beside General Bennett.
“Was he really a hero?”
Bennett looked toward the operating-room doors.
“Yes.”
“Then why was he alone?”
The general considered my question.
“Because medals can tell people what you did.”
He looked at me.
“They can't make you believe you're still worth knowing.”
The doors finally opened.
A surgeon walked toward us.
Everyone stood.
“General Bennett?”
“Yes.”
The surgeon removed his mask.
“The procedure was successful.”
Mom covered her mouth.
I nearly screamed.
“But,” the doctor continued, “the next forty-eight hours are critical.”
I looked at the half-cookie still wrapped in wax paper.
May you like
“He'll make it.”
Nobody corrected me.
