Chapter 6 - One Cookie, Thousands of Doors
Five years passed.
Arthur got older.
So did I.
But every Tuesday afternoon, no matter what happened, we met.
Sometimes at his apartment.
Sometimes at the project office.
Sometimes in a hospital room beside someone who needed company.
And there was always one oatmeal raisin cookie.
When I turned fifteen, Arthur handed me a small box.
“What’s this?”
“Open it.”
Inside was an old military insignia.
I recognized it from photographs.
“Was this yours?”
“Yes.”
“I can't take this.”
“Sure you can.”
“Why me?”
Arthur leaned back.
“Because medals belong to the past. That belongs to the future.”
“That doesn't make sense.”
“I'm eighty-seven. I'm allowed to be mysterious.”
Then he became serious.
“What do you want to do with your life?”
I hesitated.
“Medicine.”
His eyebrows rose.
“Doctor?”
“Maybe.”
“Why maybe?”
“Medical school costs money.”
“So?”
“So we don't have that kind of money.”
Arthur stared at me.
“You think I spent five years building a foundation and forgot college?”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Chloe.”
“Arthur.”
We stared each other down.
He smiled.
“You've gotten irritating.”
“You trained me.”
He handed me an envelope.
Inside was confirmation of an educational scholarship.
Not only for me.
The Room 214 Project had created scholarships for children of hospital support staff and military families.
I read the page twice.
“You did this?”
“We did.”
I hugged him.
This time, Arthur didn't complain.
Years later, I entered medical school.
Arthur sat in the front row at my college graduation.
He was ninety.
General Bennett sat beside him.
Mom sat on the other side.
When my name was called, Arthur stood with his cane.
Slowly.
Painfully.
May you like
But he stood.
And applauded.
