Read Online Matt & Zoe by Charles Sheehan-Miles - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Charles Sheehan-Miles
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All you have to do is look at his prosthetic legs (both of them) and arm (one) to realize he's the real deal.
I met him a few days ago for the first time—that’s when I read the Silver Star citation hanging on his wall. In 2005, somewhere along MSR Tampa just a few miles east of Iskandiriyah, he’d saved a soldier’s life and sacrificed his limbs in the process.
“Zoe!” He calls out in a strong voice. It sounds like broken gravel. “Come in, sit down!”
“Hey,” I say. I walk toward his desk. It’s piled high with files and books. I look at the titles with interest. Achilles in Vietnam. Soul Repair: Recovering from Moral Injury After War.
Huh.
“You can borrow them if you want. My office is kind of a lending library.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“You hanging in there?”
I nod. I don’t want to say too much. I don’t want to talk about what’s going on inside. I just want to get down to business. “What have you heard?” I ask. I try to hide the trembling in my voice. I’m starting to realize—I really care about this.
He grins. “It took some doing, since you’re long past the deadline. But you’re in.”
“I am?” As I shout—well, scream—the words, I jump to my feet, knocking half a dozen books and some papers off his desk.
As the books hit the floor, I shift to horror.
“Christ, I’m so sorry.” I kneel to pick them up.
His smile just gets bigger. “Zoe, they wanted you in. Everyone knows you’ve gone through a brutal time. You deserve it.”
I carefully don’t answer as I set the books back on his desk. He senses my reticence. “Here’s how this will work. It’s going to take a while for your veteran’s benefits to come through. Probably a couple months. We can get you a small advance for books and you’ll be able to go ahead and register for classes. You need to do that as quick as you can, classes start Monday. All right?”
I nod. I’m overwhelmed. He walks me through the first steps. I’ve got a long laundry list of things I’ll need to do. Visit the IT office in person, because I can’t wait the days it normally takes to get an account set up. Figure out how to use the online systems. Register for classes. Get my textbooks. Fill out paperwork and more paperwork for the GI Bill.
I don’t care. I’ll do all of it. Most of it I’ll have to do tomorrow, because the elementary school gets out in forty minutes and I need to get home to meet Jasmine. Let’s hope South Hadley’s teachers don’t go on strike, because if they do, I’ll be dragging her along for all of it.
I manage to get back out to my car and on my way home in plenty of time. As I drive back to South Hadley, I remind myself that I’m going to need to work my class schedule around Jasmine’s school hours.
When she gets off the school bus, I’m outside sweeping the wraparound porch. The wind blows dust across the porch, and as I sweep, a few flakes of paint, already peeling, break loose. She shuffles away from the bus and toward the house, her head bowed, eyes on the ground.
I stop sweeping and watch her. I wish I had some clue how to help her. Of course, what she needs is Mom and Dad. And there’s nothing at all I can do about that.
“Hey. How was your day?”
She walks up the steps and looks at me. The boards creak under her feet. “O—O—Okay,” she responds without enthusiasm and with a pronounced stammer. She walks right past me, opens the front door, and disappears inside.
Damn. I set the broom against the wall and go inside the house.
Her book bag is on the floor near the stairs, and I can hear her thumping around upstairs. That was quick. I stand there, listening. This is a very old house, and here and there loose boards make it easy to tell where people are. Jasmine is in her room. That doesn’t last long. I hear her walking again, but no longer in the soft sound of sneakers.
She thumps down the stairs wearing riding boots.
“Homework?” I ask.
She seems to
I met him a few days ago for the first time—that’s when I read the Silver Star citation hanging on his wall. In 2005, somewhere along MSR Tampa just a few miles east of Iskandiriyah, he’d saved a soldier’s life and sacrificed his limbs in the process.
“Zoe!” He calls out in a strong voice. It sounds like broken gravel. “Come in, sit down!”
“Hey,” I say. I walk toward his desk. It’s piled high with files and books. I look at the titles with interest. Achilles in Vietnam. Soul Repair: Recovering from Moral Injury After War.
Huh.
“You can borrow them if you want. My office is kind of a lending library.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“You hanging in there?”
I nod. I don’t want to say too much. I don’t want to talk about what’s going on inside. I just want to get down to business. “What have you heard?” I ask. I try to hide the trembling in my voice. I’m starting to realize—I really care about this.
He grins. “It took some doing, since you’re long past the deadline. But you’re in.”
“I am?” As I shout—well, scream—the words, I jump to my feet, knocking half a dozen books and some papers off his desk.
As the books hit the floor, I shift to horror.
“Christ, I’m so sorry.” I kneel to pick them up.
His smile just gets bigger. “Zoe, they wanted you in. Everyone knows you’ve gone through a brutal time. You deserve it.”
I carefully don’t answer as I set the books back on his desk. He senses my reticence. “Here’s how this will work. It’s going to take a while for your veteran’s benefits to come through. Probably a couple months. We can get you a small advance for books and you’ll be able to go ahead and register for classes. You need to do that as quick as you can, classes start Monday. All right?”
I nod. I’m overwhelmed. He walks me through the first steps. I’ve got a long laundry list of things I’ll need to do. Visit the IT office in person, because I can’t wait the days it normally takes to get an account set up. Figure out how to use the online systems. Register for classes. Get my textbooks. Fill out paperwork and more paperwork for the GI Bill.
I don’t care. I’ll do all of it. Most of it I’ll have to do tomorrow, because the elementary school gets out in forty minutes and I need to get home to meet Jasmine. Let’s hope South Hadley’s teachers don’t go on strike, because if they do, I’ll be dragging her along for all of it.
I manage to get back out to my car and on my way home in plenty of time. As I drive back to South Hadley, I remind myself that I’m going to need to work my class schedule around Jasmine’s school hours.
When she gets off the school bus, I’m outside sweeping the wraparound porch. The wind blows dust across the porch, and as I sweep, a few flakes of paint, already peeling, break loose. She shuffles away from the bus and toward the house, her head bowed, eyes on the ground.
I stop sweeping and watch her. I wish I had some clue how to help her. Of course, what she needs is Mom and Dad. And there’s nothing at all I can do about that.
“Hey. How was your day?”
She walks up the steps and looks at me. The boards creak under her feet. “O—O—Okay,” she responds without enthusiasm and with a pronounced stammer. She walks right past me, opens the front door, and disappears inside.
Damn. I set the broom against the wall and go inside the house.
Her book bag is on the floor near the stairs, and I can hear her thumping around upstairs. That was quick. I stand there, listening. This is a very old house, and here and there loose boards make it easy to tell where people are. Jasmine is in her room. That doesn’t last long. I hear her walking again, but no longer in the soft sound of sneakers.
She thumps down the stairs wearing riding boots.
“Homework?” I ask.
She seems to
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