“I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult.”
“Just an observation.” She waves her hand, as if to end the conversation that probably didn’t start off the way she wanted.
“My Richard was in the service.” She digs through her bag, pulling out two long needles and a ball of yawn. I’ve always been fascinated by the knitting skill, but never thought it’d be something to learn. My grandma … well, the woman that raised me, she used to knit all the time and asked me if I wanted to learn. The answer was always no. Thinking back, I should’ve taken her up on her offer because that would’ve been something I could pass on to Claire.
“What branch?” As much as I’d love to sit in silence, if her husband served, she deserves my attention. She’s put in her time as his wife, the least I can do is listen to her story for the rest of my ride.
“Navy. We met in New York City on September second, nineteen forty-five.”
“Were you a nurse?” I give her a true smile with a slight hint of laughter. She already amuses me.
“You know that day?” she questions.
“Of course I do, ma’am. I know my history, especially when it has to do with the Navy.”
“Are you a sailor?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I was at one time and that’s all she needs to know.
A big smile forms on her face as she clasps her hands. “My Richard loved the Navy. He was a proud member for thirty-five years.”
“Well I hope to be in it as long as he was. Serving my country is what I was born to do.”
“What do you do in the Navy? Richard was a cook and on R and R when we met that day.”
I figure there’s no harm in telling her what I do. “I’m a SEAL, ma’am. Have you heard of us?”
“Oh yes, Richard was very impressed with the training you young men have to go through. He wished the SEALs were around when he was younger. He always said he would’ve been one.”
“I have to say, I enjoy it. The training, not so much, but being in the Navy is rewarding.”
“I never saw myself as a Navy wife, though. How about you, are you married?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I reply without hesitation. “I’m on my way home right now.”
“Well, she’s a lucky woman.”
“No, ma’am, I’m the lucky one.”
Our conversation continues as she tells me about her children and grandchildren. I leave out that I have a daughter because she would expect me to tell her stories and I don’t want to keep lying. Too many lies and one forgets what the truths were to start with. I’d rather her remember me as the sailor who sat across from her and listened to her stories about Richard.
When the train pulls into my stop, I have a pang of regret that our time has come to an end.
“Well, ma’am, this is my stop.”
She looks out the window and sighs. “It was nice meeting you. What’s your name?”
“McCoy. Tucker McCoy.”
My name must mean something to her because her face falls and she starts looking at me harder. The smart thing is to get up and make haste, but I sit in front of her.
“You were one of those boys that the Navy declared dead, but you weren’t.”
Why, of all the times I meet someone, does it have to be the one person who actually caught the news the day they aired something? The Navy has done a miraculous job keeping a lid on our whereabouts.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Shame on them.”