Wade Asked For A Joint Statement At Our Reserved Table

I answered Wade by email.

He could come to the diner at five, an hour before our reunion. Nora would be there. Any statement would have to match the records.

He replied with one word: Fine.

On the first Saturday in May, the sky over Rawlins was pale and wide. Dirty snow still lay in a shaded ditch behind the diner. Mabel had washed the windows and put fresh paper under the pie trays.

"Eight places," she said. "Nobody gets moved for him."

She meant our six crew members, Tessa's husband, and Len's daughter. Nora planned to leave before supper.

Simone arrived early and helped me carry a folder inside.

"Original?" she asked.

"In the shop safe. These are the copies the examiner checked."

She nodded.

Wade arrived alone at five-oh-three. He wore the same pin-covered jacket. He had brought no folder.

Nora asked whether he understood she represented Mabel and wasn't his lawyer.

"I'm here as an old friend," he said.

I could not recall ever calling him that.

He took the chair nearest the aisle.

"This has hurt good people," he said. "Donors are asking questions. Veterans are losing trust. We need to stop it."

"The board can answer donor questions," Nora said.

He turned to me.

"I'll say you helped. We all helped. You can say the story got mixed up over time."

I put his counseling memo on the table beside his signed award account.

"You wrote both."

His eyes moved between the dates.

"The first was a personnel matter."

"It says I completed the recovery. The second says you took over because I couldn't."

"I was responsible for that convoy. Command means carrying responsibility."

Simone set down her cup.

"You weren't carrying the winch control."

His voice rose.

"You people have no idea what decisions I had to make."

The cook looked through the pass-through. Wade noticed and lowered his voice.

I laid out the manifest copy.

"You thought I was a woman with a freezer fan and no one left to call," I said. "I held the operator's copy. It had your order and the names of the people who stayed."

He stared at his initials.

"You should have turned that in."

"I turned in the office copy. I kept mine."

"There was confusion."

"Then put your account in writing for the review."

I waited.

He looked at Nora, then at Simone. There was no nod for him to catch. No laugh to tell him the room was his again.

"You'll regret making this public," he said.

Nora opened her notebook.

"Please explain what you mean."

He pushed back his chair.

"I mean it's sad. All of it."

He left without ordering coffee.

My hands began shaking after the door closed. Simone slid a clean napkin under my cup so it wouldn't rattle against the table.

"You stayed with the pages," she said.

"I wanted to throw the cup."

"Good cup. Mabel would charge you."

By six, Eli was complaining about the drive, Jonah was asking after everybody's knees, and Len was showing his daughter the signatures.

Tessa came in last with her husband. She hugged Simone, then stopped in front of me.

"You still count fingers?"

"Only when necessary."

She held up five. We both laughed.

We ate chicken, mashed potatoes, and green beans. Nobody asked me to give a speech. Len's daughter asked how the anchor worked, so Eli drew it on the back of a paper placemat.

He drew our first bad angle too.

"That's the pull she stopped," he said.

I liked that he left it in.

Len's daughter studied the drawing.

"Were you scared?" she asked me.

"Yes."

"What did you do about it?"

"I checked the hook latch. Then the cable. Then I asked Simone if she could hold the brake."

Simone nodded over her plate.

"I could."

The girl pulled the placemat closer and wrote our names beside the little shapes Eli had drawn. She asked Jonah where he had stood. He moved his finger across the paper, making room for everyone.

Before dessert, Mabel brought a letter from the fund's new board chair. Wade had been removed from office. Dale's job had ended. The board had accepted written repayment agreements and referred the audit materials to the proper state charity oversight office.

The other held grants had been released after review.

The fund had also agreed to pay Mabel's $450 legal bill and correct its false statement about my work credentials.

"That's my part settled," Mabel said, and cut the pie.

The reunion bill came to $236. Len tried to pay it all. We split it six ways and left the servers $60.

I was helping Mabel stack chairs when Ruth called.

The military review had reached a decision. The signed notice was coming by mail.