Chapter 6: What G Did Next
The parade committee met on Friday evening.
I only knew this because Vela knew the committee secretary, a woman named Ruth Aldene who had organized the Barnesville Christmas parade for eleven consecutive years and took the responsibility with the seriousness of a military operation.
Vela called me at nine thirty.
"Ruth called me," she said.
"G went to the meeting."
I set down my book.
"And?"
"He told them the correction was a personal attack.
That you had a grudge against his family after the Thanksgiving incident.
He said the photograph was given to him by Mack years ago as a gift."
I was quiet for a moment.
"He said Mack gave it to him."
"That's what he told them," Vela said.
"He also said Bernard Kaminsky was confused and elderly and that the service records were incomplete."
I looked at Mack's photograph on the shelf across the room.
"Bernard Kaminsky is eighty-one years old and gave Dale Whitmore chapter and verse on every detail of that deployment without a single note in front of him," I said.
"His memory is considerably better than G's story."
"Ruth said two committee members looked uncomfortable," Vela said.
"But G has been on the Rotary board for twelve years and he knows everyone on that committee."
"What did they decide?"
"Nothing official.
But Ruth thinks they're going to let him stay as Grand Marshal unless something changes before Saturday."
I thought about that.
"Something may change before Saturday," I said.
"What are you thinking?"
"Bernard's daughter called this afternoon.
She said Bernard wants to come to Barnesville."
Silence on the line.
"Here?" Vela said.
"He wants to see the photograph.
He wants to meet Dale Whitmore.
His daughter said he hasn't traveled much since his hip surgery but he's been on the phone all day since the correction ran." I paused.
"He also said he thinks he knows who the fourth soldier is."
"The one nobody's identified yet?"
"Yes.
He said there was a man named Pritchard.
Tommy Pritchard.
From somewhere in East Tennessee.
He lost touch with him after the deployment.
But he remembers him."
Vela let out a breath.
"Four soldiers.
After forty years."
"Three identified," I said.
"One still missing."
"When is Bernard coming?"
"Tomorrow afternoon, if his daughter can arrange the drive."
A short silence.
"I'll make up the guest room," Vela said immediately.
"Vela, you don't have to—"
"An eighty-one-year-old Ranger veteran is coming to Barnesville to correct a wrong done to his service record," she said.
"He is not staying in a motel.
Heath can drive to Macon and bring him back himself if that helps."
I felt something loosen in my chest that had been tight for days.
"Let me ask his daughter first," I said.
"You ask.
I'll make the room up anyway."
I called Bernard's daughter, a woman named Sandra, at nine forty-five.
She answered on the second ring.
"He's already packed," she said, and I could hear the smile in it.
"He packed before I even had a chance to call you back."
The next morning, G appeared at my door at eight o'clock.
I saw his truck in the driveway through the kitchen window.
I took one slow breath, set my coffee down, and went to the door.
He was standing on the porch in his good coat.
He looked older than he had on Thanksgiving.
His jaw was set but his eyes had something in them I hadn't seen before.
Not anger.
Not this time.
"I need to talk to you," he said.
"All right," I said.
I did not invite him in.
I stepped onto the porch and pulled the door mostly closed behind me.
"I want you to call off whatever you're planning," he said.
"I don't know what you have coming but I know you're planning something."
"I'm not planning anything," I said.
"Bernard Kaminsky is coming to Barnesville tomorrow because he wants to see the photograph and meet the reporter who printed the correction.
I didn't arrange that.
He did."
Something moved across G's face.
"He's coming here."
"Yes."
G was quiet for a moment.
When he spoke again, his voice had changed.
Lower.
Less certain.
"I didn't know the man," he said.
"I want to be clear about that.
I never claimed to know him."
"You claimed to be him," I said.
"That's the part that matters."
"I made a mistake about the caption—"
"G." I kept my voice even.
"I have a text from an unknown number telling me to back off or Zach would lose his dealership contract.
I have G.
Bixler's name from my son as someone who knows the regional manager.
I kept that text.
I photographed it.
I emailed it to myself with a timestamp."
His face went still.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he said.
"Then you have nothing to worry about," I said.
He looked at me for a long moment.
The morning was cold and gray, and the street behind him was empty.
"What do you want?" he said.
"I want Bernard Kaminsky's name under his own face in the Grand Marshal car on Saturday," I said.
"And I want Mack's name on the plaque they give to the Hometown Hero, because Mack was the one who was actually there."
G's jaw tightened.
"That's not—"
"I'm not negotiating, G.
I'm telling you what's right." I put my hand on the door handle.
"Bernard's coming regardless.
Dale Whitmore already knows he's coming.
What happens at the parade is still up to the committee.
But they're going to meet Bernard Kaminsky tomorrow, and then they're going to make their own decision."
G stood on my porch for another few seconds.
Then he turned and walked back to his truck without another word.
I watched him pull out of the driveway.
Then I went back inside, sat down, and picked up my coffee.
May you like
It had gone cold.
I drank it anyway.
