“I think you ought to butt out of this one,” Bob said.

“How can I? I promise you, I will as soon as Randy is out of the woods and things settle down.” She looked at her wristwatch. She had replaced the narrow band and small rectangular face with a large, round-faced watch with dark numbers and hands.

“Life is so full of pain. I hate this rotten war, hate what’s happened to Randy. He’ll never be the same. That’s what the counselor said. It’s something he’ll carry inside of him forever. He was just a kid when he went, so sweet and kind. I hate the cruelty, and horror, and bloodshed he’s seen.” She began to cry.

“It’s the price of war,” Bob said. “Old men sit around in sterile offices and make decisions, but it’s the young men and women who fight and die in their stupid wars.”

Grace heard the anger in his voice. They had never talked about war or about Bob’s thirty years in the army. She had no idea that he felt this way, or how he felt about war in general. She had no idea what battles he had been in, what he had seen, or their effect on him. She never thought of Bob when she thought about post-traumatic stress syndrome.

“Will you go to the hospital with me to see Randy? I don’t know what to say to him. You’ll know what to say. Please. I know you don’t like getting into other people’s affairs, but this is different, and I need you to help me and help Randy. I know you can.”

Bob was silent for a time. Then he slipped his arm about her. “It’ll be all right, honey. Randy’s in good hands now. Of course, I’ll go with you, do what I can.”

She leaned forward and threw her arms about him. “I love you, Bob. I always will.”

“I love you, too, honey.”

When they visited Randy the following day, he was in far better spirits than Grace had seen him, and she wondered if this was due to his medication. He was on antidepressants, a nurse told Bob, and was being visited daily by a therapist. At that news, Grace breathed a sigh of relief.

“I’m shamed at what I did,” Randy said. He raised a bandaged hand and wrist.

“Well, son,” Bob said, “you just need to be thanking God that your sister found you.”

“I do, sir. Lucy saved my life. It was so stupid of me. It was a terrible thing to do. I’m sorry I put my ma and the girls through this. I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you, Mrs. Grace.”