Page 47 of Nash Falls

Nash sat on the bed and looked at the picture.

There was his young father and a youthful Shock, both bare-chested, and looking more like armored trucks than human beings, in the middle of a jungle. His father had a can of beer in one hand and his M16 in the other.

Shock had let his dog tags dangle from the muzzle of his rifle and held a machete in the other. Behind them was a chopper with its long blades hovering over them like the long limbs of a metal tree.

He turned the photo over and saw written in pen there:My life in the worst damn war in history.

And under that line in writing he recognized as his father’s was:I’d rather be at fucking Woodstock.

I bet, thought Nash with a smile.

As he dug into the box he found two other things: his father’s Army Ka-bar knife with the initials TQN carved into the handle. As a young boy Nash had imagined blood on the knife blade and had felt chills down his spine with the thought.

There was also his father’s Colt .45, also known as the M1911A1. Ty Nash had schooled his son about the weapon: It was a single-action, recoil-operated, semiautomatic chambered in the forty-five caliber ACP.

Saved my life more times than I can count after my M16 piece of shit jammed for the millionth time, he’d told his son.

Nash set the knife and gun aside after checking to make sure the latter was unloaded. He put his father’s box next to his mother’s and stared at them for a long moment. It didn’t seem substantial enough to represent the lives of two people who had mattered to him greatly. The boxes should have held more, a lot more.

But what will my box hold when I’m gone? Maggie and Judith will be set financially, but what else did I really contribute to either of them?

Depressed by these thoughts, Nash pulled out the paper with the code to the safe, and located it at the rear of the closet.

Inside were the deed to the house, what looked to be Ty Nash’s settlement papers with the Army over his Agent Orange claim, a copy of his will, three spare mags for the Colt, and an envelope, sealed and with Nash’s name written on the outside along with:To be opened only after I’m dead and buried.

Nash’s fingers trembled as they held the envelope. He put it inside his father’s box along with the other papers, then carried everything out to the Range Rover.

On coming back in, he met Parker in the foyer.

“Did you get everything you wanted?” she asked anxiously.

“I think so, yes. My mother’s clothes can be donated, along with my father’s, unless you want anything?”

“Well, I have been wearing some of your father’s shirts. He… he got thin before he passed. And I can roll his pantlegs up and wear his jeans.”

“Rosie, you will have the money in your account shortly. You can buy some new clothes all your own.”

“But I don’t want to waste anything and I’m used to being… frugal.”

“I think the best thing you can do is make a fresh start. Purchase some things of your own, clothes, furniture, I don’t know, pillows, whatever. Take your time, select what you want. You will have the money to pay for it. And if you like, I can invest the settlement funds for you so that it will generate interest and dividend income. I’ll be glad to do that free of charge.”

“I… I was just thinking of putting it in my savings account.”

“That pays next to nothing, which is why banks have all the money. Please let me set that up for you. It won’t be a huge amount, but I believe I can get it to generate over ten thousand a year, and some of it is tax free.”

“Ten thousand!” she exclaimed. “Dollars? A year?”

He was a bit taken aback but nodded and said, “Yes. The interest will go in each month for the bonds and with the dividends when they are declared and distributed.”

“Thank you so much, Mr. Nash.”

“It’s Walter, remember?”

“Yes, but with this business stuff and all, I really think you’reMr.Nash.”

He smiled at the compliment. “How is your mother?”

“She’s awake again, if you’d like to say goodbye.”