7
Astrand of lights wrapped around one of the tall palm trees in front of The San Francisco Conservatory of Flowers blinks twice and then flickers off, leaving the tree only half lit with festive decorations. Hudson and I walked all over the Golden Gate Park. We visited the Japanese Tea Garden and stopped to take his picture on the little mini bridges. We shot pictures of the Golden Gate Bridge from the best vantage points available and enjoyed a pleasant stroll on the paved walkways around the park. I finally got him to sit for a few minutes when we passed the large white flower conservatory. He still doesn’t accept it’s not a huge birdcage, but I told him the next time it’s open if he’s still here we’ll go in and tour it together.
It’s been a magical afternoon. Today felt more like two friends on a vacation exploring the city than me wandering around the city park with a bodyguard.
I couldn’t sit cooped up inside any longer. When my company gave us a week off between Christmas and New Year I was excited. At the time I planned to go home and see my family, but my parents’ vacation and the whole attempted murder thing put a kibosh on using the time for exciting adventures. Now Hudson and I are occupying the tiny space of my apartment, an area that is way too small for someone of his size and personality. Hudson’s presence alone fills the one-bedroom apartment.
And even though I’ve lived in San Francisco for years and was under the belief I had legs of steel from walking up the sloped roads, Hudson puts me to shame. He hasn’t stopped once today.
“I love the fact it’s forty-eight degrees right now and were outside lying on the grass,” Hudson says before stretching back and literally lying on the grass. “I’m in a fleece jacket.”
“Yeah, that is nice, huh? What’s the temp in Maine right now?”
Hudson swipes the screen on his phone checking the weather in Pelican Bay. He scowls and sets the phone on the grass next to him. “Cold.”
His seriousness makes me laugh. Everyone has a different idea of cold. Aspen thinks anything below seventy is arctic. “How cold?” I ask because the situation needs clarification.
“Ten.”
Ten what? And then it hits me. “It’s ten degrees in Pelican Bay right now?” I gasp when he nods his head yes. Okay, it’s pretty cold. “How did you end up living in the frozen tundra?”
This time it’s Hudson’s turn to laugh so I know he doesn’t take offense from the question. “The truth of the matter is, I’m not sure.”
I peer at him skeptically, one corner of my lips pinched tighter and tipped higher than the other side. “Sounds like the answer someone gives when they don’t want to answer.”
Hudson sits up, his eyes staring far away into the distance. “Nothing but the truth. I was your typical kid in high school. I drank, did a few drugs, barely passed my junior year. But then something happened. My grandfather died the summer before my senior year of school. We were clearing out his house and I came across a box of medals he earned in the Korean War.
“And then there were medals from older wars. Ones he was much too young to be involved in when they happened. Over the course of the month I learned more of my family’s history with the United States military.”
“Your family never talked about it with anyone?” That’s important. Aren’t old men known for sitting around telling stories involving their war victories?
“Not really. My grandfather was a quiet guy. It was common knowledge he served, but that’s about it. No one said he was highly decorated.”
“I wonder why he didn’t tell anyone?”
Hudson looks at me with pity in his eyes. “Because war sucks.”
“Yeah,” I agree because it’s the only response I can come up with and he’s right. War does suck.
“No, I mean war sucks. For everyone. Those who are fighting, those left back home, everyone. While my grandfather was away protecting his country, my grandmother met somebody else and had an affair. Grandma left him for the other man and started a new family, leaving my dad behind too.”
“Oh my God. That’s horrible.”
Hudson nods his head because of course it is. “It’s the reason my grandfather never brought up he was in the war and the reason my dad refused to join.”
“Did you enlist after high school?” Army recruiters were always at our school trying to sign people up. We even had to take a test to show which career we would excel in if we decided to join.
Hudson pulls a piece of grass from the ground and flicks it in front of us. “No, believe it or not, but it did help me turn my life around for the better. I got my grades up my senior year and had plans to attend a community college.”
He pauses, and for the first time I don’t ask him a question as quickly as possible. This story isn’t over and it doesn’t appear to contain a happy ending.
“Two days after my high school graduation my dad was in a car accident with a hit-and-run and died on impact.”
With a hitched breath, I cover my mouth so as not to distract him from his story. How can one person be forced to go through so much pain and suffering?
“I was left with only my mom. It was my job to protect her. She’d lost so much.”
My face pinches together as I watch a couple — their hands swinging together with each step — stop and inspect the big bird cage of the flower conservatory. “So, you joined the military?” My disbelief over how joining a highly dangerous career path doesn’t go unnoticed.
