Free Familiar Stranger by Sharon Sala Page B

… what did you do?"
    David didn't respond.
    Marvin Edwards glanced up. The expression on the man's face was closed, so he tried another topic.
    "Are you just visiting, or planning to stay?" he asked, as he reached for a small scalpel.
    David didn't answer.
    Marvin grunted. So the man wasn't a talker. That was all right with him.
    "This might sting a little," he said, as he made the first cut. "Frances, swab that for me, will you?"
    The nurse caught the instant flow of blood as he lifted the scalpel from David's flesh.
    He made another small cut and then laid down the scalpel and picked up an instrument that looked to David a whole lot like the damned needle-nosed pliers he'd wanted in the first place. With a couple of tugs and one small sideways twist, the hook came out.
    "That's got it," Marvin said. "Flood it with disinfectant, Frances, then I'll stitch it up."
    David felt cold fluid running down his back, but nothing more. That would come later, when the shot wore off.
    In between stitches, the doctor watched David's face, absently noting the military-straight set to his shoulders and an unflinching stare. It reminded him of a drill sergeant he'd known and hated.
    "Who are you?" he asked.
    David sighed. How the hell did he answer that one? Then he remembered what Cara had done yesterday and took his cue from her.
    "David Wilson."
    "I knew Cara and her husband for years. I never heard either of them mention you before."
    "I don't doubt that," David said.
    This wasn't the answer Marvin was looking for.
    "Look, I'm not being nosy." Then he sighed. "Well, yes, maybe I am, a bit. Cara's a widow. Sometimes widows can be very vulnerable. I would not like to see—"
    David took a deep breath and jumped in with both feet. "Do you know Cara's daughter Bethany?"
    "Sure do. I delivered all three of her children."
    "I'm Bethany's father."
    Marvin Edwards's jaw dropped, but only momentarily.
    "I'm sorry. I never heard them mention—"
    "They thought I was dead."
    "For all these years?"
    David shrugged. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."
    Suddenly, Marvin Edwards began to see things in a different light. The horrific scars on this man. The secrets. The military bearing of a man who was supposed to be dead. His gaze sharpened.
    "I was a medic in Nam," Marvin said softly.
    David shifted. "You must have been pretty young."
    "Yes, a lot of us went in too young, didn't we?"
    David resisted an urge to look around lest they be overheard. And then he realized it no longer mattered. Lots of people were veterans, which is exactly what he'd become. Finally, he nodded.
    "So, did you die on your own, or did Uncle Sam help you?"
    Again, David was surprised by the man's perceptions.
    "It's no longer a factor in my life," David said.
    "You planning to stick around?"
    David sighed. "I would like nothing better." He refused to acknowledge, even to himself, that there was still a huge obstacle between him and a normal life.
    Marvin grinned and held out his hand. "Then, welcome home, soldier."
    David knew he was shaking the doctor's hand, but he couldn't feel it. He could tell that the man was still talking, because he could see his lips moving, but he couldn't hear what was being said. All sound had faded except Marvin Edwards's last words. He'd never thought of himself as a man without a country, because he'd given a good portion of his life in helping keep it safe, but it was true. Until this moment, David Wilson had never truly come home from Vietnam. The emotion of it all almost nailed him. His hands were shaking as the doctor continued to talk.
    "So," Marvin said, as he took his last stitch. "Do you golf?"
    It was the most benign question David had been asked in over forty years, and he didn't know how to answer it. Coping with the innocence of everyday life was more difficult than he would have believed.
    "No. Can't say that I do."
    "Shame," Marvin said. "I'm always looking for a buddy to play the front nine."
    "I thought doctors were