Chapter 9 - The Man Who Wouldn't Be a Headline
Isaiah Bell lived in a small bungalow behind an auto repair shop. He used a cane on bad days and had no interest in interviews, speeches, or being called a hero.
“You're Daniel's girl,” he said when Leah introduced herself. “You have his stubborn eyebrows.”
He invited Leah and June onto the porch. Inside, a television played a baseball replay with the sound muted.
“Mom said you wanted the crossing story,” he said. “Everyone wants it. Nobody wants the mornings after.”
Leah told him what Ben remembered. Isaiah corrected two details: the convoy had stopped near a drainage channel, not in it, and the explosion had occurred before anyone heard the first shots. He remembered Voss reaching the driver. He remembered Daniel taking off his own protective gear to fit through the door.
“What did you do?” June asked.
“Made a very brave effort not to scream.” He smiled without humor. “My leg was caught. Daniel said he'd come back. He did. Ben got me onto a litter. Voss covered them when they carried me out.”
Leah looked at him. “So they all saved you.”
“That's what I've been saying for years.”
“Why isn't that in the foundation's story?”
“Because 'everybody helped' doesn't fit on a billboard.”
He went inside and returned with a yellowing rehabilitation-center photograph. Voss stood beside Isaiah's wheelchair, awkward and unsmiling. Isaiah touched the corner of it.
“Graham visited every month after I got home. He paid for my first car modification when my insurance wouldn't. I don't want to pretend he did nothing good.”
“I don't want that either,” Leah said.
“Then don't use me as a weapon.”
The words landed harder than she expected. She promised to seek his consent before quoting him, and he agreed to a recorded conversation with a neutral reporter only after he'd read what was being said.
On the drive home, June asked whether a story could have more than one brave man and still have room for a villain.
“Maybe the villain is what we let the story become,” Leah said.
June shook her head. “Stories don't write their own checks.”
Her sister had brought home a copy of Courage Road's public annual report. Its pages listed genuine assistance to veterans, but also an unusually large marketing contract with a company called Summit Narrative Group.
May you like
The company's mailing address was Voss's brother's office.
