Three days later Wilson walked past the front door in foyer. He saw a manila envelope through the door’s glass. He opened the door and grabbed the envelope. “Wilson Gentry” was written on the front.
Wilson tossed the envelope on the table in the sunroom. He tapped on Gayle’s bedroom door. “Gayle, it’s important. Meet me in the sunroom.”
He brewed the coffee and poured two cups. He had little anxiety about what the envelope contained. If it was something terribly wrong he would have been greeted by a SWAT team.
Gayle walked across the dinning room to the sunroom stretching from her sleep. The envelope arrested her attention. “What’s that?” She yawned.
“I found it in the door this morning,” Wilson said bringing the two coffees to the table.
“Do you know what’s in it?” Gayle said and sat down and looking at the envelope as it laid on the table.
“It has my name on it.” Wilson said. “Likely it’s from Wanda.”
“Have you opened it?” Gayle said.
“I’m afraid to,” Wilson said. “I’m have been hiding from the truth for 37 years.”
“What makes you say 37 years?” Gayle said.
“Strangely,” Wilson said, “The last only date I remember is 37 years ago. Something happened then. It’s too terrible to bring forward.”
“Do you want me or someone else to read it and let us determine how bad it is and decide whether to let you know?” Gayle said.
“That’s too much for any one to bear except for the one it effects the most,” Wilson said. “No matter what it is, I must take the responsibility. I think this whole thing is about responsibility. I’ve been running from it.”
Wilson opened the envelope and pulled out a single sheet of white paper. It was a typed page. Wilson drew a deep breath and began to read. “Dear Mr. Gentry, in the short time I have known you I think you are a good man. A man of integrity and character. So much I think of you that I will not reveal what I found out about you. I will only point you in the right direction. Indeed your name is Wilson Gentry, you were born in Los Angles, California in 1950. You enlisted in the Army in 1969. You were discharged from the Army in 1972 at Fort Benjamin Harrison, Indiana. There is no other information about you beyond that point. I’d like to suggest before proceeding further you should have a mental evaluation and be under the care of mental health professional before proceeding any further. There is a Dr. Philip Haverston in Houston, Texas who may be able to help you. Respectfully yours, Wanda Kotterman.”
Wilson laid the letter down.
“You need time to think about things,” Gayle said. “But you really should get some help. That doctor might be a good place to start.”
“That name, Dr. Phillip Haverston makes me feel angry,” Wilson said. “I don’t know whether I can see him or not. I feel repulsed by his name and I don‘t know why.”
“That’s sometimes true of those who try to help us,” Gayle said.
“No,” Wilson said, “There is something fearful; it’s fear.”
“What do you want to do?” Gayle said.
“I’m going to Ft. Benjamin Harrison,” Wilson said. “I’m going to see if something jogs my memory before I go see Dr. Phillip Haverston. I have to face him. He knows something about me and I got a right to know.”
“What if he doesn’t remember you?” Gayle said.
“I think he’ll remember,” Wilson said. “I have stronger feeling toward him than I do you, Missy, or Drake. They are strong feelings, near rage.”
“You should have someone with you,” Gayle said.
“I know this,” Wilson said, “I would never do anything to hurt him.”
“Are you sure?” Gayle said.
“I’m sure,” Wilson said. “I know I have something special with you and my children. I will not do anything to another person that will distance us further. But I have to follow this where ever it takes me.”