Better Times Than These by Winston Groom Read Free Book Online Page A

he returned, if he returned, they would have to move, and he would be “Mister” Dunn, not Major Dunn, or even Captain Dunn. Not even Sergeant Dunn or Private Dunn. Mister Dunn. He wondered if she would understand.
    She was so young, and she’d married him in better times, when he was an up-and-coming officer; when it had all been ahead of him. He should have been a colonel by now—maybe a full colonel—but then there had been Mannheim and the board of inquiry . . . Oh, what the hell, he thought. He picked up the stack of mail and began sorting it.
    He went through the bills first—God, that was one thing she’d learned from six years in America: charge accounts. There was Robinson’s and Sears and Oinebachs’ . . .
    “Oinebachs’—Maria, have you charged something at Oinebachs’?”
    “That pretty flowered dress—the one I wore last week—you liked it so much,” she said, “that was Oinebachs’—I told you, don’t you remember?” she called from the bedroom.
    “Oh,” he mumbled. It came back to him—the dress she’d worn the night he’d made a fool of himself at the officers’ club. The night he’d gotten drunk and told everyone again what had happened—anyone who’d listen. He had started with the ones at the table . . .
    “Darling, please come and dress now,” she said. He could see her brushing her short blond hair at the mirror. She was so young, so full, so beautiful, so much stronger than he was . . .
    He opened each envelope with a letter opener, carefully—a habit he’d acquired years before. One was addressed to him personally, by hand, and he couldn’t imagine whom it was from.
    “DEATH,” the letter said in large bold type, “IS A SUBJECT WE AVOID DISCUSSING.” He read on.
Sometimes, we feel if it is not mentioned, it will be less of a reality. This, unfortunately, is just not true.
    We have long been indoctrinated to prepare for certain possibilities: accidents, extended illness, buying a home, providing an education for our children.
    Yet the inevitability of death is often overlooked in our preparation.
    He read on.
You may have drawn a will. You may have life insurance. You may have spiritual coverage to face death.
    But have you selected a burial place?
    “Darling, you must come dress,” she said. “Please don’t have another drink.”
    “Yes, yes, I’m coming,” he said.
As difficult as it may be to think of death, foresight in the selection of cemetery space can save your family a great deal of anguish later. Not only is the family relieved of a major decision at a time when emotional pressures are already excessive, but foresight is also helpful financially.
    “Richard, please. Don’t just sit there. We must be at the club,” she called.
    He had a vision of her that night at the club—such easy prey for colonels and captains. She had danced and danced, leaving him to deal with the dowdy, sour wife of Major Jacobs. But she was having such fun, it made him feel good just to watch her. Then, when she hadn’t returned, he had slipped into moroseness, and when Major Jacobs’ wife asked if anything was wrong, he had begun telling her about Mannheim. By the time Maria got back to the table, he was too far gone to stop.
    Maria came into the room again. “We must leave by four-thirty,” she said. “You can’t just sit there and read.”
    “Future care of the space and grounds of the cemetery which you select is of special importance,” the letter said.
    He started at the top again. “DEATH IS A SUBJECT WE AVOID DISCUSSING.” He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. It felt numb.
    Maybe, he thought, they’re right. He had never really thought much about his own funeral before. It had not concerned him because the Army promised to take care of it for him, so long as he remained in the Army. They would plant him with honors in a nice casket with a flag draped on top in a quiet military burial ground, cared for as long as there was an Army of the United