PART 2 I called 911 from the doorway of Unit 118. “Three elderly people living in storage units at Lakeside Self Storage on Peach Street. One of them is barely conscious. I need ambulances. More than one.” The old man’s name was Augie Novotny. He was 91. A Korean War veteran. His hands were like ice. He kept trying to sit up and salute when he saw my Coast Guard jacket.

They both pleaded guilty in the spring. Tammy got six years. Buddy got eight.

My mother revoked every paper she’d signed. A judge confirmed the house was still hers. She moved back into her own bedroom in December.

I put in a transfer for a shore assignment in Erie. I see her every day now.

Fern’s daughter flew in from Arizona and took her home. She hugged me at the airport for a long time and couldn’t say anything.

Augie spent three weeks in the hospital. When he got out, the local VA found him a room at a veterans’ home with a window that looks out at the lake.

I visit him on Sundays, after church, with my mother.

This year, on Veterans Day, I pushed Augie’s wheelchair down State Street in the Erie parade.

He wore his old Army cap. His Purple Heart was pinned to his jacket.