Familiar Stranger (27 page)

"No, she's not hurting, she's happy. See how she and Grandma are smiling and talking."

Rachel leaned against her father, uncertain of all this grown-up stuff and even more uncertain where she fit into the mess.

"Is he going to hug me and Kelly, too?"

"I don't think so—at least not yet," Tom said. "But one of these days, I think you're going to want him to."

"Why?"

"Because he's also your grandfather, and grandfathers are really good things."

Rachel looked interested now. She loved Grandpa Joe. He always did lots of stuff with them, like riding bikes and playing tennis with them. She thought of the picture they'd shown her of this man—the one Nanny had on her mantel.

"Do you think he might take us fishing sometime?"

Tom grinned. No matter how young the woman, they always seemed to feel the need to plan a man's life.

"You'll just have to ask him, okay?"

"Okay."

Rachel stood, watching as they started toward the house—her mother, her nanny—and that grandfather she didn't know. And the nearer they came, the quieter she got, almost holding her breath and waiting for that first moment of eye contact between them.

David nodded at Tom and then they shook hands before he turned his attention to the girls.

Granddaughters. Lord in heaven, he had granddaughters. And they were so beautiful—and they looked so confused. He squatted, putting himself at their level.

"Are you Kelly?" he asked, as the little one leaned against her father's leg.

She nodded and then smiled as only an innocent child could.

David's heart melted. He reached behind her ear and pulled out a gold-colored coin.

"You better be careful about washing behind your ears," he teased. "Look what I found back there."

She laughed aloud as he handed her a newly minted dollar.

Rachel held her breath, wondering what he was going to do next. Curious, she tested behind her ears just in case, but there was nothing there.

David saw what she did and stifled a laugh.

"And you're Rachel, aren't you?"

She nodded.

"I remember your rabbit, Henry. I trust he hasn't hopped away anymore?"

Her eyes widened. This was the man who'd found Henry at the airport!

"I know you, don't I!" she cried.

He hesitated briefly, then knowing he was courting rejection, still held out his hand.

"You will, honey. You will."

Rachel glanced at her mother, who nodded an okay. Slowly, she laid her hand in the middle of David's palm, thinking as she did that he was bigger than her daddy and that his eyes were brown like Mom's.

David was a goner, and he knew it. All the ugliness of the past forty-eight hours withered and died in this little girl's eyes.

"I saw your picture on Nanny's mantel," Rachel said.

"You did? What did you think?" David asked.

She frowned in deliberation, wanting to be fair without actually asking the favor.

"I think you can fish."

He smiled. "Yes, I can. Do you like to fish?"

It was the opening she'd been waiting for.

"Oh, yes, I do. And if you will take me sometime, I will show you how to catch a much bigger fish."

David rocked back on his heels and burst into laughter.

Rachel looked a little startled, not quite sure what everyone thought was so funny, but glad they were happy.

David stood and wrapped his arms around Cara.

"Thank you, darling," he said softly.

"For what?" she asked.

"For letting me know what it feels like to come home."

Epilogue

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July 4, 2001

T
he day was hot and still. In the distance, the United States Marine Band was tuning up as people continued gathering on the mall between the Lincoln Memorial and the Washington Monument. In a few moments, David would join his family for the festivities, but there was something he'd left undone. Something he'd done at the Wall every Fourth of July since its inception.

He started down the pathway in front of the memorial, trying not to think of what had happened here only a few short days before. With the sun beaming down on his bare arms, he should have been sweltering, but his mind was locked into a storm, and the rain pouring down—and his brother pointing a gun at his chest.

Dozens and dozens of people lined the path along the Wall, each paying their own tribute to a loved one on this day of independence. The rose he was carrying felt heavy in his hand—a burden he didn't want to bear. Unconsciously, his fingers clenched, and as they did, a thorn pricked. He winced, but considered the pain as no less than he deserved.

Ten, maybe twelve steps more and he would be thereat the place where Frank had died. He couldn't look down—wouldn't look down—yet when he got there, his gaze automatically fell to the place where Frank had fallen.

He paused, staring at the concrete until his eyes began to burn. Finally he sighed.

Nothing.

They'd left nothing behind—not even a bloodstain marred the place where he had died.

He turned, searching the Wall for Frank's name and then moving through the crowd to touch it, tracing each letter with his fingertip, as if the simple act might resurrect and save a man who'd most likely gone to hell.

"Family?"

He turned. A stately, gray-haired woman dressed in black was standing at his side.

He nodded.

She pointed with a long, perfectly manicured fingertip. "That's my husband's name right below."

He looked. "Anthony C. DeFranco," he read, only afterward realizing that he'd read it aloud.

"I called him Tony," she said, and then dabbed a handkerchief beneath the lenses of her sunglasses. "We'd been married six weeks when he got drafted." She sighed. "I never saw him again."

"I'm very sorry," David said.

She sighed. "Yes, I know. We're all sorry, aren't we? But it happened and all I could do was go on." She shrugged, as if to indicate it was out of her hands. "What could I do? I was still alive, wasn't I?"

Then she walked away, leaving David with her simple truth.

He turned again, this time looking at Frank's name with new emotion. The woman was right. Even though Frank had died only days ago, technically, he'd been dead for forty years and God knows, David had grieved for him more than most.

It was time to move on.

After all, he was still alive.

He laid the red rose at the base of the wall, touched Frank's name one last time and then turned, looking back up the path at the way that he'd come.

Cara was there, as were all of her children. They'd taken to him in spite of themselves, and God willing, they had years and years left to learn to love.

He started to walk, moving against the stream of people who were still filing down—through a group of teenage girls, past a couple arm in arm, then behind a solitary man in an outdated uniform—until Cara was in his arms.

He held her there without speaking beneath the heat of the sun, cherishing the beat of her heart against his chest.

"Okay?" she asked quietly.

He made himself smile, and as he did, realized that for the first time in years it felt right.

"Yes, okay."

"Then let's go home."

They walked away, losing themselves and the past in the gathering crowd.

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