Soldier On (15 page)

The small cemetery rests on a hillside just behind the Methodist church. A dusting of snow covers the grass and ice has settled on the tombstones. The rain has stopped for now, but the wind is bitterly cold. I tighten my scarf around my neck, but my body trembles anyway.

“Are you okay?” Brandon asks.

“Just cold.”

He wraps his arm around me as we walk toward the gravesite. Mom is ahead of us, and I don’t know if it’s because she wants to give us privacy or if she wishes it for herself. Her mood has changed drastically since we left the house, but that’s to be expected, I think. And I know, once we return home, we’ll probably have something simple for dinner before Mom heads to her bedroom for the night. That’s been the routine since I was little, and while I didn’t understand it as a young girl, I get it now. She needs her time, too. Time to grieve. Time to remember. I don’t expect her routine to change just because we’re visiting, and I wouldn’t want it to.

A concrete bench rests next to Dad’s grave. It’s damp and cold, but on this day, Mom always brings a blanket. She lays it across the bench and the three of us sit down, with me in the middle. Brandon takes my hand while I reach for Mom’s with the other. She and I never say anything during these visits—at least not out loud—but I silently talk to my dad, telling him about whatever’s going on in my life. I suspect Mom does the same, but we don’t talk about it.

Today, I have a lot to say.

Hi, Dad. I’m graduating this year. I’m going to be an English teacher, and I can’t wait to see my very first classroom. I wish you were here to see it, too. I wish you were here to watch me walk across the stage at graduation. And I wish I wasn’t bitter that you aren’t. Maybe someday, I won’t be. Everyone says I should be proud of your sacrifice, and I guess I am. But I don’t understand it. I don’t see how the war could have been more important than your marriage. Or me. Maybe someday I’ll understand, but today is not that day, and I’m sorry about that.

As if he knows I need the support, Brandon gives my hand a reassuring squeeze.

Dad, this is Brandon. He’s really wonderful. I think you’d approve. I know Mom does. I really like him. I think . . . I could love him. I think he could love me, too.

After a while, Mom sighs softly and rises to her feet.

“It’s getting colder,” she says.

Taking that as our cue, Brandon and I stand up, too.

He glances up at the sky. “Those look like snow clouds to me.”

Mom and I turn to go, but Brandon doesn’t move. Instead, his eyes are now fixed on my father’s grave.

With a solemn expression on his face, Brandon stands ramrod straight and gives the tombstone a salute.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Brandon

Running on a snowy trail is rarely fun, but it’s good practice. As a soldier, you obviously have no idea where you might be stationed, so getting used to extreme weather is part of our conditioning drills. Still, running on ice is kind of impossible, so I’m grateful to find that the roads are snow-covered, giving me just enough traction to not kill myself.

The road crews are already out, clearing the snow from the highway. One of the trucks even stopped for me, and the driver asked if I needed a lift. When I told him I was out for my morning run, he looked at me like I was an idiot before moving on.

The sun is just beginning to rise when I turn around and jog back toward the house. My plan is to take a hot shower and then make breakfast for Steph and her mom before we head back to campus.

Yesterday was hard for them. And for me. For the very first time, I actually got a very real glimpse of the sadness that Steph feels every single day. It hit me hard, seeing the grave of her father. Not only did it make me think about my own dad, but it also made me think about my future.

As soldiers, we’re taught that putting our lives on the line is our honor. Our duty. It was ingrained in me as a boy and it’s being drilled into my head now, but yesterday, I had my very first moment of doubt.

Is this really what I want to do?

I used to think so. Maybe because it was expected of me, or maybe because I just didn’t know what else I wanted to do with my life, but being a soldier has always been the plan. It was a no-brainer, committing to four years with the United States Army in exchange for paid college tuition. My dad was thrilled, my sister was satisfied, and there was absolutely nothing (like a girlfriend) standing in my way. Making a career out of it never appealed to me, but I was ready to serve my country and then start living my life. I wanted to find an engineering job, maybe in Lexington or Louisville. Or maybe leave Kentucky altogether and start building a life.

And now, I might actually have someone to spend that life with.

If I’ve learned anything during this trip, it’s that Tessa is right. I have to tell Steph the truth, and I have to do it soon.

I stop at the porch, taking a few minutes to stretch before heading inside. After taking a hot shower and changing into sweats, I head to the kitchen to raid Cynthia’s fridge. I stop in my tracks when I find her sitting at the table.

“Good morning, Brandon.”

“Good morning,” I say, smiling. “I was hoping to surprise you both with breakfast.”

“I’ve always been an early bird.” She gets up and walks over to the stove. “I made eggs and bacon. Would you like a plate?”

“Sounds great.”

“Coffee?”

“Juice, please, if you have it.”

“It’s in the fridge. Help yourself.”

I find a glass and head to the refrigerator. When I get back to the table, a plate filled with bacon, scrambled eggs, toast, and gravy is waiting for me.

“Thank you, Cynthia.”

She smiles, and I dig in.

“How did you sleep? I worried about you on the couch.”

“It was pretty comfortable, actually.”

“I’m glad. Where did you say you’re from?”

It’s not unexpected, but I’m still a little surprised with the interrogation.
Couldn’t she wait until after breakfast?

“A little town called Applewood. It’s in Eastern Kentucky.”

“How was your run?”

“It was cold.”

“How was your running time?”

“Decent. Just over fourteen minutes.”

“How are the roads?”

“Crews are already out. We should have no problem getting back to campus.”

“And when are you going to tell my daughter you’re a soldier?”

My fork falls, causing it to clang against the plate. I swallow so quickly the eggs burn my throat.

How does she know?
My expression must reflect my panic, because she smiles.

“Relax, Brandon. Your secret’s safe with me. For now.”

Cynthia pours more juice into my glass, and I gulp it down before clearing my throat.

“How . . . I mean, how . . .?”

“How did I figure it out?” she asks, and I nod. “Your hair, for one. Of course, not everyone who has short, cropped hair is in the military, but it was my first hint. My second clue was the fact that you wake up at five o’clock every single morning. Very few college seniors wake up before dawn to exercise. That takes dedication, discipline, and obligation. But my final clue was at the cemetery.”

My forehead creases.
How?
I didn’t say a word at the cemetery.

“Not everyone knows the proper stance and technique for a salute. Tip of finger touching the outer edge of the right eyebrow. Thumb in the right place. Your hand and wrist forming a straight line from your elbow to your fingertips. Upper arm horizontal to the ground. Most civilians do it wrong, but when you saluted Billy’s grave, it was perfect. Too perfect for someone who doesn’t practice it every day.”

It should be perfect. I had been taught by the master.

“I wasn’t a military wife for long, but it was long enough.” she says. “I’m guessing Army. Am I right?”

With a heavy sigh, I push my plate aside.

“Yes.”

“ROTC?”

I nod. “After I graduate in May, I’m headed to Signal Corps training for three months.”

“And after that?”

“I don’t know.”

She nods in understanding. Of course she understands.

“I’m assuming Stephanie has no idea.”

I shake my head. “I need to tell her soon. I know that.”

“Yes, you do. You know, she tells me the two of you aren’t serious yet, but I’m not sure I believe her. You’re the only boy she’s ever dared to bring home, and you’re certainly the first she’s taken to her father’s grave. She wanted you there, which tells me that she trusts you. You don’t want that trust shattered by keeping something like this from her for too long.”

“She’ll hate me . . .” My voice cracks, but I can’t hide my fear anymore. More than anything, I’m afraid she’ll hate me forever.

With a heavy sigh, Cynthia slides her chair closer and places her hand on top of mine. It’s a kind, motherly touch that feels completely foreign but is comforting all the same.

“Stephanie definitely has her opinions about the military. I have spent the better part of twenty-two years trying to make her understand that her father didn’t
choose
the Army over his family. I thought perhaps as she got older, she would become more rational, but it’s yet to happen.”

“She just misses not having a father. I can understand that.”

Cynthia nods. “Billy was my high school sweetheart and the love of my life. He made it no secret that he wanted to join the Army, and if you joined in 1990, you were more than likely headed to the Middle East. I begged him to marry me before he left for Basic. My parents tried to convince me to wait, but I wouldn’t hear of it. I wanted to be his wife, and Billy would do anything to make me happy, so we were married a few weeks before he went to Fort Benning. After graduation, he came home on leave, and that’s when I told him I was pregnant. He was so happy, and I was, too. He was headed to Advanced Individual Training, and we knew I could join him when he finished there. But that all changed when the Gulf War began. He had another short leave and then was sent to Kuwait. He was killed two weeks later.”

Her voice breaks, just a little, giving me a glimpse of the emotion she tried so hard to hide from us last night.

“I’m sorry, Cynthia.”

“Thank you. It’s been more than twenty years, but the heartache never really goes away. My beautiful daughter has his eyes and his stubbornness. And while the latter frustrates me to no end, I wouldn’t change her for the world.”

“I don’t want to change her. I just want to . . .”

“Love her?”

I inhale sharply. “Maybe?”

A door creaks open, and I hold my breath. After a few moments, we hear another door close and the shower roar to life.

I sigh with relief.

“If that’s true, then you have to be honest with her,” Cynthia says. “Just remember that her reaction—and it probably won’t be pretty—will have nothing to do with you
or
the military. It will have everything to do with
me
.”

I frown. “With you? I don’t understand.”

“Brandon, don’t you see? My daughter’s greatest fear is ending up like me.”

The sadness in her voice is palpable, and I wish I had the right words to make it better, but I don’t. What she says makes perfect sense. Steph’s hatred isn’t irrational at all. It’s a defense mechanism, engineered to protect her heart.

If you don’t let it in, it can’t hurt you.

“I’m so screwed,” I mutter.

Cynthia laughs quietly and pats my hand. “I don’t think so. I think you might just be the incentive my daughter needs to finally remove that bitter chip off her shoulder. Fear and hate will eat at you, Brandon. It can make you cold and distant. It can make you question your instincts and hide your heart. It’s time for my daughter to stop hiding. But you have to tell her the truth, and soon.”

“I will. I promise.”

“That’s good.” Cynthia smiles. “I like you, Brandon, and I apologize for the motherly interrogation. They probably don’t teach that in the military.”