by Sydney Logan
He smiles.
Thanks to sleet and ice on I-70, the drive takes an hour longer than usual. Brandon’s a great driver. It’s the other idiots on the road that cause him to curse every half-mile or so. By the time we reach the house, the sleet has changed to a soft rain.
Crazy Indiana weather.
Brandon turns off the ignition and looks toward the house. “You ready?”
I nod, and we climb out of the truck. As we step onto the porch, Brandon takes my hand.
“Nervous about meeting my mom?”
“Nope. I just like touching you.”
We grin at each other just as the door swings open.
“You’re here!” Mom pulls me into her arms, giving me a tight hug that nearly takes my breath away. She’s always a little excited when I come home. “I was getting worried. I’ve heard the interstate is terrible.”
“Traffic was crazy. The snow and sleet didn’t help. Brandon’s a good driver, though.”
I step aside, and Mom’s gaze immediately locks on him.
“So this is Brandon,” she says.
“Yes, ma’am. It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. James.”
He offers his hand, and I hear my forty-two-year-old mother sigh dreamily before pulling him in for a hug.
I might be a senior in college, but that mattered very little to my mother when I told her my new roommate was a guy. At first, she had the normal fears that any mother would have when you find out that your daughter is living with a strange man. But when I told her I liked him, and that Tessa approved, Mom suddenly had a change of heart. You would think that information would have made a mother even more nervous about the living arrangements, but not mine. She was beyond excited that I was actually interested in someone.
Mom’s priorities are seriously out of whack.
“Are you hungry? I made chili. Something warm for a cold day.”
She leads us into the kitchen, talking nonstop about the crappy weather. I gather bowls and silverware and place them in the middle of the little round table. There are four chairs, which is two more than we had ever needed.
Until today, that is.
Brandon and I automatically sit next to each other, which makes my mother smile. Throughout lunch, she and Brandon talk about everything—his family, our hometown, even politics and religion. Brandon is his usual charming self, saying all the right things and laughing at Mom’s crazy stories.
I sit back and watch it all in fascination. If I had just met him, I would totally think he was full of it.
Can anyone really be this perfect?
Every day, I’m given yet another example of how completely perfect he is, and it scares the crap out of me. Guys, especially twenty-two year olds, are notorious for being jerks that are only after one thing. And while I know Brandon is attracted to me and probably wouldn’t turn me down if I wanted to . . . take our relationship to the next level, not once has he been anything short of a gentleman.
Except for that day in the library closet. But I dragged him there.
“What are you smiling about?” Brandon asks.
Crap.
I clear my throat. “Just listening to the two of you.”
Mom pours more milk into Brandon’s glass. “You’re quiet, Stephanie.”
“Well, it’s hard to get a word in edgewise.”
Brandon reaches for my hand. It should be weird holding hands in front of my mom, but it isn’t. And one look at Mom’s face assures me she doesn’t find it weird at all. The woman is practically beaming.
“Stephanie has always been a quiet one. Always thinking. Sometimes, she thinks too much. Worries too much. Doesn’t trust herself. I’ve always told her a little faith is all she needs.”
Our eyes lock, and I know she knows I’m having a mental meltdown. Living with my mom for eighteen years made me an expert at reading between the lines. She’s telling me to trust my instincts when it comes to Brandon, which I find hilarious because she’s known him for a grand total of thirty minutes.
“You know, she’s right here,” I mumble. “Could we maybe talk about something besides me?”
“That’s another thing,” Mom says, “She absolutely hates attention.”
Brandon chuckles. “I’ve noticed that, actually.”
I roll my eyes.
Mom laughs before turning her attention to the window. “I’m worried about you driving back tonight. We’ve had a rain-snow-sleet mix all day. The roads may freeze tonight. Can you stay the night and drive back tomorrow?”
“I was just thinking about that, actually,” Brandon replies, glancing at me. “What do you think?”
“My first class isn’t until the afternoon. What about your morning run?”
He shrugs. “I can run anywhere.”
“You’re a runner?” Mom asks.
“Brandon wakes up at five o’clock every morning to work out.”
Mom makes a sour face. “Why?”
“I know, right? He’s very regimented. Very disciplined.”
Mom hums quietly and smiles at Brandon, making him sigh and shift uncomfortably in his chair.
“Now who’s hating the attention?”
We all laugh, and Brandon offers to clear the table while Mom and I head to the living room. I follow her over to the sofa.
“I like him, Steph.”
I grin. “Really? I couldn’t tell.”
She suddenly grows serious and reaches for the chain around my neck. Her fingers slide along the metal.
“I’m glad you’re here today. Both of you.”
“He wasn’t sure if he should come.”
“But you wanted him here.”
“Yeah.”
“Is it serious?”
“Not yet, no.”
“But it could be?”
I look toward the kitchen. “I think it could be, yeah.”
“What’s keeping it from being serious?”
“Me.”
She nods. “I figured as much. You should trust your instincts, Steph.”
“I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because this is completely foreign to me. I can’t trust this because I’ve never experienced it.”
“Experienced what?”
“Whatever this is.”
We’re talking in circles now, which isn’t unusual for us.
“My instincts tell me he’s pretty perfect,” I admit quietly. “But how can that be? Nobody is.”
“Your dad had his perfect moments.”
I glance toward the fireplace mantle. That’s where Dad’s picture has been proudly displayed since before I was born. Rising from the couch, I walk over and stare at the gold frame. He’s wearing his uniform, and an American flag is displayed in the background.
“I’m going to help Brandon with the dishes,” Mom says quietly, leaving me alone with my dad and my jumbled thoughts.
It never fails to amaze me just how handsome my father was, especially in his uniform. He looked so dignified and proud, leaving no doubt in my mind that he loved the military. But it’s impossible for me not to feel sad when I look into his eyes, because all I can think about is how much he’s missed. Holidays. Birthdays. Growing old and gray with his wife. He won’t see me graduate from college, and he won’t get to walk me down the aisle.
Was the military really worth missing all that?
I have no idea how long I stand there, but after a while, I feel Brandon’s arms wrap around my waist. He gently pulls me close to his chest and rests his chin on my shoulder.
“You have his eyes,” he says.
“Yeah.”
He holds me tight in his arms as we stare at the picture of my father.
“The rain has stopped. Cynthia says if we want to go to the cemetery, we should probably go now.”
I turn around in his arms. “Cynthia says, huh?”
“That’s what she told me to call her.”
“You are quite the charmer, aren’t you?”
&nbs
p; Brandon smiles and gently places his hand on my cheek.
“There’s only one girl I’m interested in charming.”
“Well, mission accomplished.”
Brandon lowers his head, kissing me gently.
“You’re sure you want me there?”
“I do.”
He nods and we grab our coats off the couch just as mom returns to the living room. She adjusts the scarf around her neck and zips her jacket.
“Are we ready?”
Brandon and I nod, and the two of us follow Mom to her car.
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 an
d 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.”