Better Late Than Never

by Diva D. Wood

  A risky proposition, to be sure, Landon conceded. But as a SEAL, he was accustomed to improvising, adjusting on the fly, making something out of nothing. This would be no different. He hoped.

  Landon’s phone buzzed three times, breaking his reverie for now. He checked it. An incoming text message from Desiree.

  Good morning, baby. U up?

  Landon texted back. Been up all night.

  I figured. What time do U want me 2 pick U up?

  Landon laughed. He was never going to get used to this text lingo shit. I’m going out for a run. Pick me up at the main gate at about eight. We can go grab some breakfast. Sound good?

  Sounds great, baby. See U then. Love U.

  Love you too.

  Landon silenced his phone, stuck it in his shorts pocket, grabbed his keys and wallet, and exited his quarters into another perfect San Diego late-spring morning.

  The streets near his quarters were already abuzz with activity at this early hour, with several units already out for morning PT.

  On Landon’s left, the latest BUD/S class approached. Landon smiled. He remembered those days all too well. He silently wished the latest group of candidates well. Landon guesstimated the size of the running group at about sixty; it must be early in the class, he surmised. If past history held true with this group, about fifteen to twenty of them would graduate.

  An instructor peeled off from the pack as it passed Landon. He waved for Landon to stop a moment. Landon pulled off the side of the road, catching his breath as the instructor approached tentatively.

  “Lieutenant Stone?”

  “Affirmative.”

  The instructor offered his hand. “Remember me, sir?”

  “Of course, Instructor Meehan,” Landon said with a smile. “Been a long time.”

  “It sure has.” Meehan released Landon’s hand. “I’m sorry for your loss, Lieutenant. Joe Mawhorter was one of the best SEALs I ever trained. Followed closely by you, of course.”

  “Thank you, Instructor Meehan,” Landon replied. “He’ll be missed.”

  “I hear you’re giving the eulogy at his service today.”

  “Affirmative.”

  “A tough job.”

  “Hardest thing I’ve ever done,” Landon said. “It’s less than four hours away and I still have no idea what I’m going to say or how I’m going to say it.”

  “You’ll be fine, Lieutenant,” Meehan said in a sure-of-himself tone that Landon definitely did not share. The instructor glanced down the beach, where the BUD/S class’s cadence was fading. “I’d better catch up with my crew. See you later, Lieutenant.”

  “See you later, Instructor Meehan.”

  Meehan smiled and double-timed it down the beach toward the class.

  Landon stood there a few more moments and listened intently as the BUD/S class’s cadence faded completely. He closed his eyes as a memory came flooding back.

  June 1992

  The sun was just appearing on the eastern horizon as Landon and Joe finished their morning run with the rest of their BUD/S class.

  “Losing some of that 4.5 speed, I see, eh, Landon?” Joe kidded, his trademark grin unmistakable.

  “Blow me,” Landon replied, trying to catch his breath and look mean…and failing on both counts.

  Joe laughed. “Actually, you boatraced me to the finish as usual. So I suppose I’m just running my mouth unnecessarily.”

  “As usual.”

  “Right.”

  Landon grinned. “Graduation tomorrow. We made it, buddy.”

  “We sure did,” Joe said, slapping Landon’s back as they and the class made their way back to their quarters. “Danita is planning on being here, by the way.”

  “I would hope so,” Landon said. “Nine months pregnant, with all the accompanying joy and BS, but she wouldn’t miss her man’s moment for the world.”

  “Nope,” Joe agreed. “She’s my rock. I know it’s been hard for her with me in BUD/S most of her pregnancy.”

  “She understands, Joe. And besides, it’s the life she signed up for when she bewilderingly agreed to marry your sorry ass.” Landon tried but failed to hide a smirk.

  Joe returned fire with a smirk of his own. “Watch it there, buddy.”

  Landon laughed.

  “We’re going to celebrate with Danita’s folks and mine tomorrow night after graduation.”

  “Cool,” Landon said. “Where?”

  “Mr. A’s.”

  “Oh, nice,” Landon said, shaking his head. “You’re moving up in the world, I see.”

  “So are you,” Joe said with a shit-eating grin. “You’re coming with us.”

  “Aww, no, man,” Landon protested. “This is your moment. Enjoy it with your family.”

  “What are your plans?”

  Landon was silent.

  “That’s what I thought,” Joe said. “It’s your moment too, and you’re not going to spend it alone. You’re my family too. So go through your raggedy-ass wardrobe and find something halfway presentable, okay? And meet us at Mr. A’s at eight.”

  Landon nodded, knowing resistance was futile…as usual. “You got it, buddy.”

  Landon opened his eyes, wiping away a tear. He glanced at his watch. It was nearly seven AM. He still had time for another mile or two.

  Landon turned north onto the access road for the beach, where the BUD/S class was going through a time-honored SEAL ritual: balancing a heavy log on its shoulders.

  The exercise was supposed to promote the concept of teamwork. Landon smiled as he thought of all the times he’d been ready to drop the log out of frustration. But a boot in his ass—figuratively, of course—from Joe always seemed to give him the extra push he needed to finish the task.

  Landon sat down in the sand and took a long sip from the water bottle he’d brought along. He stared off into the surf, hoping the sound of the waves hitting the beach would calm his fried nerves.

  His well-planned life was crashing down around him.

  Landon blinked back tears as he tried to think of what he was going to say about Joe in a few hours—and whether whatever it was would do his lifelong friend justice.

  Nothing was coming to mind. Landon sighed, rose from the sand, and began the two-mile run back to his quarters.

  He’d think of something.

  Hopefully.

  Chapter 20

  Desiree stood in the shower for a few moments longer than usual.

  It had been a mere three days since Landon had come home with the numbing news that Joe Mawhorter was dead.

  It still seemed like a long nightmare. She could only imagine what it felt like for Landon.

  She shook her head as she got out of the shower. She didn’t own a black dress, but had been able to find one on short notice through an online friend. The dress wasn’t going to win her any modeling awards, but that wasn’t her focus today anyway.

  After a quick stop at Starbucks for a double latte, Desiree was on I-5 North headed toward downtown San Diego. She traversed the Coronado Bridge for just the second time in her life and pulled up in front of the main gate at NAB Coronado a few minutes before eight AM. Landon was waiting on a bus bench, clad in his dress black uniform.

  Handsome as always, Desiree thought, unable to suppress the urge to smile.

  “Hi,” Landon said with a weak smile as he got into Desiree’s car, kissing her on the cheek.

  “Hi, baby,” she said. “How are you?”

  “As good as can be expected,” he replied, tossing a US Navy backpack on the back seat and buckling his seat belt. “You?”

  “About the same.” She reversed her course, and they began the return trip back across the Coronado Bridge. “Do you have your speech written?”

  “No,” he said. “I’m just going to wing it.”

  “Is that a good idea?”

  “It’s going to have to do,” Landon said with a tired, resigned shrug. “I’m a SEAL. Improvisation is our middle name.”

  Desiree nod
ded.

  * * * *

  Landon looked out the window as they drove down Palomar Street. He smiled wistfully as they passed the senior apartment complex where his grandmother had lived. With no father figure in his life, his grandmother Edwina had become a surrogate parent, and her tiny studio apartment had been a second home to Landon in high school.

  Many a night, he’d crashed on the couch after a night carousing in Tijuana with Joe and his buddies—nights his grandmother never mentioned to his mom.

  Grandma Wood had passed away suddenly of a heart attack while Landon was at the Naval Academy. He hadn’t been able to get back home for her funeral, and her passing had left a major void in his life—a void that doubled in size a year later when his mom also passed away from the breast cancer she’d battled for five years.

  Landon hoped both his longtime guardian angels—and his latest one—would help him find first the words that were escaping him at the moment, and then the courage and strength to deliver them.

  The time for thought was over as Desiree pulled into the parking lot of Castle Park High School. Already, the parking lot was full. A military sentry was checking cars and directing them to the proper area to park.

  Landon leaned over as Desiree pulled up to the sentry’s makeshift post. The sentry, a Navy petty officer third class, saluted. “Good morning, sir.”

  “Good morning,” Landon said crisply. “Lieutenant Landon Stone and guest.”

  The sentry checked a long clipboard and nodded. “You’re on the VIP list, sir. A spot is reserved for you over there.” He pointed to a somewhat empty area near a long set of stairs that led to the football field.

  Landon nodded. “Thank you, Petty Officer Gonzalez.”

  “You’re welcome, sir.” The sentry saluted again, and Landon returned the salute.

  Landon grabbed his Navy backpack as Desiree parked the car. He and Desiree exited the vehicle and began to make their way up the steps toward the football field.

  “What’s in the backpack?” Desiree asked.

  “A few things I brought along to illustrate who Joe was and what he meant to me,” Landon replied.

  She nodded. “You’ll do fine, baby.”

  Landon nodded back.

  Desiree squeezed Landon’s hand as they reached the track area where the memorial service was set up. Landon saw his commanding officer, Commander William Santiago, directing some sailors in setting up chairs and tables. Santiago noticed Landon and waved him over immediately.

  “Good morning, Lieutenant.”

  “Good morning, sir.”

  “This must be Desiree.”

  “Affirmative, sir,” Desiree said, offering her hand.

  Santiago smiled as he took Desiree’s hand. “A pleasure. I’ve heard a lot about you, ma’am. All of it good, of course.”

  She smiled demurely.

  Desiree noticed Danita sitting alone on the bleacher steps. “I’ll be back, baby.”

  Landon nodded.

  Santiago exhaled as he and Landon sat down. “How are you, Lieutenant?”

  “I’m fine, sir.”

  “Bullshit,” Santiago said. “You can’t bullshit a bullshitter, Landon. You’re not fine.”

  “I’m as fine as I’m going to be today, sir.”

  Santiago nodded. “This is a tough assignment. But I know you’re up to it, Landon. Nobody but you can do it. I know how close you and Joe were, and I know what you meant to each other. Just speak from the heart, Lieutenant. It won’t steer you wrong.”

  Landon smiled, biting his trembling lower lip. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

  Desiree rejoined Landon, and they took their seats in the front row next to Danita and her three children. Landon tried not to look at Joe’s casket, draped with an American flag. He tried to maintain his focus as a chaplain went through the opening segment of the service.

  “Now we’re going to hear from a very special person,” the chaplain intoned. “Someone who served with Lieutenant Mawhorter and can tell us a little more about who and what he was. Lieutenant Stone?”

  Time to get it on, Landon thought as Desiree squeezed his hand hard. He rose and traversed the five steps to the podium.

  Chapter 21

  Landon looked out over the crowd, which filled the entire home side of a grandstand of uncomfortable concrete bleachers. He smiled as he remembered all the times he and Joe had run those bleachers, either as part of normal conditioning or as punishment for some transgression against football.

  Landon scanned the crowd. His eyes were immediately drawn to the top of the bleachers, near the locker rooms, where a glowing figure clad in a dress white uniform stood at attention.

  The figure stuck out because pretty much everyone else was clad in black.

  Joe.

  Always have to make a splash, don’t you, buddy? Landon thought. He hadn’t even started his eulogy yet and he was already fighting back tears. Not a good omen, Landon thought ruefully.

  The figure gave a wide grin and a salute. Landon smiled back, inhaled deeply, and forged ahead.

  “Good morning,” he began tentatively. “My name is Lieutenant Landon Tiberius Stone, United States Navy. I’m here today to tell you a story. It’s a story about a friendship, and it’s a story about suffering and sacrifice. It’s a story that’s been told millions of times through the ages, but each time it’s fresh and new.”

  He took a deep breath.

  “Joseph Aaron Mawhorter and I met on the playground at Palomar Elementary in kindergarten. I was battling a pair of second-graders who were trying to relieve me of my lunch money. Joe decided two-on-one wasn’t a fair fight, and he came over to help. The second graders took one look at Joe and cut and run. Even when Joe was little, he was big.”

  Laughter rippled through the crowd. Landon smiled at the long-ago memory.

  Landon continued. “Thus began a lifelong friendship.” He reached into the backpack and pulled out the nearly twenty-five-year-old football he’d stashed inside earlier. “Joe and I played high school football on this very field, and then we did the same thing for four years at the Naval Academy. He was the quarterback, and I was his main receiver.”

  Landon paused for a moment and reached for a bottle of water on the podium. He opened it and took a long sip. The dryness in his throat relieved temporarily, Landon continued.

  “Joe gave his all on every play. He tackled trouble head-on when he could, but when he needed to, he passed the ball to me. And when he did, I was expected to run with it and complete the mission.”

  Landon’s voice was starting to crack.

  “And I guess, in a way, he’s done that for the final time. The ball is in my hands…in all our hands, to be perfectly honest. Let’s carry it across the goal line and win this one for him, shall we?”

  Thunderous applause erupted in the audience, giving Landon the chance to take another drink of water and regain his composure.

  As the applause quieted, Landon reached into the backpack and retrieved a black Castle Park football jersey, No. 12. “This is the uniform Joe wore on this field for three years.” Landon held it up and turned it over so the crowd could see Mawhorter stitched across the back. He laid it on a table and extracted a second jersey, this one No. 88 with Stone stitched across the back. “And this was my uniform.” He laid it beside Joe’s on the table.

  Next Landon reached into the backpack for a pair of desert camouflage Navy BDUs: one with Mawhorter stitched across the left pocket, the other with Stone in the same spot. He laid them on the table after showing them to the crowd.

  “The uniform changed, but Joe Mawhorter never did,” Landon said, his voice cracking again. “He gave a hundred and ten percent all day, every day, and when he was asked to lay down his life for his country, he did so unhesitatingly.”

  Landon paused for another sip of water. At the top of the stairs, Joe’s spirit smiled and nodded, giving a thumbs-up sign.

  Landon took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and tried to s
ummon the strength to finish. “Godspeed, Lieutenant Joseph Aaron Mawhorter,” Landon began, opening his eyes as the torrent of tears he’d been holding back began to spill down his cheeks, his voice cracking. “Wherever you are today, know in that huge heart of yours that your legacy will live on—in your amazing wife Danita, in your three equally amazing kids, and in the SEALs who will come after us and know who you were and what you were about. We love you, we miss you, we will never forget you or the supreme sacrifice you so unselfishly laid upon the altar of freedom. Thank you.”

  The crowd rose to its feet as Landon stepped away from the podium and retook his seat.

  He glanced to the top of the steps again. Joe’s image saluted with a big smile. Landon returned the salute. Joe’s figure waved—a long, slow wave.

  Landon knew what the wave meant. He swallowed a ball of emotion lodged in his throat and returned the wave with a weak smile.

  A 21-gun salute feted Joe; Landon steeled himself to not flinch at the report of the rifles. Soon after that, the mournful sounds of Taps wafted into the warm, spring air from a Navy bugler.

  A group of sailors from Joe and Landon’s unit began the solemn process of folding the American flag that had draped his casket. The process completed, the flag was handed to Commander Santiago, who kneeled in front of Danita. “On behalf of the President of the United States and a grateful nation, I present you this flag in recognition of your husband’s heroic achievements,” Santiago said, his voice strong and steady. He placed the flag in a weeping Danita’s lap.

  Landon squeezed her hand but looked away. It was all too much.

  Desiree squeezed his other hand. “You did great, baby,” she whispered.

  “Thanks, baby,” Landon replied.

  The ceremony over, the members of Joe and Landon’s platoon were lining up for another SEAL-honored tradition: They removed their gold SEAL tridents and one by one, hammered them into the top of the oak casket, each offering his own silent, solemn salute to their fallen leader.