Page 63 of Somewhere You Belong

There are so many stories, memories and lives lived and lost on the faces of these men and women. But there’s also a sense of family, like everyone in this room is connected through this common organization, through the oath and purpose their loved ones took on by signing up to serve their country.

I wonder if that’s how my parents felt—like they were part of this too, connected to the men and women they went to write about. I wonder if they ever thought they’d sacrifice their lives without agreeingto yield a weapon. And I wonder where I would be right now if they were still here.

Not in Carrington Cove, that’s for sure.

I turn back to face the room full of people, catching several sets of eyes directed toward me. Dolly from the inn smiles and waves at me from across the room, but her face is the only friendly face I recognize in a crowd of strangers.

I’ve been in this town for a little over a month, and yet I still don’t know many people here, which is glaringly obvious by the judgmental stares I’m receiving right now, accompanied by muttered observations.

With a deep breath of courage, I attempt to make the most of this evening and decide that this is as good of an opportunity as any to put myself out there.

I head for Dolly first, catching her up to speed on the developments with the house and sarcastically thanking her for my coffee and muffin addiction. She introduces me to Greg and Jenny, the owners of the Sunshine Bakery, whom I then proceed to gush to about the blueberry muffins—which, come to find out, is actually Astrid’s recipe, and I can’t believe she never told me. I’m going to give her shit for that later. Then they lead me to Judy, who created the scarecrow that Dallas got me, which she instantly picks up on the moment she sees me. My conversation with Judy leads me to Harold, Baron, and Thompson, the men I played darts with last week, who are apparently still bitter after their loss.

I’m having such a good time talking with these people that I feel slightly disappointed when it’s interrupted by the call for dinner being served.

“Hey. You doing okay?” Astrid asks as we settle into our seats.

“Yeah, actually. I’m having a good time.” My eyes nearly sting with tears as those words leave my mouth.

What is happening to me?

Surprise paints her features. “See? I told you. Tonight is going to be good for you.”

We wait for our turn for the buffet, filling our plates with two different kinds of pasta, salad, and freshly baked bread. I fight the urge to moan out loud at the taste of the food because it’s that delicious. But a few of the people we’re seated with divulge that it’s from a local Italian restaurant that catered the event for free.

For a moment I feel like I’m living someone else’s life, until my phone buzzes with email after email coming through. Part of me wants to answer, but the other part of me knows that if it were urgent, Katrina would call me.

So, I decide to turn it off completely, which is something I haven’t done in years.

But I don’t want any distractions tonight.

My mind and heart are invested in this room full of people.

Mr. Hansen calls everyone’s attention to the stage, beginning the festivities and presentations for the night. He gives a brief history of the center, and then passes the microphone to the Marine acting as the emcee for the ceremony.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen!” His deep voice echoes through the sound system, pulling everyone’s attention to the stage. “I’m First Sergeant Hank Lyle of the United States Marines, and it is an honor to be gathered with you all tonight.” The crowd drops their utensils and rings out in applause. “I’d like to welcome you all to the thirty-third annual veterans’ dinner at the Carrington Cove Center, and thank you for attending this celebration this evening.”

He continues with his speech, going into the history of the Marines, how many local men and women have served, and how this center has expanded since it was founded over thirty years ago. Then he moves into discussing the Marines that lost their lives this year, starting with active duty.

Emotion clouds the room as family after family gathers on stage, receiving a plaque from the center in honor of their loved ones. A few of the men were so young, less than three years into their service when they died in battle. One woman died while saving the life of a civilian off-duty.

And then the crowd grows quiet as Sergeant Lyle clears his throat and speaks about the last recipient.

“I know that the last person we’re here to honor tonight is no stranger to most of you in this room. If you have been around this center in the last thirty years, then you know the man we’re about to talk about was a pivotal player in the services we offer to our Marines. Michael Sheppard dedicated time and energy into the healing process that many men and women require and need after serving in active duty, both on and off the battlefield. He paved the way for us to offer counseling services and co-sponsors for those that faced problems with addiction. He spent more time in this building than he probably did in his own home.” The audience chuckles and murmurs in agreement. “And though that man probably experienced some of the most gruesome and traumatic events during his service, he managed to come home and find a way to turn that experience into something good. Unfortunately, this year, he lost his battle with cancer and joined our Lord and Savior on the other side.” He pauses to give everyone a moment. “It’s a shame that a man can survive a war only to lose the battle for his life at home.” The crowd grows eerily silent as goosebumps cover my skin.

He's talking about the man who left me his house.

“It is with great honor that I recognize Sergeant Michael Sheppard tonight and his family for the service he not only gave to his country, but to this center. The entire crowd moves to their feet, and I follow their lead, clapping while my heart beats erratically and a sense of awareness creeps up my spine. “I would like to call Sergeant Sheppard’s son, Staff Sergeant Dallas Sheppard, up to the stage along with his family as we honor his memory.”

And time stands still before reality hits me, slamming into my chest like a freight train and stealing the oxygen from my lungs.

Oh my God, it can’t be.

All eyes shift in the room as Dallas, his three siblings, and his mother all rise from their seats and gather on the stage as Sergeant Lyle presents them with a plaque honoring their dad.

This has to be a dream.

No. A nightmare.

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