Page 40 of Embattled Return

“That is a message board post connected to a popular ancestry website. Someone in the family has been looking for you,” John said softly.

Looking for my grandkids, two boys and a girl. Son and I had a falling out October of ‘99 and he left. Haven’t spoken to him in twenty years. Kids names are/were Jana, Logan and Clinton.

The message gave their dates of birth, as well as the names of his mother and father. There was an email address.

“Did you email them?” Logan demanded.

John shook his head. “No, not yet. I thought you might want to do that.”

Logan slumped in the chair, the paper shaking in his trembling hand. After all these years... he looked at the date on the message. “This was posted ten years ago. Do you think it’s still a viable email?”

John shrugged. “It looks viable, but I guess we won’t know until you try it.”

Logan looked back down at the paper.

“I have other information. I just thought that was the most direct link, even though it’s older.”

Logan set the paper aside. “What else do you have?”

“Arthur and Eugenia Showalter have been married for almost fifty years. They own and run a restaurant in Arvada. They had four boys and one girl, and I can find records for most of them. Your father...”

He reached for another paper in the stack and handed it over. Logan read carefully, recognizing the Army discharge paperwork. For Christopher Alexander Showalter. There was a post-it note attached, listing several penal code numbers. “What is this?”

“It’s your father’s DD-214. And the list of charges he went to prison for before he was dishonorably discharged.”

“Wait,” Logan said, leaning forward in shock. “Dad said he was released under a bad conduct discharge, for having a pain pill in his pocket, or something. Contraband.”

John shook his head, his dark brows furrowed. “Your dad had a court-martial for drug offenses and embezzlement from the Army. He was sentenced to three years in prison, served his time, then was given a dishonorable discharge.”

Blinking, Logan stared down at the papers, his mind reeling. Dad had always given the excuse that the Army had been out to get him because he’d been injured in service, and he had a lifetime of care coming. He looked at the details on the paperwork, and the attached passport sized photo. It was definitely his father. Just with the Showalter name.

“What the hell...” he breathed.

Was that why he’d stolen them away from Colorado?

“Did you see if any of the other Showalter family had military service?”

“All but one of them, and one is still in the Army, stationed at Ft. Bragg. One brother was KIA in the Persian Gulf.”

Ah, hell. Logan blinked, realizing that he’d come from a true Army Gold Star family. They’d lived and died by their service.

“So, my dad was the only one in the family that had problems.”

“The only one I can find. Everyone else appears to be true red, white and blue.”

John shuffled through his papers. “I also found this and confirmed it with the cop that found you. He’s a captain, now, and I have his number if you’d like to talk to him.”

It was a police report, detailing a crash scene a rookie cop had found on interstate 70, which ran through downtown Denver. Logan’s analytical brain appreciated the clear, concrete details at the top of the report. His gaze drifted down to the narrative section.

The report was dated right after the discharge paperwork, and it painted a picture of a man struggling. The driver of the car carrying three children, ages 6 years, 3 years and 13 months had supposedly hit black ice, struck a guard rail and crossed a center median, making another vehicle swerve to avoid the crash. The second vehicle went off an embankment and struck a bridge support. The man was killed upon impact. Drug paraphernalia was scattered throughout the first car and the driver was found to be critically impaired by LSD.

“Holy fuck. He got high with us in the car and killed a man?”

John nodded. “That’s what I’m inferring. The cop called children’s services and you were taken away. Your father was taken to a local hospital with a broken arm and a concussion. You kids were all fine.”

“Where was my mother,” Logan breathed.

“It looks like she was at work at the restaurant your grandparents owned.”

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