Page 12 of Troubled Water
How foolish was I to take theirs for granted?
I blink against the sun, the glare bouncing off the polished wood of the casket. My jaw tightened as I forced the memories away. I’m angry. No, more than angry. Not at them, but at the whole damn situation. At how a man who was once a combat veteran, who survived war zones and firefights, who’d made it through some of the most dangerous missions imaginable, had been taken out by something as mundane as a car accident. It’s a goddamn irony that I can’t swallow.
As the final words of the eulogy fade, the honor guard steps forward, the rifles snapping into position. I flinch at the sound of the gunfire—each volley echoing across the quiet cemetery, each crack of the rifles driving home the reality of what is happening.
The honor guard folds the flag with precise, practiced movements until they finally hand it to me. I don’t want it. I want my family back. I want them alive. I want to tell everyone to go the fuck away so I can release the sounds desperate to escape from the depths of my soul. But I bury that deep, take the flag, gripping it like it is the last piece of them I have left.
I look down at the flag in my hands, my gloved fingers catching on the folds in the fabric.
Eventually, people start to leave, murmuring their condolences as they pass. I barely hear them. I don’t want their sympathy. I don’t want their words. I just want them back. “Thorn,” is said softly in a sweetly southern voice, accompanied by a heavy hand on my shoulder.
My head twists to the side only to find a concerned Libby and Cal. Somewhere in my numbness, I’m only mildly surprised to find Libby’s cousin Sam Akin and his wife, Iris, directly behind them. I never even noticed them in the crowd. I am physicallyunable to do anything but stare at my parent’s coffins. My voice cracks as I manage to force out, “Thank you all for coming.”
Cal’s hand comes down on my shoulder. “Let us know if you need anything, man. We’re here for you.”
Eventually, everyone left—including the media. I don’t know how long it took. I do know I watched as the undertakers dug their graves, the wind carrying the scent of freshly dug earth.
Finally, it is just me, alone in front of the grave. I look down at the flag in my hands again, and I can’t stop the tears this time. They fall, hot and heavy, as I sink to my knees beside the freshly dug graves.
I stay there until the caskets are lowered, my head bowed, my shoulders shaking.
Finally, I reach out and pluck two perfect red roses from the arrangement that blankets my mother’s casket. Kissing each one, I fling them on top of their coffins. “I love you both. I always will.”
That’s when I decide, if love is going to cause this much hurt, I never want to feel it again.
Ever.
11
“Do you have any friends or family members involved in organizations that oppose US interests?”
I drawl laconically, “I have friends and family who oppose my best interests. You’d have to ask them if they’ve joined any organizations. I do know they meet together on frequent social occasions.”
By now, Fox has either plotted my murder or is enjoying my daring as I reply to her no-nonsense questions with my trademark sarcasm. I’m not quite certain, but I’d bet my left nut Pamola had to stifle a chuckle over that last comment. Still, Fox perseveres. “Are you certain?”
My sigh is drawn out. “Listen, I’m not exactly the poster boy they use to advertiseBumble BFF, okay?”
“I’m impressed you know whatBumble BFFis, sir.”
“I have friends with kids. I need to know exactly how to ruin their lives.”
“Now that sounds a lot more like you.”
“It does, doesn’t it?”
“So, if you didn’t meet your wife on social media, how did you two reconnect after so long?”
“Sheer happenstance.”
Fox’s eyes cut to Pamola, who confirms I’m again telling the truth. Her jaw falls open a bit. “Really?”
“Yes.” I sometimes wonder what would have happened if I had decided not to annoy the crap out of Cal by attending a party thrown by Libby. But I’ll be forever grateful to the annoying prick that I did.
12
ELEVEN YEARS AGO—AGE 23
My back is literally against the wall and I fervently wish I was anywhere but here. Despite my desire to knock back a few drinks and escape, a promise is a promise.
