Page 12 of Home for Justice
They visited for another hour, laughter and lightness returning to the room. When it was time to leave, Justice hugged him tightly.
“I’ll be back tomorrow, like always.”
“You know,” Jack said as she pulled away, “you can skip a day. I love seeing your face, but you’re wearing yourself out.”
“I’m tough.” She laughed gently, her hand squeezing his. “After all, I take after you.”
As she stepped out into the hallway, her father’s rich laughter followed her, and it warmed her all the way down the corridor.
She made a short detour, her feet guiding her on instinct, until she found herself pausing outside the room Mr. Marconi had occupied. But a stranger now lay in the bed, and the door was slightly ajar.
A nurse passed by, and Justice gently reached out, her voice quiet. “Mr. Marconi was our neighbor. Has he… Did he…?”
The nurse offered a kind, understanding smile and gently patted her arm. “I can’t give out his information,” she said, but her eyes held the sad news.
Justice felt her heart sink. She stood frozen for a moment, absorbing the loss. Mr. Marconi had been ninety, but he had been there all her life, a steady, familiar part of the neighborhood. She hadn’t visited much in recent years, especially after both her mother and his wife had passed. Still,her father had kept in touch, and she had always told herself there would be time to catch up.
Now there wasn’t. Guilt threaded its way through her exhaustion. She should have made time… should have stopped by more often, even for a short visit to have a cup of coffee or share a few kind words.
She turned and walked back through the family lobby toward the elevators. Her gaze swept the room one last time, searching for the man she’d hugged—the one who had somehow filled an empty space in her with a single unexpected moment of shared comfort.
He wasn’t there.
With a quiet sigh, she jabbed the elevator button. The doors slid open. Justice stepped inside, clutching the warmth of that one connection to her chest, knowing it had been just a fleeting moment. One not meant to be repeated.
7
The next day, the skies were a flat gray, the kind that cast a soft hush over the town. Tyler pulled into the gravel lot outside the American Legion building, the tires of his SUV crunching as he parked near the weathered structure. The one-story building bore the marks of time with chipped paint. There was rust around the base of the flagpole, but the flag flying high was crisp and bright, snapping gently in the breeze as if in honor of the man whose memory had brought some of the members here today.
Inside, the space smelled of coffee and wood polish. The walls were lined with old photographs—black-and-white snapshots of soldiers, faded color pictures from parades and ceremonies, and plaques commemorating service and sacrifice. Folding chairs had been arranged around a long meeting table in the main hall. Veterans in various shades of blue vests and jackets, with Legion insignia over their hearts, filled the room with quiet conversation and laughter.
“Your grandfather was our oldest member,” said one man, his voice thick with reverence.
“We’re going to miss him,” added another. “Charlie had a razor-sharp wit and a big heart to go with it.”
Nods and murmurs of agreement followed, the room warmed by shared memories. Tyler offered a small smile, his forearms resting on the edge of the table.
The American Legion chaplain, an older man with wise eyes and a firm handshake, had gathered this group to help plan Charlie’s service.
They assured Tyler that everything was covered, including a ceremonial flag to drape the casket, pallbearers from among the Legion members, a few who had known Charlie for decades would speak at the service, and a bugler to play “Taps.” The auxiliary would prepare a full reception afterward, to be served here in this building where Charlie had so often lingered after meetings and potlucks.
“We’ll also coordinate with the funeral home,” the chaplain said, placing a firm hand on Tyler’s shoulder. “Transport, flag folding, presentation. Leave it to us. Charlie earned it.”
Tyler nodded, the pressure in his chest loosening slightly. “I appreciate everything you’re doing. Truly.”
“You’re family here,” the chaplain replied.
Mack, one of the Legion members, leaned forward. “I don’t know what your plans are, but you’re eligible to join. Even if you’re only sticking around to take care of Charlie’s estate, we’d be honored to have you. And once you’re a member, it goes with you wherever you land next.”
Carol, a wiry woman with gray curls and a contagious grin, chimed in, “And don’t let us old codgers scare you off. We’ve got a whole passel of folks your age who serve or have served. A group of them will be coming this morning to meet you. They help us out by being pallbearers and in any other way they can.”
As if on cue, the front door opened, letting in a burst of cool air and a cluster of men in their late thirties or forties, each carrying a quiet confidence, the kind honed by years ofdangerous work. Tyler stood as they approached, eyes scanning the group as names were exchanged.
“Logan Bishop,” one said, extending his hand.
“Sisco Aguilar.”
“Landon Summers.”
