Tears stream down my face, unbidden and unwelcome.
The chilling strains of “Taps” rise up. Sunlight glints off the bugle as the flag is removed from Dallas’s casket, precisely folded, and carefully smoothed. Three brass shell casings rest on top.
With my husband’s flag clutched tightly to my chest and Jake sobbing as Jack tends to us, I say my final good-bye to the only man I’ve ever loved.
ONE
Chloe
five years later
Deep breath in, slowly exhale. Deep breath in, slowly exhale.
Anxiety pulls at every cell in my body, panic looming, staring me down. My gaze darts around the inside of the gas station as I try to commit each face to memory, looking for a sign that one of them is harboring a secret. Searching for a tell, a flash of metal, a nervous twitch that comes just before the strike.
“Mom, can I get a soda?” Jake asks.
I scan the faces again, and with a terse nod, my hand clamped firmly on his shoulder, I guide my son to the wall lined with cups and fountain drinks.
“You’re doing it again, jeez. I can get it,” he whines, shrugging against my hand.
I miss my sweet, polite, respectful little boy and wonder for a hot minute who replaced him with this prepubescent Jekyll. Oris it Hyde? It doesn’t really matter at the moment because we just need to get out of here—and fast.
“Quickly, please,” I tell him, paying more attention to the bodies filtering in and out of the store than I am to Jake.
Concerned about what is taking so long, I dart a glance to Jake, only to see it’s not just a soda he’s getting. The biggest cup they have is nearly overflowing with the sugariest, most caffeinated bright red beverage available.
“Jacob Wyatt Triplett, what are you thinking?” I scold.
He, of course, rolls his eyes and gives me a frustrated sigh that would test the patience of Mother Teresa. There are only so many things I can concentrate on at once, and right now, I need to focus on our safety.
“Put a lid on it, and let’s go,” I say through gritted teeth.
I steer him to the register, already holding my debit card and hating that I have my back to the room. I feel exposed. Vulnerable. Scared.
Jake stands next to me, the ridiculous vat of soda clutched possessively in both of his hands. And with each step we take toward the register, he takes a half-step to the side, putting distance between us.
I swallow, trying to push down the lump that’s formed in my throat.
“That’s three dollars and twenty-two cents,” the cashier says, sounding tinny and far away, already ringing up the next customer on the register to her left.
I shove my card into the slot, and the sun glints off something shiny, reflecting a burst of light into my eyes. I flinch, reaching blindly for Jake but he’s not there. He’s just out of reach, at the end of the counter, looking at brightly colored candies, oblivious to the world.
With a metallic flash, panic surges through me in a way it hasn’t in a very long time. I bend my knees, lowering into acrouch, and step toward Jake. As my fingers brush against the sandy-brown hair curling behind his ear, what sounds like a gunshot slices through my heart, and the feel of shrapnel bites through the backs of my legs.
My only thought is of getting to my son, keeping him safe.
Another flash, and a hand latches on to my shoulder, pulling me back, away from Jake. Away from the object of my singular focus.
My heart thrashes in my chest, my blood like lead in my veins.
My lungs contract, pulling in tiny bursts of air, but I can’t breathe. There’s no in and out right now. Just in.
My eyes are wide, but I see nothing as black dots fill my vision, tunneling and then finally closing in on me.
I’m dying.
My eleven-year-old son is going to be all alone. How long will it take his uncle Jack to find him? At least he’ll have a real family again. Jack will step into the dad role, and Kate will treat him like one of her own. Siblings. Jake will finally have the siblings he so desperately wanted before his dad died. He already fights with their twin boys like he is the older brother, and God knows he watches over their daughter, Hays, like it’s his mission in life.
