Her eyes light up again. “I’m looking forward to it.”
I see flashes of color out of the corner of my eye and turn. “You have got to be kidding me.”
Audrey scoffs. “Who wears bright colors to a funeral? Don’t they have any respect?”
“No, they don’t,” I answer.
“Who are they?” Leo asks, wrapping an arm around my waist.
“The enemy. The ones who made fun of me because I liked to read and be alone instead of going out and getting drunk or high. They’re also the ones who screwed around with Trey behind my back—well, not really behind my back. I knew. I just didn’t care,” I admit.
“Bitches. You want them here?” Audrey asks.
“Not really. They aren’t my friends, and they didn’t know my dad or family well enough to be here,” I answer.
She nods. “I’ll take care of this.”
She stands up tall, shoulders back, and walks across the room like a runway model. She taps the leader—Shawna—on the shoulder. Shawna looks at her as do the other two—Rena and Kay—and Audrey says something we can’t hear, but it has their faces going beet red.
“I wonder what she said,” Elan muses.
“Better if we don’t know,” I say.
Leo nods. “From the looks on their faces and the way they’re scattering out the door, I’d say you’re correct.”
Audrey comes back and dusts her hands off against one another.
“What was that?” I ask.
She smirks. “I just took out the trash.”
Trash indeed.
A tall man with broad shoulders decked out in his Marine uniform heads toward me. I recognize him immediately. My dad’s best friend, Will, better known as Lieutenant Colonel William Gregg, and my “uncle” Will.
I leave Leo’s side and rush to Uncle Will. He immediately enfolds me within his arms, holding me tight.
“This fucking sucks,” he mutters.
I manage a choked laugh. “It sure does.”
I step back. “Can you tell me anything?” I know he can’t “formally” but maybe he can sneak me info.
“All I know, all they’re letting anyone know is suicide bomber who was really fucking good at his job as he threw an IED at the other vehicle then blew himself up. There were civilians involved. It’s messy and they’re not giving up much,” he tells me, obviously frustrated.
“There’s nothing of his, Uncle Will. Nothing. Not his dog tags or his insignia pin. Nothing. How can that be? I overheard a couple guys talking about how the widow of the other fallen Marine received his dog tags. Does that mean there’s a chance, in all the carnage, my dad may have survived?” I ask. I don’t dare to hope.
“I don’t know. I wish I knew more. No one, and I mean no one is talking.”
“I imagine not if you’re trying to determine whether one of your best Colonels is alive or dead… and if he’s alive, where is he? Mistaken identity? But that can’t be, not with dog tags,” I muse.
“It’s possible. It’s possible they may find them in the rubble. I know some of the guys who did survive are in a bad way. I won’t sugar-coat it for you. We’re talking lost limbs, head trauma, burns,” he informs me.
I hold back a sob—barely. “War is a nasty fucking business.”
He nods. “It is, but it’s necessary when fighting evil.”
I sigh. “I need to know more. I think that’s what’s been eating at me. I just don’t feel… the funeral felt wrong. Saying he’s dead, feels wrong. I don’t know if it’s wishful thinking or if I just know somehow.”
