"That's not a bad thing, Michael. Some people might even say that's noble." I close my eyes, thinking about Brad and the card and all that I've been through because of him. "I was in a situation where I could have, maybe even should have, killed someone, but I couldn't do it. I shot him in the leg and now he's…” I almost say,still tormenting me,but that’s not something I’m ready to share with anyone, “now he’s in jail.”
"The guy who attacked you in the barn? Matt told me about that." He pulls me closer. "I'm so sorry that happened to you, but I guess that means you understand what I’m saying better than anyone could."
We lie there for a few moments, breathing together, both of us lost in our own pain and fear.
Then he talks slowly, like he's afraid of my reaction. "I understand that there are situations where lethal force is justified, and I wouldn't ever blame someone for defending themselves, but that's the thing with this war. It’s not a defense. There's no justification for being there. There's no reason good men like Matt and Gage had to kill or be killed. They shouldn't have been there at all."
I lay in stunned silence. Michael almost sounds like Nathan. I've never heard a soldier talk about the war this way. It's so different from what I've heard Jacob say about being in the Army.
"My dad and my grandpa pushed me into ROTC when I was in high school.The honorable thing to do, a rite of passage.But the longer I was in, the less honorable it felt. Then the whole thing in Iraq started. The more I've studied what's going on, the more I've felt like weshouldn't be there. There's no way it's going to end quickly or cleanly. It's already cost too much. I don’t have to tell you that." His mouth sets and anger resonates in his voice. "Matthew shouldn't have had to die to pay for a college education."
I don’t know what to say. Part of me wants to yell at him, to tell him he's wrong about all of this. My brother was a hero. He died for what he believed in. He died defending people who couldn't defend themselves. But there's another part, a part that thinks he might be right, a part that's screaming about how unfair and senseless this whole thing is.
He reaches up and puts his hand on my cheek. I flinch at his touch. He rolls away from me, onto his back, staring at the ceiling. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything. I made it worse, didn't I?"
I can't answer him. The hollow place in my chest fills with an anger I didn't know I had. My hands ball into fists until my fingernails dig into my palms.
He takes my hand, rubbing his thumb over it, as if he'll soothe the hurt by loosening my grip. “I'm sorry, Jess. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Matthew was a good man. He was doing good things there. I know he was. I just…”
“It’s okay,” I whisper, even though none of it's okay.
He props himself up on his elbow, searching my face. “I’ve never told anyone what I just told you—about being afraid, about how I feel about the war. There’s just something about you, something that makes me want to tell you everything. Something that makes me want to be with you. I’ve never had this kind of connection with anyone, and honestly, it's a little scary, butMatthew asked me to take care of you. I know what it is to lose a sibling, a best friend, someone you've fought with and loved and known your whole life. I understand Jess, so if there is anything you need, anything, anytime, just ask.”
I stare up at him. There’s something in his expression, a connection, like he keeps saying, something that feels safe and honest and solid. Something that could take away the fear and the gaping emptiness inside of me.
“Will you kiss me, Michael?”
thirty-one
Snapshots
Excruciating. That’s the only word I can use to describe the memorial service. It’s very military, very filled with ceremony. For me, it’s only excruciating. The line of four sets of boots with helmets perched on top of rifles, with dog-tags draped over them are beyond painful. Four pictures—Matt and Gage and two others. The lines of men and women in uniform. Michael is with them. They tell stories about the guys who died. Stories that are meant to make people laugh and cry. Somehow, this is all supposed to make us feel better, but it doesn’t.
Someday when I look back on this day, I know I’ll remember it in snapshots—twisted snapshots that shred my heart. Gage’s dad, Steve, saluting the gun and boots set up to represent his son. The roll call that the men who died don’t answer. The echo of gunfire outside the auditorium in some kind of salute. Kendra’s narrow shoulders shakinguncontrollably as I wrap my arms around her. Jasmine, too afraid to face everyone, taking a seat in the back, away from the families.
Michael called in some favors and got us all a private plane into Texas. He knows how to work the system. We have a nice place to stay for a couple of nights. Food, transportation, everything. He’s taken care of our every need. My parents think he’s wonderful, that he can do no wrong.
We stay in our places after the service is over. Strangers come to tell us they're sorry and tell us what a great man Matthew was. That he was a hero. They circle around us so there's no room to move or to escape. I want to crawl out of my skin. The world is closing in on me, and I can’t breathe. I want to stand up and run, but I can’t move.
I look up to see Gage’s parents, Steve and Trina. They’re by themselves. “Where’s Nathan?” I ask without thinking.
Darkness clouds Steve’s face. “He said he wouldn’t participate in any military service. Not even for his own brother.”
A pang of disloyalty hits me because I understand how Nathan feels.
Trina puts her hand on his shoulder. She looks around me, searching. “Your friend, Jasmine. Is she here?”
I scan the seats behind me. Jasmine is slowly making her way towards. Her arms are wrapped around her shoulders and her head is down, but I can just make out the bulge under her black dress. Steve reaches out a hand to steady her as she steps down next to us.
Her red eyes dart from face to face as if she were a scared animal. She sways on unsteady feet. I put my arm around her waist. She looks up at Trina. “I don’t know if you remember me.”
Trina wraps her arms around Jasmine and pulls her into a hug. “Jasmine, of course I remember you. Gage talked about you all the time.” She steps back and touches Jasmine’s stomach. “Is it true?”
Jasmine blinks back tears and digs through her purse. She pulls out an ultrasound picture and hands it to Trina. “Your grandson.” She says softly. “Gage wanted to name him after his dad.”
Trina studies the picture and then hands it to Steve. She pulls Jasmine against her chest and sobs.
I'm struck by a strange stab of jealousy. Like I don’t belong here anymore. Like I’m an invader on this scene. The room is getting too close again. I take a step back and bump into someone.
