"I could use a walk. We can both go?"
"Of course," he says.
I place my bag down and untangle the leash from the hook, but Brett takes the leash from my hand and attaches it to Benji’s collar. "What’s in the bag?" I ask him.
He has a medium size brown paper bag rolled up in his right hand. "Something," he says.
"Something you need to take with you on the walk?" It hurts to smile, but the muscles in my cheeks work on their own accord.
"Yes," he says.
We walk out the front door and down the two steps as Benji makes a run for the lawn. "I’m sorry again about last night.”
Brett tosses his head back and releases a soft groan. "Please do not worry about Parker or me right now. You have more than enough to think about without worrying about us."
"She’s a little girl, and she lost her mother, so I have some understanding—maybe a lot of understanding, in fact."
"Parker’s mom got pregnant, found out two months later, and had no clue who the father was. She wasn’t the type to hang around the men who disappear after a couple of dates, but it happened. Abby was terrified, had no clue how she would raise a baby while enlisted, so I told her she should move in with me, and I’d help her in any way I could."
"Oh wow, I didn’t see this story going there.”
Brett shrugs his shoulders. "It wasn’t in my plans to help raise a child then, especially not my own, but Abby was my best friend, and I truly believe everyone deserves someone to depend on in life."
"You’re a good person, Brett."
"I don’t know if I’d say so, but thank you," he says. "Anyway, when Parker was four, Abby had gotten deployed for a three-month tour. Thankfully, I was between deployments, so I could take care of Parker while she was gone."
"Is that when—?"
"She was in the wrong place at the wrong time. She wasn’t in active combat, but she was being transported to deliver documents to a battalion when her vehicle was hit by a grenade."
"Oh my God," I sigh.
"You know, this might not be a great story for tonight. I wanted to make you feel better, not bring you down more."
"You’re making me realize I’m not alone in this world right now."
Benji pulls us off the road and toward the woods to do his business. We turn our backs to give him a little privacy—not like he cares, but it’s something I’ve done with him for some odd reason.
"Anyway, when Abby made up her will, she asked if I would become Parker’s legal guardian if something were to happen to her. Abby didn’t have siblings, and her parents died at a young age. She had no real family, which was her main reason for enlisting in the Marines. So, I didn’t ponder the answer for even a second. I would do anything to help her and Parker, if something were to happen. I miss Abby like crazy, but Parker is her mother to a T, and it’s incredible to watch."
"I’m so sorry you lost your best friend," I respond. "Does Parker have a tough time?"
We continue walking as Benji tugs on the leash and head onto the dirt path, which leads to a small park. "Sometimes. She remembers Abby,but she was only four, so her memories are a little foggy. She’s sensitive to the subject, though."
"As I can imagine.” The poor little thing.
"I parted ways as soon as my eight years were up, and I brought Parker back to Vermont with me so we could be around my family, which has been the best thing for us both."
I didn’t realize we had walked as far as we have when I see the twinkling lights on the gazebo. I haven’t been down here in years, but this was the place to hang out when I was in high school.
"It’s ironic how much time we spend planning out our lives, only to find out no one can really plan for the future," I tell him.
Benji pulls at the leash, forcing Brett to walk ahead a few feet. "Yeah, I learned this well when I enlisted. You can’t plan on a future when today could be your last day, you know?"
I know now. I’ve been living in a fantasy bubble most of my life, thinking nothing bad could ever happen. I was wrong. "I get it now.”
We step into the gazebo, and Brett ties the leash to a post. Benji is out of breath and plopsdown to rest, so we take a seat on the inner bench. "Being in the hospice center must be hard," Brett says.
