I poured myself a glass and slumped in a seat at the table. Being back in Violet Ridge only brought back the memories of Evelyn and I. Military life was fast, not leaving much time to reminisce, but being stuck on this fucking farm again gave me plenty of time. Every time my eyes shut, I’d see her face. I wanted to see her smile again, hear her voice. I let out a harsh chuckle before I gulped down the water and sat it down on the table. Feelings were fucked.
I heard Ma’s footsteps before she padded into the kitchen in her night robe.
“What’re you doing awake? It’s past midnight.” She yawned, grabbing herself a juice from the fridge and sitting next to me.
I shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep.”
She pressed her lips into a line and left the room for a few minutes. She came back with a dusty wooden box. She set it down on the table and let out a shaky breath. “I think it’s time you knew about this.”
I lifted an eyebrow as I studied the box on the table. The medium-sized box was made of dark wood with edges that were cut down. It had signs of imperfection and wood glue on the sides, and it did not sit flat on the table. “What’s that?”
“It was your father’s, and the reason he lost it when you mentioned the military.” My gaze lifted and bore into hers. I went to open my mouth, but she shook her head. “It does not excuse what he did, but it may give you some insight as to why he did it.” She pushed the box further toward me on the table, and the sound of wood on wood filled the kitchen.
I opened the lid and the aroma of musk and dampness spilled out. A sneeze built up as a tickle before it whiplashed out, and I covered my nose. “How long has it been since this box has been opened?”
She scratched the top of her head. “Honestly, I’m not sure if he ever opened it after putting his memorabilia in there.”
“Memorabilia for what?” My eyes scanned over the contents of the box, and my shoulders stiffened.
A green US Army Vietnam era Uniform sat folded on one side. It had a First Infantry Division patch added to the shoulder with a name strip of Rockwell. Sitting on top of it were two pairs of silver dog tags, both with the last name Rockwell. One said Frank, and the other said Jack. A bayonet with a green sheath was on the other side with an olive green L-shaped flashlight. Under that looked to be a Boonie hat from the Vietnam era.
My eyes lifted to Ma’s, and I swallowed hard. “Vietnam?”
She paled as she nodded her head. “Frank was in the Vietnam war from 1970 to 1975 when it ended. He fought for five years.”
My mouth went dry as I reached out and grabbed the dog tags. “Who’s Jack?”
“Jack was your uncle. Frank didn’t want to talk about this with you, and I promised I wouldn’t tell you.” Her eyes welled up with tears. “But I think if you knew, you might understand.”
I clenched the dog tags in my hand. “Understand what?”
“Your father joined the Army when he was seventeen. Jack was eighteen. He and his brother forged his birth certificate so they could join together. The Army knew about it, of course, but kept it quiet.” She reached out and trailed her fingers over the uniform. “Frank lost his brother and the majority of his platoon during an ambush.”
My lips parted, and my body numbed. My father had fought in Vietnam and lost his brother and platoon? I wasn’t sure how to process it or what to say. I shook my head and placed the dog tags back on top of the uniform.
I grabbed my crutches and whacked my swollen nub on the table as I got up. “Fuck!” I brought a closed fist down on the table.
Ma jumped up and ran over to me. “Honey, sit down.”
“I need to be alone.” I gritted the words out.
She nodded. “I understand. Take all the time you need. If you need me, I’ll be in my room.” She left the box on the table as she took her juice and retreated from the kitchen.
I rubbed my forehead as I stared at the old box, not knowing where to go from there. It wasn’t like I could talk to my father. Him drowning himself in alcohol eventually killed him with liver cancer. He must have been battling his own demons, but it wasn’t an excuse to treat Ma and me the way he had.
I understood more now than I did then, especially after learning he was a Vietnam veteran. Regret thickened in my throat as I left the box on the table and went back upstairs to salvage some rest for the next day.
“Let me do caramel highlights, and we can keep the length but layer your hair,” I told Faith as I played with her hair in the mirror of my station.
She hummed, tapping a finger on her lips before she nodded. “That’s different from my usual. I think I like it.”
I grinned. “Good, because I have some dye on hand.” I went to the back of the salon to the storage closet and pulled out some caramel-colored dye. Grabbing the bowl and brush, I opened the dye and mixed in the developer.
“You ready?” I sat the bowl down on my counter and faced Faith.
She played with the ends of her hair before answering, “Yes.”
I wrapped the cape around her neck and got to work with the highlights. Faith’s hair had always been a pretty chocolate brown, and I’d always wanted to do something with it but she would refuse me. I wasn’t sure what made her come out of her comfort zone, but I was excited. Dying hair was a soothing process. It was something about lathering it into the strands and watching them change color.
