A gas station bathroom was hardly ideal for changing, but it would do. It was better than having worn even half his dress blues for the visit with his father. His father didn’t deserve the respect. Not to mention he’d have found himself having to scrub phlegm from his pants. He could hear the lecture already, just at the thought.
Once he was changed, except for the coat which he’d slip on last, Jon gathered his things and headed back to the truck. He had to use GPS to guide him, because he hadn’t been to Misty Glades Cemetery since he was a boy, but it only took another twominutes to find. Then he was swinging into an old, hard-packed gravel lot that faced a field where now three of his relatives were buried, if his father was to be believed.
Jon leaned back in his seat and stared out at the field of mostly low and flat markers. This wasn’t the kind of place people tended to erect crypts or spend fortunes on people-sized tombstones. There was a larger cemetery outside town with those things. This was the one the locals preferred, the place where those with Misty Glades in their souls were quietly laid to rest. It’s where his grandfather would have been buried, for certain. That was why he’d planned on visiting after hunting down his parents—his father. He just hadn’t expected….
Doesn’t matter now.
Jon hopped from the truck, pulled open the rear door, and slipped on his dress coat. Once his uniform was complete, buttoned and blemish-free, Jon gathered the few items he’d picked up before leaving the city—and the letter he still needed to read—and locked the truck. While he didn’t plan to stay for a length of time, he also didn’t plan to rush himself.
He hadn’t had the opportunity to attend his grandfather’s funeral. He hadn’t asked for it, because he’d known his grandfather wouldn’t have wanted him to make that sacrifice. Instead, he’d fought through tears for a couple of humiliating but ultimately character-building days, and he’d pressed forward. His grandfather was the only one in the family who’d fully supported his goal. So, Jon would do the man the honor of attending his gravesite for the first time the way he would have attended his funeral. It was fitting, anyway, as his grandfather had also been his inspiration.
Jon angled straight for the building set off to the side of the cemetery. It was midday, so he hoped that meant he’d find someone who could direct him down the right lane.
An older man sat behind the desk, watching something with the volume cranked high on his tablet.
Jon stepped up across from him, waited for a break in the noise, and roughly cleared his throat. “Excuse me.”
The man startled, head snapping up, and his eyes blew wide. “Oh!” He tapped hurriedly at his screen, the other hand fumbling out of sight on the countertop, before finally slipping what had to be hearing aids into his ears. “Sorry about that,” he finally said with a chuckle. “These things are on the fritz, so I try not to use ‘em too much.” His gaze lingered over Jon’s left breast and the assortment of colors and medals displayed on his coat. “Can’t say we get many men like you out this way. You here for Miles?”
Miles.Jon held the immediate response in check. How long had it been since he’d heard his grandfather’s name? He was always just “grandpa” or “grandfather” in Jon’s mind. “Is the family together?”
The old man bobbed his head. “Oh, yeah. Miles reserved his spot after he lost the Missus, you know? And when his daughter passed, well, seemed only right. Shame we don’t have anything of her boy to bury with ‘em, though.” He set a deeply creased paper on the upper level of the counter between them and unfolded it. “You can read maps, yeah?”
“Very well,” Jon said, still debating on whether or not he should offer his name. He ran his eyes over the map in offering even as the man pointed to a set of markers in the upper right quadrant.
“This is them.”
Jon nodded and straightened. “Thank you for your help.” He chose to keep his name to himself and took his leave. There was one other person on the grounds, and it was hard to tell if they were visiting a loved one or doing grounds work, but they froze and gawked as Jon passed. Jon dipped his chin but didn’t breakstride. He wasn’t there to be social, let alone reminisce with the living.
And then he found himself standing in front of a trio of grave markers. Two inset markers that matched visually, though the dates were years apart, and one short, rough tombstone to the side. His chest constricted. His mother had passed not five years after her father. Had she been sick?
That would be something to investigate, later.
Jon adjusted his small armload slightly, centered himself in front of his grandfather’s grave, and locked his eyes on the name as he offered a salute. It was far from a formal service, but it was what he could do. He held for the length of time it would take to shoot and reload twenty-one times, then moved forward. “I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to say goodbye, Grandpa,” he said quietly as he set the small bouquet between his grandfather’s and mother’s graves. He made sure to position the flag that he’d added to the bouquet on his grandfather’s side.
The letter he’d already forgotten about nearly toppled to the ground before he caught it, and he straightened. It wouldn’t do to actually kneel on the lawn in his dress blues.
“I’m home sooner than I planned, sooner than I wanted to be, but I hope I did you proud.” His throat threatened to constrict and Jon pulled in a breath. “Someday, when I get where you are, it’ll be my turn to tell wild stories.” He let his lips lift, finding genuine amusement building in his chest. “I beat your time in service by double, you old devil.”
He tipped his head back and stared up at the sky, letting himself stand in silence for a moment.
“Remember, Jon,” his grandfather said, suddenly stern again. “If you aren’t completely sure about moving forward when it comes time to sign your second contract, get out. You don’t do anyone any favors digging your heels in just to spite someone else.”
It had been one of several pieces of good advice, from one of several conversations they’d had about Jon’s dream of following in his grandfather’s footsteps and joining the Marines. Over the years, Jon had heard himself repeating his grandfather’s words of wisdom to younger recruits, and it had never failed to fill him with pride to see those younger Marines take the words to heart.
Jon released a slow breath and ran his thumb over the envelope still in his hand. Maybe, somewhere out there, one of those Marines was still forwarding on the pieces of legacy Jon had shared with them. Maybe not. But Jon’s time to do so was done. It was a blow.
For a strange moment, he wasn’t sure if he was grieving the grandfather he’d lost years earlier or his own identity. Perhaps the separation wasn’t as clear as he’d thought.
Awareness tickled down his spine and Jon tensed. He was being watched. It was the exact same sensation as realizing he was in the enemy’s crosshairs.
He closed his eyes, embracing the scene for the opportunity to expand his sensory awareness. It was late April and there was more than enough moisture all around, he didn’t even have to depend on the weird sources.
There was the individual he’d passed before, definitely a mourner and definitely not watching him.
There was the old man who’d apparently known his grandfather, fixated once again on his device. From the way his blood flowed, his hearing wasn’t the only thing that was shot, but Jon had learned long ago not to overreact on knowledge he shouldn’t have.
Beyond them, there was no one nearby. An outward radial sweep identified creatures—birds, squirrels, a couple of deer, what might have been a stray dog—but no people where there shouldn’t have been people. No snipers in trees or crouched beneath bushes. No shifters thinking they could hide in animalform because, it turned out, their blood flowed just a bit differently.
