The car came down and his spine compressed and by the time the ambulance got there, the man who'd taught me to throw a punch and change a tire and never let anyone see me cry was broken in ways that couldn't be fixed.
I was in Fallujah when Mom called.
I didn't come home.
Icouldn'tcome home.
My unit was in the middle of an operation, people depending on me, and I told myself he'd understand.
Told myself I'd make it up to him. Told myself a lot of things that let me sleep at night.
Now I'm sitting across from what's left of my father, and all those things taste like ash in my mouth.
Mom brings coffee and cookies.
We talk about safe subjects.. The weather. The garden. Who married who and who divorced who while I was gone.
I wait for questions about what I saw over there.
They don't come.
Maybe they can read it on me. The places I can't go. The words that would shatter if I tried to speak them out loud.
Or maybe they're grateful I came home breathing, and they don't want to push their luck.
I let a silence settle, then steer the conversation toward the house.
"The roof looks new."
Mom and Dad exchange a glance.
Quick. The kind of look people share when they're deciding how much to say.
I was trained to notice what people try to hide.
"We got some help." Mom's voice goes light in a way that's supposed to sound casual. "A grant came through. Community pitched in. You know how people are around here."
No. I don't.
People in Ashford Falls are proud. Stubborn. They'd rather drown than take a hand. I learned that from my father, who once worked three jobs rather than accept charity from the church.
"What kind of grant?"
Another glance. Dad shifts in his chair, wincing at the movement.
"Does it matter?" Mom's brightness sounds brittle now, like glass about to crack. "Point is, we're fine. Better than fine. You don't need to worry about us, Liberty."
But worrying is exactly what I'm doing.
Something is wrong here. I can feel it the same way I could feel an ambush coming, that prickling certainty that the world was about to tilt sideways.
Before I can push, the front door bangs open.
A blonde tornado sweeps into the living room. "Libby!"
Gracie slams into me so hard she nearly knocks me off the couch.
She's laughing and crying at the same time, arms wrapped around me like she's trying to physically prevent me from leaving again.
