Chapter Eleven
The smell of jet fuel in the air was pungent, a contrast to the cool refreshing breeze blowing across the tarmac. Trevor stood just inside the doorway of the cavernous hangar, watching as the enormous military cargo plane rolled to a smooth halt. Air Force ground personnel ran to chock the wheels as the whine of the engines slowly died away.
“They’ll be bringing him out in a minute, once the crew does their post-flight checks.” Staff Sergeant Meyer’s—Julian’s—voice was soft at Trevor’s shoulder, and Trevor nodded, watching as the carry team lined up at the rear of the plane, stiffly at attention, white-gloved hands at their sides. They saluted when the cargo bay door started to lower, as did Julian. When the ramp was at last down and locked into place, the team turned to slow-march up into the depths of the plane.
Trevor took deep breaths, in and out, his body cold and trembling. The trembling turned to shaking when the team of six appeared again, three on each side of a cart which held a large square box. They wheeled it smoothly down the ramp to begin the measured journey from the plane to the hangar, where Trevor and Julian waited with a representative of the local funeral home and his shiny black hearse.
Carl wasn’t there, and Trevor shoved away the memory of the hurt on his face when Trevor told him he wanted to go meet Riley at the Air Force base alone.
He hadn’t argued further, and now Trevor wished he’d let him come, wished he had his solid warmth to lean on as he watched the plain box carrying what was left of his son approach. They were close enough now Trevor could hear the rattling of the wheels on the tarmac, and he locked his shaky knees and pressed his lips together. No, it was better this way. Trevor was barely holding on, and any attempt at comfort from Carl would send him splintering apart again. Julian at his side was just what he needed—a kind, supportive presence, but his crisp professional detachment was the glue that welded Trevor’s emotional cracks together and enabled him to do this.
The cart was brought to a stop at the rear of the hearse, wheels locked, and the pallbearers took a step back, rendering another salute. A uniformed man following the procession stepped up to Trevor.
“My name is Staff Sergeant Brian Valle, and it was my honor to escort PFC Estes home.” He handed Trevor a red velvet drawstring bag. “These are his personal effects, and they have not been out of my sight since I took possession of them.”
Trevor clutched the bag to him, tears rushing to his eyes. He wanted more than anything to rip it open and go through it, but he needed to be completely alone for that. The bag was heavy, and it clinked as Trevor tightened his hand on it.
“Thank you,” he managed.
Staff Sergeant Valle nodded, moving to the transfer case. He slid a box cutter out of his pocket and cut the plastic zip ties around it before easing the wooden panels away, which revealed a shiny brown casket inside. A folded, shrink-wrapped flag was attached to the top, and Valle carefully took the plastic wrap off. As he did, the team stepped forward as one to take hold of the flag along all sides, draping it gently over the full length of the casket before grasping the three handles on each side and sliding the casket from the cart into the hearse. The dignity and ritual of it all was vastly comforting to Trevor, and he squared his shoulders, his tenuous control back in place.
Valle spoke again. “Mr. Estes, I’ll accompany Riley to the funeral home, and ensure that all is in order before you arrive.”
At Trevor’s nod, he climbed in the passenger seat of the hearse, and the funeral home rep backed slowly out of the hangar and drove away. Julian touched Trevor’s elbow, leading him to the government car he’d picked Trevor up in that morning.
“What does he mean, make sure everything is in order?” Trevor asked, the red bag resting heavily on his lap. Julian glanced at him as he navigated the car through the streets of the Air Force base and out the main gate.
“He’ll check to make sure Riley’s uniform is in place, that nothing shifted during the flight, and he’ll arrange for touch-ups if needed before he’s viewed.”
Throughout the last few weeks, during this whole long, exhausting, painful process, Trevor had come to rely on Julian’s forthright honesty with him, his refusal to sugarcoat anything, which served to both comfort Trevor and bolster him up.
“Okay.” He caressed the velvet bag, tracing the lumps inside with his fingertips. “I haven’t decided yet if I can—if I can see him, Julian.”
Julian nodded but didn’t reply, and Trevor appreciated his silence, especially since he’d gone round and round with Carl on the matter.
“The mortuary team said he’s able to be viewed, Trev. I think you need to, for closure.”
“I don’t know if that’s what I want my last memory to be of him, Carl, as some—some silent wax doll lying in a casket dressed in an Army costume.” Trevor caught his breath on a sob. “Instead of the vibrant, living, breathing young man I hugged goodbye that day...”
“But closure, Trevor—”
“Fuck closure,” Trevor snarled. “There will never be closure.”
Carl took Trevor’s hand. “There will be, I promise. And time will heal. I promise that, too.”
Trevor looked Carl in the eyes. “Really, you ‘promise’? How many sons have you lost in combat, Carl? How many?”
Trevor flinched as he remembered how Carl’s face had crumpled. He was trying, and deep down inside Trevor knew that and loved him for it. There just wasn’t much left over for anything but keeping himself upright, and even that was taking every ounce of his strength.
They pulled up in front of the funeral home, and Julian disappeared in the direction of the viewing room to check on things. When he came back, his eyes were dark with emotion for a fallen brother.
“They did a wonderful job with him, Trevor,” he murmured, putting his hand on Trevor’s shoulder. “His injuries aren’t visible, and I feel more than comfortable letting you view him.”
Trevor hovered in the doorway of the room. The pot lights were turned down low, and the smell of flowers was strong. The casket was set up on a bier, the lid above Riley’s head lifted, lower half still down. All Trevor could see from where he was standing was the brim of his dress cover, the impression of a nose—
The world wobbled, and Julian took his elbow to steady him. “Let’s go sit down in here,” he said, leading Trevor toward an empty conference room.
Trevor collapsed down in a wide leather chair. “I’m sorry.” Julian knelt down next to him.
“Nothing to be sorry for.” His voice was gentle. “Take all the time you need, Trevor. I’ll be just outside the door.”
Trevor gave a jerky nod, and Julian stood, poured him a glass of ice water from the pitcher on the credenza and left him alone. Trevor clenched his hands in his lap, the urge to run and see Riley one more time warring with the need to protect himself. He understood Carl’s concerns, that if he didn’t look at Riley in his casket, there might be some part of him that wouldn’t accept his death was real and he’d end up living with a lifetime of regret.
But Trevor knew it was real. He knew Riley was dead. That bitter knowledge burned in his heart and shredded his insides. The first night, when he’d huddled in Carl’s arms in their bed, worn out from weeping, Trevor had fallen into a fitful sleep.
A boisterous crowd, waving homecoming signs, a plane coming to a stop and uniformed men streaming down the stairs to stride across the tarmac toward the loved ones waiting for them. Cheers and happy cries rang out all around him as Trevor searched frantically for Riley.
He saw him at last hovering at the top of the stairs near the open door of the plane. “Riley!”
Trevor called to him over and over, beckoning to him, but Riley didn’t move. At last Trevor ran toward the plane, still shouting Riley’s name. By the time he got there, the stairs had turned shimmery, insubstantial, and Trevor couldn’t climb them.
“Riles?”
“Dad, I can’t stay. You know that, right?”
Trevor grasped at the railing but it dissolved beneath his hands. Riley smiled at him, a beautiful happy smile, his green eyes clear and warm. “I can’t stay with you,” he repeated. “But I love you, Dad.” He faded back into the depths of the plane, and Trevor stood helplessly, unable to do anything but watch it take off again and disappear into the distance.
The memory of the dream was raw, painful, and Trevor sucked in a shaky breath, the low buzz of the fluorescent lights overhead making his head hurt. In a very real way he’d said his goodbyes to Riley in that dream, so the viewing and service and everything that was about to happen was for everyone else’s benefit, not his.
Trevor scrubbed his hands over his face, and as he did, the bag on his lap shifted and almost fell to the floor. He caught it just in time and laid it flat, smoothing it with his hands and tracing over the lumps within.
Riley’s personal effects, the things he actually had on him when he died. The rest of his belongings would arrive later, Trevor’d been told...the contents of his foot locker, anything remaining in his barracks. But these—these were among the last things Riley touched, things that were with him when he took his final breath.
With shaking fingers, Trevor finally undid the drawstring and reached inside. The first item he pulled out was Riley’s chunky black military-style watch. The band was meticulously clean, no trace of blood or dirt on it, although the face itself was scratched and pitted. It was still ticking away, set to Afghanistan time ten hours ahead.
Trevor laid it gently on the table in front of him and slid his hand into the bag again. This time he drew out Riley’s wallet, the brown leather worn and with a slight curve from years of resting in his back pocket. Aunt Marilyn had given it to Riley for his sixteenth birthday, a few months before she passed away from lung cancer.
It was a wallet designed more for a child, smallish, thin, with a bucking horse embossed on it, but Riley had seemed to cherish it, and seeing that he still used it all these years later in honor of his beloved great-aunt’s memory brought a fresh rush of tears to Trevor’s eyes.
The velvet bag gave a quiet clink as he reached for the last remaining item, and Trevor lost the battle with his emotions as he withdrew Riley’s dog tags, remembering the last time he’d touched them, how warm they’d felt after resting next to Riley’s skin.
“I never knew your blood type was B positive.” Trevor stared down at the dog tags in his palm before closing his fingers around them to give them a gentle tug, laughing when Riley made a pretend choking sound as the chain tightened around his neck. Trevor let go of the tags, allowing them to fall back against Riley’s chest before pressing his hand over them, feeling the strength of his son’s beating heart. “You look like a real soldier wearing these.”
Riley grinned at him, young, healthy and glowing with vitality. “I feel like one,” he said, bringing his hand up to lightly cover Trevor’s. “Hey. I know you’re worried about this deployment, Dad, but I’m well-trained, armed to the teeth, and I’ve got my best friends in the world by my side. It’s going to be all right.”
Trevor gripped the tags, feeling the edges cutting into his palm. They weren’t warm anymore, like they’d been that day, but cold and lifeless...just like Riley. Just like his son in the next room, his precious only son lying in a casket at twenty years old, never to laugh again, or tease, or love—
He brought his clenched fist to his mouth, doing his best to hold back the sobs. He’d managed it, just barely, when the door to the conference room opened, and Carl leaned in.
“Wanted to let you know I’m here now, honey,” he said quietly. “If you need me, I won’t be far away.”
Trevor gave him a jerky nod, waiting until he closed the door again before picking up the velvet bag, intending to put all Riley’s things back. As he did, he heard a slight crackle in the bottom of it. There was more? He dug around, at last pulling out a small envelope he hadn’t noticed before, the flap folded in on itself but not sealed. Scrawled in the address field was a handwritten date, 5/23/08, and the notation: PFC Estes. Found inside helmet.
Trevor opened the envelope, gasping as he pulled out a slightly crumpled picture of he and Riley on the Fort Carson parade field, arms around each other, smiles bright. He’d forgotten all about this, about the base photographer going around the field that day taking pictures of each family so they’d have a goodbye keepsake. It must have been emailed to Riley, and he’d printed it out somewhere and stuck the picture in his helmet. Why? So Trevor would be the last thing he saw when he went out on patrol?
It didn’t matter why. As Trevor gazed on Riley’s smiling face, and his own, it hit him, that this was the only memory he wanted imprinted on his mind and heart. Not of Riley’s shell, lying cold and lifeless in a box, but of Riley himself, tall and lean, a grown man, standing by Trevor’s side, preparing to go serve his country with honor and distinction.
Trevor carefully slipped all Riley’s personal effects inside the bag, a fragile sense of peace settling over him as this most agonizing, difficult decision was made at last.