I know he means well. I know he’s just trying to help, but I can’t even think about going anywhere right now. Especially not anywhere that will remind me of what I’ve lost. My dad. Though all that was left in my heart when enemy forces chose him to be the one to die, to never come home. I know Brandon has friends he thinks will help. I know he’s been through trauma himself, but I’m just not ready. I just don’t see how any of this is going down me. Not right now. Not for the foreseeable future. I’m still too vulnerable.

I follow him into the house, listening halfheartedly as he tells about some of the cases that Riley and his brother Brynn won in favor of mistreated veterans. A lot of cases of malpractice. Surgeries and rehabilitation treatments gone bad. Technology and assistive devices failing catastrophically to function, or failing to deliver on their purported benefits. These make up the majority of the cases. But there are a few against higher-ups in certain platoons. Some cases where the subordinates have sued their officers for lack of due diligence, or providing the necessary payments and services after returning from deployment.

Brandon speaks of all of these as if he’s speaking about Jesus or mother Mary. With reverence. Respect. Awe, as if the very idea that two people couldn’t have such a positive impact on the disadvantaged and the downtrodden is a miracle. And I suppose it is, given how ruthless and heartless most of this world can be.

Especially to those who sacrifice their lives and bodies for freedoms most people take for granted.

Still, though, I don’t really see what any of this has to do with me. Yes, I lost my father to combat. Yes, I’m suffering horrible trauma because of it, but I’m not eligible for half of these services. And my “trauma” is probably nothing compared to what these actual soldiers and fighters and medics have gone through. I’ve never been on the actual battlefield. Just grown to hate it, now that it stole my daddy from me.

Finally, Brandon turns to me. He must finally realize I’m not really listening. After all, the response I’ve given to all of his stories is just a paltry, “That’s great that you’re a part of this. You’re really lucky to be a part of something so positive and dependable.” I mean it to sound genuine, but I’m too consumed with my own issues to be authentic. As respectful and open as I want to be. As I was, before he brought up traveling. Facing my demons. Facing the loss of my father head on.

Brandon walks toward me, saying, “I know this is a lot for you to take in,” he whispers, cradling my face in his hands. They’re still chilled from the time outdoors.

“I just don’t know what this has to do with me,” I say, afraid of my honesty. “Why any of this matters to me.”

“You could be very valuable to the charity. Very helpful to Harlow’s mission.”

I scrunch my eyebrows at him, really confused. “Me? Helpful?” I back out of the hold he as on my cheeks. “How? Why?”

Brandon shrugs. “Who knows? You could start a related chapter to the organization. The charity. Maybe something for the children and spouses of fallen soldiers, you know? People like you. People have been through the worst day of their life, having received the worst news on the face of the earth.” He pauses, drinking in my gaze. A gaze I really don’t want to give him very much right now. “There is a way through your pain. And that way is to transmute it into something helpful. Something useful to others, and useful to you. Not just as something to haunt and terrorize.” He takes my face back in his hands, kissing me on my forehead, then my nose and cheeks. “That’s just one way you could be of help and service, Juliet.” He runs his fingers through my hair again, letting them come to rest gently around my neck. “But I’ve talked your ear off enough as it is. I’ve given you enough to think about.” With a final kiss to the top of my head, he moves away and back toward the door. Toward the porch light he’s left on. “I’m gonna go bring the firewood in.” He heads out the door, adding, “then I’m gonna get something started in the hearth for us and then maybe whip up some tacos, if you’re up for it.”

I nod, still terrified by the idea of flying. I’m going anywhere except to my dad’s funeral, which I don’t want to go to anyway. I don’t even remember when it’s supposed to be.

That’s part of what I tried to forget by coming up this way. Part of what I tried to pretend didn’t exist by cliff gazing the way I was yesterday when we first met.

“Sure,” is all I say.

But it’s too late for him to hear. He’s already gone out side to collect the wood and bring it in and before there’s no tendrils of light left. Already, they’re hard to come by.

I can see why he didn’t want to leave this mountain, I think, staring out into the dreary twilight. The idea of going back into “normal” society — even for help and friendship or solidarity or whatever — that’s too much. That’s too scary. I rub my arms, suddenly feeling cold. Though it’s not from the fact that I’m still just in my bra. It’s from the idea that I may someday have to face real days and nights without dad ever coming back. Without him ever coming through that door. And I don’t want to deal with that.

I want to ignore that, for as long as possible.

I can see why he would stay up here. It’s easy to get stuck, once you put down roots.