WHEN I COME downstairs in the morning, Hawk is sitting at the breakfast table drinking a cup of coffee, with Dutch stretched out at his feet. My uncle looks like he’s been awake all night.
I pour myself a cup and sit across from him. “Did you get any sleep?”
Hawk shakes his head. “Not yet. It took a while to bail out the boys, and then they wanted to give me a minute-by-minute recap. But old men like me don’t need much sleep.”
Dutch howls as if he agrees.
“Don’t let Mom hear you say that. You’re only two years older than her,” I remind him. “Are the boys okay? Getting arrested couldn’t have been much fun.”
“I don’t know about that. Christian was excited to cross it off his bucket list. And your friend Grace waited at the police station until Cameron was released, and he seemed real happy about it.”
The cops had probably still been taking my statement. It felt like I was answering their questions for hours.
“I think Grace was waiting for Christian. She’s had a crush on him for a long time.”
Hawk considers it for a moment. “She might be over Christian.”
“Why would you say that?” I ask.
“Well she was kissing Cameron in the parking lot.”
“Are you sure?”
He nods. “Positive.”
Hawk leans back in his chair and rubs the scruff on his chin. “The boys filled me in after I bailed them out. They said your ex-boyfriend was arrested for drug possession.”
“Yep.” I take a sip of coffee. “He’ll get kicked out of the MMA league.”
“I hope that makes it easier to put this behind you and exorcise that demon.”
“I think so, but I need your help to face another one.” I take a deep breath. “Will you tell me what happened to Dad the night he died?”
“I’ve been waiting for you to ask me that question for a year and a half. In my head, I’ve rehearsed what I’d tell you a hundred times. But now that you’re sitting in front of me, I can’t remember a word of it. How much do you want to know?”
“Everything.”
“All right.” Hawk stays quiet for a moment. This can’t be easy for him to talk about. “We were doing a BDA—a Battle Damage Assessment—in the basement of a hotel in Fallujah that had been firebombed. The insurgents were using the basement to house guns and supplies. An air strike had already leveled the area. It was a routine mission for us. That’s what we thought anyway.
“We went in as a five-man fire team. Your dad as team leader and sniper, Rudy as point man, Mad Dog on the radio, and Big John as our gunner.”
“Why weren’t you in the tunnel with them?” It’s the only reason my uncle is here to tell the story.
Hawk’s eyes cloud over and he clears his throat. “I was guardian angel that day. That’s what we call the team member assigned to overwatch.”
“What does that mean exactly?” I was used to listening to Dad talk shop with Hawk and other recon operators. On a good day, I understood about half of what they were saying. Force recon was such a tight-knit brotherhood that the men had developed their own shorthand for everything.
“My job was to find high ground and use optics to keep eyes on the area—watching for unfriendlies and anything out of the ordinary. I also manned the comms between our team and base. Mad Dog was on the radio giving me the rundown of what they were seeing, and then I relayed information to base. Mad Dog was on the radio with me when it happened.”
A knot forms in my throat. “What happened?”
“One minute everything was going according to plan. Then, out of nowhere, there was an explosion. The basement must’ve been rigged. The insurgents had buried Howitzer munitions under pressure plates in the floor. We’d seen that kind of thing before. When those bitches blew, they could take out a Humvee.”
“So Dad probably died right away?”
“In close quarters, with an explosion that big, I’d bet my life on it. Once the area was secured, I went in with the rescue squadron to recover—” Hawk looks at me.
“The bodies,” I finish for him. “It’s okay. You can say it.”
My uncle nods. “We had to dig them out of the rubble. Your dad had two things on him that weren’t Marine Corps–issued—a blue string tied around his wrist and a picture of you. The day we left for Iraq, your mom cut a piece of string in half, and she tied one half to your dad’s wrist and the other half to hers. She said the string would keep them connected. The string was something new, but that picture of you wasn’t. It was falling apart, because your dad carried it in his pocket on every mission. I’d like to think that in the end, he found peace knowing that he had a little bit of you with him.”
I think back to Tim O’Brien’s book and Miss Ives’ assignment. The soldiers in the novel carried tangible and intangible things—photos and pebbles, hope and fear. That’s when I realize what the picture of me really meant.
I’m the thing my dad carried.
I kept him grounded and got him through the rough times. The way he helped me in the tunnel.
A moment later, I hear footsteps on the stairs. Then the Twins wander into the kitchen.
Christian holds out his wrists for Hawk to see. “Check out the bruises from the handcuffs. I bet they’ll last until Monday.”
Hawk takes a sip of his coffee. “Most people wouldn’t be this happy about getting arrested.”
“I was helping Peyton. That’s all that matters, right?”
Cam makes a fist, and Christian taps his fist against his brother’s.
“Well, you might not be as happy about it once Coach gets ahold of you for walking off the field,” Hawk says.
“Are you saying we shouldn’t have left?” Christian asks.
“Of course you should’ve left. I’m just saying I don’t think Coach will see it that way.”
Cam opens the fridge and takes out a milk carton. “Christian is getting pretty good at push-ups.”
Christian balls up a kitchen towel and pelts Cam with it. “Shut it. No one asked you.”
Cameron raises the carton as if he’s about to do his usual. But then he stops, opens the cabinet, and takes out a glass.
Progress.
Christian walks over and squeezes my shoulder. “You okay?”
“I’m good.”
“Have you talked to your mom again?” Hawk asks. “She should only be a few hours away.”
“I called her from the police station.”
Hawk’s expression turns serious. “That boy is lucky I didn’t get my hands on him.”
“Don’t worry, Pop. We took care of it.” Christian pushes past Cam and rifles through the fridge. He takes out a carton of eggs and stares at them like they’re an alien food source.
I wait for Christian to ask me to make scrambled eggs. He looks over at me.
Here it comes.
“Go ahead, ask,” I tell him. After the Twins walked off the football field to come after me last night, I’ll cook them anything they want.
“I was just wondering if you’d … teach me how to make scrambled eggs,” he says sheepishly.
For a second, I’m not sure if I heard him correctly. But then I see the shocked expression on my uncle’s face.
“You want me to teach you how to make them?”
“Us,” Cam says. “I want to learn, too.”
“What happened to cooking is for chicks?” I’m not trying to give Christian a hard time. I’m actually curious.
“I changed my mind.” Christian takes out the bowl he’s seen me use. “I mean, you’re not staying here forever. Not that I want you to leave, but I figured I’d better learn ’cause Pop’s scrambled eggs suck.”
Hawk points at him. “Now you’d better learn how to cook those eggs, because I’m not making you breakfast anymore after that.”
I walk over to the counter and take the carton. “You’re going to need a fork, too.”
Christian tries to crack an egg into the bowl, and he ends up crushing it into his hand instead.
“Nice.” Cam laughs. “Try to get some in the bowl, bro.”
“You have to tap the egg against the edge of the bowl.” I demonstrate with another egg. “Like this.”
“Now you tell me.” Christian rinses his hands under the faucet. “That seems like the kinda thing you should’ve said at the beginning.”
Cam picks up an egg. “I’ll do the cracking.” He does a slightly better job and he manages to get most of the egg—along with all of the shell—into the bowl.
“See? It’s not as easy as it looks. You suck, too,” Christian says.
Cam wipes his hands on his sweats. “Cooking is trickier than it looks.”
I take another egg out of the carton and hand it to Cam. “Try again. If you can stop a two-hundred-pound guy from tackling you, then you can make scrambled eggs.”
I stand between the Twins, watching them compete to see who can get the least amount of eggshell in the bowl.
I’m going to miss them when I go back home.
They’re not who I thought they were when I arrived in Black Water. But I’m probably not the person they were expecting, either.
The doorbell rings, and Dutch howls. Hawk checks his watch. “Your mom couldn’t have made it here this fast.”
Cam wipes his hands on a dish towel. “Actually, it’s Grace. I invited her to come over. You know, after she waited for me—” He glances at Christian. “I mean us, last night.”
“We both know she wasn’t waiting for me.” Christian takes a fork and stirs the eggs in a circular motion instead of beating them.
Cameron jams his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants. “Are you cool with that?”
“It’s a little late to ask now. You already kissed her,” Christian says. “But it’s cool.”
“I heard about the kissing,” I call after Cam as he rushes to answer the door.
“One kiss,” he yells back.
Christian is still stirring the eggs like cake batter.
“You have to beat them.” I take the fork and show him, but Christian snatches it back and angles the bowl away from me.
“I’ve got this. You can start teaching again when we put the eggs in the pan.” He points the fork at me and accidentally flings raw egg across the kitchen. “Whoa. Like I said, this cooking thing is harder than it looks.”
Dutch howls again when Cam opens the front door.
I nudge Christian with my shoulder. “That was pretty cool of you.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. I knew Cameron and Grace were meant for each other the whole time.”
He’s lying, but I don’t call him on it. “You’d better be careful, Christian Carter. People might find out you’re a sweetheart.”
“Shh. Keep it down. Grace is here. That kind of talk would ruin my reputation.” He takes out a frying pan and a stick of butter. I try not to laugh when he drops the whole stick in the pan.
“How many eggs are you planning to make, exactly?” I ask.
“What? Too much?” Christian reaches for the hunk of butter in the center of the pan.
“Don’t touch—”
He touches the butter—and the pan—and yanks his arm away. “Damn. That’s hot!”
“Come here.” I turn on the faucet and blast the cold water. “Put your hand under. Maybe we should start with something easier than scrambled eggs.”
I catch a glimpse of Grace and Cam in the hallway. He whispers something in her ear, and she smiles at him. I’ve never seen him look so relaxed. And happy. I wish Owen was here, too. But he’s talking things out with his mom.
“Hi, y’all,” Grace says as she walks into the kitchen. Cameron is next to her, with one of his fingers looped around one of hers. She looks nervous.
“Want some coffee?” I ask.
She yawns. “I could drink a whole pot.”
Christian looks over, and Grace lets go of Cameron’s finger. She wraps her arms around herself and walks toward the counter tentatively.
My uncle gets up from the table. “I’ll be right back. I’m gonna call and check on Sissy.”
Grace waits for Hawk to leave and turns to Christian. “I just…” She hesitates. “I just wanted to make sure that you’re okay with me and Cam.” She looks over at Cameron, who’s smiling at her.
I wait for Christian to laugh it off or make a joke. Instead, he gives her his sad puppy face. “I’m not saying it’s easy to see you with someone. But if you and Cameron are happy together, that’s what counts. So I’m good with it.”
Christian winks at me.
“Thanks.” Grace beams with pride and walks back over to Cam.
Christian says, “Let’s get back to the eggs. Exactly how much butter are we talking about?”
Just when I think I have things all figured out, life throws me for a loop.