Prologue
~Hammer~
The clouds float above as the sun shines brightly on an already awesome day. Today, I made the cut. At fourteen years old, I’m the only freshman to make the varsity football team. Tossing the ball in the backyard with my dad as the light shines down on us both only adds to the euphoria of the day. It is a good day, and I’m glad my dad is here to share it with me since he is gone so often.
“Ethan, son, there may come a time when I won’t be here.”
He begins the same speech we have had multiple times over the years. It takes everything I have to stop myself from rolling my eyes. I try to take him seriously, but come on. He’s my dad; he isn’t going anywhere.
When I was little, I told him that he was stronger than a superhero when he wears his camouflage uniform. In a way, I still think he’s indestructible. He would not have come this far in his military career if he didn’t know what he was doing.
He continues on, unaware of the fact that I started to tune him out. The same sentence I have heard time and time again plays on from him.
“If something happens to me, you’ll have to be the man of the house. Always be there for your mom and take care of your brother.”
These are so not the things I want to think about. Wanting my dad’s approval, though, I immediately give him my word.
“You can count on me, sir.” My reply is full of pride and laced in the naivety of a teen boy without a single care in the world.
For a second, though, I pause before throwing the football back to him. The look on his face is worried in the way parents get when they think you aren’t doing chores or homework.
“Just remember, son, actions speak louder than words.”
Man, my dad is a freaking worry wart. I know his concern comes from a place of love. He’s just trying to make sure my mom, brother, and I will be all right if something ever happens to him.
Spreading an easy grin across my face, I launch the ball back at my father. “No worries, old man. I’ve learned from the best.”
Half his mouth tilts up in a grin, and I know he got my message. He’s the one who has taught me everything there is to being a man, and as far as I’m concerned, my dad is the best man I will ever know.
Of course, nothing will actually happen to my dad until he is old and gray, so this conversation isn’t really necessary. Regardless, if it makes him feel better for me to agree to step in, fine, I will go along with it.
Of course, I know the only thing I really need to worry about happening is if my dad will be able to help me find a comfortable jock strap. No guy wants to feel like his nuts are being strangled when he is in the middle of a game.
~Three Years Later~
Senioritis is a real condition; just ask me. I certainly suffer from it. After barely passing last semester, I’m counting down the four months left until graduation. I spend half of my school day staring out the windows, thinking about what I am going to do when I am finally free of this school. To be honest, I spend the other half of the day watching the cheerleaders in their short, little skirts.
The intercom crackles in biology class, disrupting the discussion of herbivores, carnivores, and omnivores. Thank God for the distraction. Like any of us really care what animals eat. The only things I want to think about eating right now are lunch and Kelly, the head cheerleader.
“Mrs. Foster, please send Ethan McCoy to the office.”
Surprised at hearing my name, I gather my things as my mind goes over why I would be called to the office. The guys and I have not pulled a prank since we got caught plastic wrapping the toilets in the teachers’ lounge. Having detention for a month would make anyone wary of pulling anymore high jinks at school.
When I make my way through the office door, Ms. Sam, the school secretary, greets me with a somber tone and a sad face. That chick is always happy. As a result, I wonder what is wrong with her today.
She nods her head for me to walk into the principal’s office, and a slow sense of dread starts to build in my stomach. I have never felt like this before, so I don’t know what to make of it. This feeling is worse than the time I walked through that cemetery at night. Even worse than the time I watched my little brother crash into the curb with his bike, flip over the front of his handlebars, and give himself a concussion and a broken arm. Something tells me whatever is happening on the other side of the closed door is really bad.
Realizing that scares the shit out of me.
I take a deep breath before pushing the door open and entering Principal Dubois’ office where two men in Army class-A uniforms wait. I haven’t done anything wrong, and the recruiter came a while back, but I declined the opportunities once I signed my football scholarship acceptance.
“What’s going on?” I ask, stepping all the way into the room.
“We’re here to escort you home,” officer one simply replies. No emotion. No explanation.
“Escort me home?” I question as panic starts to build inside me.
My first thought is of my twelve-year-old brother who is in seventh grade at the middle school. I wonder if he’s getting the same call out of class. I have been taught since he was born to look out for my obnoxious, little brother, so I can only hope he will be okay if he gets pulled out of school, too.
Slightly panicked, I blurt out, “Is everything okay? Are we going to get my brother? Does he need to go home, too?”
They still show no emotion as the other guy answers in an almost robotic tone, “We can’t answer your questions, son. Just come along with us quickly and quietly, and we will take you to your mother.”
Holy shit, what have I done? This dude sounds serious as hell. However, as I think back over the last few months, I swear I don’t remember getting caught doing anything that would warrant this kind of trouble.
Hiking my book bag up on my shoulder before it has a chance to slip off, I give the soldiers a silent nod. My legs are shaking so badly they feel like spaghetti noodles. All I can think about is, if I get in trouble on the base, my dad is going to get in trouble, too. Then he will ground me for the rest of my life.
The next fifteen minutes—walking out of the school, getting in their car, and driving away—are a blur, my mind incapable of processing what could be happening. My thoughts race with a bunch of questions, but I fail to come up with any answers.
As we pull up to my house, I realize I need to wipe my palms off on my jeans because my hands are too sweaty to open the car door. I try to take a deep breath to calm down, but there doesn’t seem to be enough air. My chest feels like there is an elephant sitting on top of it. Why the hell can’t I breathe?
When I finally get out of the car, I still at the sound of my mother wailing from inside our home.
Uniformed Army men.
Mom crying.
Dad is away …
The revelation hits me harder than a tidal wave crashing onto a beach and eroding the shore. The world freezes around me. The sky, although blue, seemingly fades to gray.
Unable to hold my head up anymore, it drifts down until the brown grass beneath my feet comes into view. It is dead. It also is the only barrier between me and the realities I do not want to face just inside my front door.
My dad’s last command replays in my head. “Remember, start mowing in March. I don’t want housing to leave a chit for your mom while I’m gone. I’ll be home before you walk the stage, Ethan.” His last deployment, we received the piece of paper in reprimand, their ‘chit,’ informing us of our responsibilities of lawn care and the exact specifications required of us. Dad got one at his location, too. We do not want that to happen again.
The day after that conversation, my dad was gone before I left for school.
Training.
He is gone for a TDY—temporary duty. Not a deployment. Not a mission.
Training.
We spoke to him last night.
Now my mom is hysterical just inside our house while I stand in the yard with two soldiers. That can only mean one thing.
The brown grass isn’t the only thing that died.