After we finally found a parking space on a shady street a few blocks from Joe’s apartment, Naomi asked, "So have you stayed in touch with Joe?" The wind rustled her long, dark hair, and she pulled it back into a ponytail as she joined me on the sidewalk.

"Not really." In fact, Joe had sounded confused at first when I called and said, hey, it’s Rob. I’d had to clarify Delaney before Joe's voice turned warm. I had felt embarrassed, then a rush of misplaced anger. It was my fault, really; I hadn't called in years. I shrugged. "But I'll be glad to see him."

"He was always such a nice guy,” she mused as we walked back towards the apartment building we’d had to pass earlier, circling the block for a parking space. “Everything was so serious at your house. All those big parties and grown-up events, fancy clothes and best behavior. It was kind of a scary place when I was little. He would see my face and wink, and it would all seem fine."

"Yeah, tell me about it." It had been a scary place to grow up at times. Mitch had made it seem like we boys were always one screw-up away from shaming the family. Funny how that had turned out.

Joe had let us Delaney boys tag along with him to the hardware store or the gun shop, as if taking on four troublesome boys on top of the troublesome senior Delaney was all part of the job description. He’d planted the seeds for my future life. He taught me how to disassemble a gun, rewarded me for memorizing the gun safety rules with my first trip to the range, and taught me to use a drill and hammer as we helped him build the family safe room.

Now that I thought about that, my childhood seemed especially fucked up.

We turned a corner, and I saw Joe sitting on the steps of a tan apartment building, reading a paperback novel. As he rose unsteadily to his feet, his hand trembling on the railing of the stairs, I felt a shock at how much Joe had aged. Joe was still tall, even more slender than before, his beard and hair silvery-gray now in contrast with his deep brown skin.

"It's so good to see you again, Rob," Joe said warmly. He hugged me tightly with one arm, clapping my back. "You too, Naomi. You still keeping this boy out of trouble?"

Naomi smiled, but her discomfort was evident in the stiffness of her shoulders and that attempt at a smile. I could imagine Naomi always trying to keep me out of trouble of some kind, whether it was giving me dirty looks over an unnecessarily attentive blonde at Abby's or rolling my socks into balls to pack for deployment. It was a fantasy that I liked.

"I remember a Christmas party when you were both very little,” Joe said as he turned to pull Naomi into a hug. “Rob kept trying to unwrap the presents under the tree, and you kept telling him, no, no, those aren't for you!"

"That's something I'm sure I'd heard from my own mom," Naomi said with a smile. "Poor Rob. They really were for him."

"Nah, they were just wrapped boxes. To look cute under the tree." Joe said.

"I was never the one on the Honor Roll," I said.

"Come on up,” Joe said. We walked behind him as he shuffled up, leaning heavily on his cane.

“You doing okay?” I asked. “The VA taking care of you?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine. Bad luck. Would you believe I was hit by a drunk driver a few years ago? After I retired?”

Drunk drivers. The words always made me feel a pang.

Joe led us into his apartment, holding the apartment door open. His living room was small but immaculate, with framed Marine Corps movie posters decorating the walls. "Can I get you something to drink?"

"I wouldn't mind a beer, if you have one," I said. "Need something to calm my nerves after having this one drive me in the city."

"I thought SEALs had implacable nerves," Naomi retorted.

"Your driving would make the Lord himself fear for his life."

Joe gestured to the tan leather couch and then went on to the galley kitchen at the other end of the room. "For a second, I forgot you're both old enough to drink. You still look so young."

"I wish I felt young," I said, settling back into the couch.

"Corona good for you? For you, Naomi?"

"Just water for me, please."

Joe returned with two beers and a glass of iced water.

"Do you not drink?" I asked her.

"That's a blunt question," she said.

"I didn't realize it would offend you. After all, you're the queen of blunt."

"I drink on occasion," she said. "But I don't drink when I'm on chauffeur duty."

Joe settled into the armchair. "Like you said, Rob, she's always been the smart one out of you two."

"I don't think I said exactly that. Anyway, I don’t drive after having a drink either." Despite having the muscle mass to metabolize alcohol in a hurry. After Mitch flipped the Audi, I hadn't been afraid to drink, but not if I had to drive. I promised my life to stand between Americans and the evil in the world. Imagining my car as a high speed projectile, made into something evil itself, made my pulse rise.

I nudged Naomi, who still stood beside the couch. "Are you going to sit? Rest up for another harrowing trip when we leave Boston? I've been on rides through Afghanistan where the driver seemed less tense."

Naomi glanced at me, her face neutral but her posture stiff, and wandered across the living room to look at the movie posters.

"I want to hear all about this Navy nonsense," Joe said. "I thought you were going to be a Marine."

"The Marine recruiter was closed the day I turned eighteen," I said.

"You always were impulsive. Too bad." Joe reached out to clap me on the shoulder. "I'm proud of you anyway."

"Thanks," I said. My tone was light. As if those words didn’t run into a deep, aching well that my father had dug into my soul.

Joe settled back into his armchair with an exhausted sigh. "You see your dad lately?"

"Haven't had the chance yet."

"You know he lives just at the other end of the city."

"Yeah, I'll go for a visit." I jerked my thumb at Naomi, who was strangely intent on a poster of The Sands of Iwa Jima . "Can't keep her away from her cats too long, but we're going to have breakfast with him tomorrow morning before we head back."

"Oh, god, not more about the cats," Naomi said.

"I know, can't some things be sacred?"

Joe’s eyes swiveled back and forth between Naomi and me, then returned to mine. There was a knowing flash in his eyes, but all he said was, "What did your dad think about you joining the Navy?"

"He thinks I'm crazy. I imagine that's what most of Newport thought, though."

"That's not what most people think," Naomi said. "They think you're setting yourself up for a political career. Future President Delaney."

"Oh, really?" I briefly imagined myself as President, everything a negotiation, the stakes always high. It sounded like a big pain in the ass. "I don't think that's for me."

"Best news I've heard all day." Naomi deadpanned without turning around.

Her jeans hugged the curve of her ass and muscular thighs and calves, even though she wore a baggy t-shirt like she wanted to hide. The t-shirt, and the rise of attraction I felt anyway, made me think of when she joined the swim team. She’d worn this high-necked green swimsuit, and she kept tugging absently at the straps. But once she started swimming, she was all grace. Athletic glutes and calves, and a narrow waist, had made her curvy in her own way even though she was petite and flat-chested. She smiled as climbed out of the pool, her hair a sopping dark knot on top of her head. There were faint summer freckles still dotting her olive skin. I’d felt the comfortable sense of knowing Naomi flicker out. Something new bloomed in its place.

I wondered what she looked like in a swimsuit now. Out of one? No, she was right. Sex with Naomi would be a mistake.

Fun, but a mistake.

"Might I use your bathroom, please?" Naomi asked.

"Of course." Joe stretched out a finger towards the closed door visible down the short hallway. As soon as the bathroom door had clicked shut behind her, Joe leaned over towards me. "She have a boyfriend?"

"Nope."

"You have a girlfriend?"

"No time for a girlfriend."

Joe sat back, looking at me steadily.

"What?"

"You have time for anything you want to make time for," Joe said.

Leave it to Joe to allow for no excuses, even a high op tempo. "Then I guess it's just not a priority for me."

"Huh," Joe said thoughtfully.

"What?"

"Guess you haven't met the right girl yet."

"Guess I haven't." My voice came out quiet. I didn’t want Naomi to overhear.

"We can walk, you'll never find another parking space," Joe said as Naomi came back into the living room. He took his jacket down from a hook next to the front door and pulled his cane back out of the corner.

"Are you sure?" Naomi asked.

"I'm fine. A little slow on my feet, but as long as it's only my feet that are slow, I've got no worries." Joe smiled at Naomi. "I wouldn't ask you to get back behind the wheel of a car when you have to put up with Rob's backseat driving."

"I wish I could drive from the backseat," I said automatically. I wondered if something had happened that gave Joe that limp, or if it was just old age.

Joe’s eyes met mine. "I’m doing all right, kid. Just that car accident."

"Were you working?"

"Yeah. Forced me to retire, and that's not all bad. I’ve gotten to spend more time with my daughter since. Barely saw her when she was growing up.”

“Your daughter?” Naomi glanced at me. Nope. I had not known that the most important adult figure in my life had a kid of his own.

“Roslyn. She’s in grad school at Boston College.” Joe paused in the doorway, opening his cell phone to a screen saver of a young woman with short, curly hair framing a heart-shaped face.

“She’s beautiful,” I said.

“Thanks,” Joe said, grinning. “Makes me antsy when a Delaney says my girl’s pretty, though.”

The flash of hurt that ripped through my heart at that was one that I pushed away, and I grinned easily. “I’m too busy romancing Naomi over here, don’t worry.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Joe said. “Not about your father and the wreck.”

I nodded, not interested in discussing it, and then Naomi said mildly, “I thought we were just friends.”

I could’ve kissed her for rescuing me from that topic. “Of course. It’s just that you could so obviously use some romancing.”

“Give Mitch my best when you see him,” Joe said, slowly making his way out the door.

“Even after what he did to you?” I asked. The image of Joe carrying his bag down the driveway to his truck, because he wouldn’t lie for my prick of a father, was burned into my memory.

“I don’t care about him,” Joe said. “I care about you boys. You deserve to see the good in him, to remember the good times.”

I shrugged.

Joe said, "Your father isn’t all bad, Rob. He was running on instinct that day. Trying to preserve his legacy after. It has nothing to do with you. I couldn't be more impressed with how you boys turned out."

It was better than I had hoped for when I'd turned off the television in the rec room ten years before and turned to face my brothers. Liam, never one to shy away from a fight, had stared back. Josh had his freckled face propped up on his hand, looking bored, but his dark blue eyes were intent. And then Nick, still in middle school, had stared up at the ceiling, blinking hard.

"Listen," I had said, "Dad fucked up. It's got nothing to do with us, you hear me? We can be better men than him." We’d just listened to a newscaster call our dad a spoiled playboy murderer. We could serve our country; we could do something different.

At the time, they absorbed my pep talk without reacting. I went into the Navy. And then, one after another, my brothers graduated high school and enlisted. I felt more responsible for them now than when we were kids who lived in the same house.

I was pretty impressed with how we'd all turned out, too.