Only my mother, Margaret, and my younger brother, Caleb, watching me too closely.
\u201cWhere is my son?\u201d I asked.
\u201cHe survived,\u201d Mother replied. \u201cBarely. Emily was careless.\u201d
Caleb leaned against the fireplace, holding a glass of whiskey.
\u201cShe always made everything dramatic,\u201d he said.
My hands shook as I reached for Emily.
I had spent eleven months in dangerous places, trained to notice the smallest details others missed.
And everything in that room felt staged.
Emily\u2019s right hand was clenched against her hip.
\u201cWhat is she holding?\u201d I asked.
Mother\u2019s face changed.
It lasted less than a second.
But I saw it.
\u201cNothing,\u201d she said sharply. \u201cLeave her dignity intact.\u201d
I bent closer to the casket.
Mother grabbed my arm.
\u201cDaniel, stop.\u201d
I looked at her hand on my sleeve.
Then into her eyes.
\u201cTake your hand off me.\u201d
She obeyed.
Emily\u2019s fingers were tight, but not impossible to move.
Beneath her nails were small crescent marks, as though she had fought to keep her fist closed.
I gently loosened her thumb.
A small black memory card slid into my palm.
Mother went pale.
Caleb\u2019s glass stopped halfway to his mouth.
\u201cWhat is that?\u201d he demanded.
I closed my fist around it.
\u201cYou tell me.\u201d
Mother recovered first.
\u201cProbably something from her phone,\u201d she said. \u201cShe recorded everything. P.r.e.g.n.a.n.c.y made her anxious.\u201d
Upstairs, the baby cried again.
I straightened and forced my face to stay calm.
Anger was useful only when controlled.
Before deployment, I had transferred the house into a military family trust that only I could authorize.<\/p>\n