Chapter 2 - The Funeral I Never Questioned
I had endured artillery fire without losing the ability to think.
Yet Walter's sentence sent every thought in my head crashing into another.
“That's impossible,” I told him.
Walter nodded as though he had expected the objection.
“I thought so too.”
My mother descended from the stage, her heels striking the wooden steps too quickly.
“This man is confused,” she said.
“Walter, you're old, and you've obviously mixed up your stories.”
He drew himself upright.
“I may be old, Judith, but I recognize the voice of a man I've known for thirty years.”
Uncle Dean stood.
“This has gone far enough.”
I turned toward him.
“Then tell me where Dad's death certificate is.”
Dean opened his mouth and closed it.
I remembered the morning my mother called the base and told me Dad had died.
I had asked to speak with the physician.
She said the doctor had already gone home.
I asked for the hospital name.
She told me not to turn grief into an interrogation.
When my leave was approved, I returned to a sealed coffin, a hurried service, and a stack of condolences with no details.
“Why wouldn't you let me see him?” I asked her now.
“Because he was dead,” she snapped.
“That's not an answer.”
Tyler rose from the banquet table.
“Your mother isn't required to prove anything to you.”
Ethan looked at him.
“A death certificate is not a personal insult, sir.”
Paula's phone was still recording.
I asked her to keep filming.
She hesitated, then lowered it into her lap.
Walter reached into his jacket and produced a folded copy of a letter.
The paper had been opened so many times its creases were nearly transparent.
“Daniel wrote this two weeks before he disappeared,” Walter said.
I read the first line.
If they claim I died, ask my daughter to examine the landing-zone coordinates.
My legs stayed steady because I ordered them to.
Every instinct screamed that the message was a trap.
The wording was my father's.
He had always called complicated problems puzzles that surrendered to careful coordinates.
At the bottom sat his familiar crooked signature.
Judith lunged for the paper.
I stepped backward before her fingers reached it.
“Give that to me,” she demanded.
“No.”
“You have no idea what you're holding.”
I looked her in the eyes.
“Then explain it.”
Her lips parted, but her answer never came.
A stranger in a gray suit moved through the side door and stood against the wall.
He was looking at the letter, not at the guests.
Walter noticed him too.
“Captain,” he murmured, “we need to get that outside.”
May you like
The stranger lifted his phone and photographed us.
