Page 55 of Signed, SEALed, Delivered

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Zach

"Jason, you got a minute?"

Growing up, I knew what my parents expected of me; try and do the right things, treat people fairly and bring out the good inside yourself. I also knew about honor, not just from my parents, but also from the military. Doing the right thing went beyond returning too much change given back to you at the checkout. It's one of the reasons I was standing with sweat running down my back, asking to speak with Kennedy's brother.

A few weeks ago, I was tattooing the name and picture of a man’s late wife on his bicep. He told me how she’d begged him to never place her name, or picture, anywhere on him as she had heard it was bad luck. Now that she had passed, he was making a memorial. He told me of all the good she had done for him, keeping him out of more trouble than he cared to admit and how she loved him, despite his many faults. As he left that afternoon, her high school graduation picture was a permanent reminder of her. Later that night, as Kennedy sat beside me watching a rerun of a popular sitcom, I made the decision to live without regret.

"Um, yeah," Jason answered. "My last client just left and Savannah is busy at her shop. What can I do for you?"

"Well, it’s about your sister." My voice cracked like it did when I was twelve. My nervousness was ridiculous. I was a former SEAL, I've taken on more men in combat and come out without a single scratch. It made no sense for me to be sweating bullets about a simple conversation. Jason took my nerves for something else as his eyes took in my shaky appearance.

"Oh, hell no! Tell me you did not get my sister pregnant!" He stood up, fists clenched, his posture resembling a cobra ready to strike.

"No...No! I'm...she...isn't pregnant.”

Jason stayed silent for a few seconds, maybe a minute, but either way he eyed me up and down trying to determine whether I was telling the truth. Finally, he sank back down in his seat, relaxing back into the leather of his chair, his posture still guarded.

"So, what’s wrong?"

“I’m thinking of asking her to marry me.”

"And you're talking with me first? I mean...she does have a father."

Speaking with John had been the easiest part of this equation. Like the gentleman my mother nurtured, I made an appointment, dressed in a suit and showed up on time. I imagined what it was like to be in his shoes, as a virtual stranger swore up and down he would always take care of his little girl. Using blind trust as a guide, testifying no harm would ever come to her and she would never shed a single tear at his hand. All great selling points, but complete fabrications.

I was honest with John. I told him not only in words, but also in bank documents showing I could take care of her financial needs. I swore I would be the first to admit to Kennedy when I was wrong, swallow my pride when it was warranted, and be the best man I could for her. I admitted I was going to mess up, make her cry and have her so mad at me that she could spit nails, but I was determined. She was all I wanted and would work hard to keep her my biggest priority.

John had sat back and commended me on my honesty. He was glad I hadn't sworn from the hilltops I would love her forever and allow him to beat my ass if she was unhappy for a single second. Real life is full of sad moments and promises made before God and man can be broken. John, more than anyone, understood this...he was living it.

"I've made several changes in my will, including giving Kennedy the brownstone I'm living in now. I know you have your own home and you both may decided to live there, but I need you to let her keep this just for her. She needs to have a place she can do with whatever she wants—sell it, rent it or whatever. Just, please, let her have this piece of independence."

***

With the blessing from both her father and her brother, my plan was set in motion. I was standing inside my bathroom, watching her as she caressed the silver key. For many, it was just a tool used to open locked doors, but to my girl this was the key to her past, to memories that gave her a reason to smile. It would open a place where she could travel and take refuge from the storms of life. While it complicated my desire to have her at my house, I would never make her choose between me and her independence.

"Come with me, please?"

From the first word I received from her all those months ago, I knew she would change not only me, but my entire world. Her dedication to being the best person she can, to making sure everyone around her felt comfortable and relaxed. Treating everyone the same, from the homeless that resided on the streets to the highest paid man in her father's office, everyone received a smile and genuine heartfelt greetings. There wasn't a single fake bone in her precious body.

"Is something wrong?"

Her voice was trembling and I hated that. Hated she was reconsidering her answer, fearing rejection would cause a butterfly effect, ending our relationship and severing the ties that bound us together.

"I have something I need to show you."

I tried my best to reassure her with my words and the warmth of my hand. We rounded the last step and I removed my jacket from where I left it on the banister, sliding my arms into the cold sleeves. Her face was drawn and sad, but she was trying so hard to put a smile on her lips. I could feel the fear emanating from her. She was thinking this was the end, that I was throwing her out.

Social media is full of shared moments, with a nervous young man showing the entire world how he gathered his friends and family while he asks the girl in his life to change her last name by taking his. I could have taken one of those ideas and made this special for her, but I wanted to go back to the way we met. A simple letter given in error and a soldier trying to get it to the right person.

Opening the door that lead to my back yard, the evidence of Reaper’s hard work stood proud on the freshly cut grass. Between the two massive oak trees shading the back of the house, stood a military issued khaki colored tent, looking out of place in this suburban desert. White lights hung from the tree branches, illuminating the yard and setting the mood.

Guiding a confused Kennedy into the tent, her body leaned away from me, her apprehension not allowing her to believe something good was about to happen. My grip on her hand tightened, preventing the retreat she most desperately wanted. Ignoring her questions of, 'what is all of this?' and 'what is going on?’ I closed the flap behind her. A single cot sat in the center of the tent, a laptop open with the screen as black as the night that surrounded us. I had saved every single letter she had ever sent me, printed off every email, and then placed them all together in a bound book. One single letter, however, was carefully placed in an envelope and sealed with hope and a prayer rested on the forgotten keyboard.

"This isn't anything close to what it was like for me when we first met." My mind's eye replaying my memories so perfectly, I could almost feel the heat from the intense sun. "That morning, all I wanted to do was get the medical convoy going and get the hell out of the heat."

Her bottom lip quivered, whether from fear or something else, I wasn't certain.

"You became so much more than any friend I have ever had. You've shown me true love and compassion are still very much alive in our society." Pulling her closer to the cot, I could feel her body quake with anticipation and worry. "In the first letter, you sought answers to the situation you found yourself in." Her eyes locked on the envelope, alone on the sea of black, random letters adorning the keyboard used to compose the same in such a unique fashion.

"This time, I need you to help me." Her eyes snapped to mine, her brow nearly bent in half with overwhelming confusion. My smile the only offering I could give that everything would be all right. "Read it, please." My words were soft as angel wings, the prayer they contained carried to her ears.

Her hands shook as she slowly retrieved the white paper, turning it over several times, but not a single question left her lips. I watched and waited as my own anxiety increased. Only two possible answers could be given to the words that were scripted on that paper. As a soldier, I've waited on insurgents in some uncomfortable conditions—heat, stagnant water, and dead animal carcasses to name a few. Yet standing here, surrounded by the smell of the tent, the sounds of the cool Atlanta night and the labored breathing of the most beautiful girl in the world, was by far the worst situation I have ever braved. In all of those other times, I had an out, a way to fight to the death or walk away to battle another day. This time, she had the ability to give me the response I had dreamed about for weeks, or shatter my heart into pieces that would never mold together again.

Four words written on the page clenched in her fingers. To anyone else, it would take less than five seconds to read and respond. Yet with an unknown amount of time clicking past, my heart rate increased to immeasurable speeds, as her eyes flicked back and forth over those four words.

As if a ray of light were cast down, sharing its joy by separating the storm clouds and ending the loneliness felt by the pelting rain, her smile filled the tent as her words brought peace to a crumbling man.

"Yes."

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