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CHAPTER 2
Uncle Gabriel
I don’t like formalities. I never did.
Sure, I can dress up in my fine black uniform, keep an excellent posture, and do a perfect salute like any good soldier, but that whole ceremonial thing that comes with receiving a medal of honor is not my favorite thing.
My family, however, is going overboard with their pride, and every one of them wants pictures with me in my uniform, now nicely decorated with the Silver Star medal. My mom has even arranged for family and friends to come and celebrate – even though I told her not to.
I don’t think she’ll ever understand how unworthy I feel to receive recognition for my actions and valor in war, when so many of my friends and colleagues didn’t even make it home alive. They gave their lives, and in comparison my sacrifices seem insignificant.
Thinking about it suffocates me with sadness, so I try not to dwell on it. I have to move on – it’s the way of a combat engineer.
My job is to pave the road for others by building bridges, blowing up things, and coming up with creative solutions in the field. I love my job, and I know I’ve made a difference and saved lives during my three deployments in Afghanistan. And ultimately,thatis why I became a soldier. To make a difference!
It would be an understatement to say that I’m excited to be home, and this time – I’m staying!
Not that I’ll be in Seattle for long, but at least my next job won’t be in a war zone. It’ll be in Missouri, as an instructor on the Sapper Leader Course.
But first, I’m going to chill and enjoy four months of doing as little as possible – except, of course, catch up with family and friends, which is exactly what I was doing when Brent, my stepbrother, got a call that made me pay attention.
I wasn’t supposed to overhear Brent’s phone conversation but it’s hard to turn off the alert sensors after being constantly on edge for years, and something about his facial expression when he took that call made me instantly alert. That’s why, when Brent pulled away from the crowd and went inside the house, I discreetly followed him. If my stepbrother is in some sort of trouble, I’m not just going to look the other way. Not that we’re close but we are family, and family stick together.
The way he hissed “How did you get this number? I told you to leave me alone,” confirmed that whoever was on the line was no friend of his.
Brent’s next sentence – “You were arrested?” – told me the person was bad news. And hearing him mutter “Don’t do the crime if you can’t do the time” revealed that he was harshly refusing to help the person calling for help.
But it was his next sentence that blew my mind: “You know I don’t think of you as my daughter.”
Thirty seconds later my stepbrother put down the phone and took a deep breath while I took a step forward asking the obvious: “You have a daughter?”
Brent stiffened and shot me a dirty look. “You weren’t supposed to hear that.”
“How old is she?” I asked in astonishment. How the hell had he managed to keep this hidden from me?
He banged his phone rhythmically against his palm. “I’m not sure… nineteen or twenty, perhaps.”
“Why didn’t you ever tell me?”
Brent’s eyes were zigzagging between me and the glass door leading out to the patio and the pool area. Our entire family was barbecuing, and he raised a hand and waved to Janice, his wife, before he made a subtle signal for me to follow him.
We ended up in the mud room behind the kitchen, with him leaning against the dryer, looking just as annoyed as the time I found his collection of porn magazines and threatened to tell Mom if he didn’t let me borrow his Nintendo for a week.
“Listen, G,” he said. “It was a stupid mistake. I was just a big high school kid when I accidently knocked up a girl.”
“Who?”
“Some white trash chick, you don’t know her and it doesn’t matter.”
“But you had a daughter with this woman?”
“Yes.”
“And your daughter got arrested?”
“Yes.”
“What for?”
