Page 27 of Point of Contact

When the bird touched down, they lifted him and rushed toward the Black Hawk, handling him with as much care as possible despite their need for haste. The rotors screamed as the helicopter lifted off toward Jalalabad, the first leg of Patterson’s long, sad journey home to his family.

After that Farrell left them alone, to smoke, to grieve. It wasn’t long before the Patterson stories started, how proud he was of his impending fatherhood, how he was a rabid Cowboys fan, how his slow Texas drawl and quick, fiery temper were at odds with his bespectacled appearance. Someone remarked that when he was all spun up, he looked a little like a demented Harry Potter.

In the end there was a lot of laughter and some affectionate, raunchy jokes. It was the simplest kind of memorial service, the only one they’d get to have. Jesse looked around at the assembled men, some sprawling with an arm slung around a buddy’s shoulders, a couple of them leaning against each other, still others with tears openly streaking their dirty cheeks. He swallowed the lump in his throat.

Jesse glanced over to where Riley was sitting, head hanging, his arms propped on his widespread and upraised knees, a lit cigarette dangling loosely between his fingers. Silvera wasn’t far away, and Kimi crouched next to him, speaking to him earnestly. Jesse couldn’t hear what they were saying, but when Silvera looked at her, anguish on his face, Jesse could see his lips form the words “I’m sorry.”

Kimi cupped the back of his neck, drew his forehead down to her shoulder, and let him cry.

Chapter Eight

“Can I ask you something, Jess?”

Jesse glanced at Riley, barely able to make out his features in the darkness. “Sure.”

Riley took a moment to light a cigarette, the flare of the ember briefly illuminating his face. It was midnight, and they were hunkered down in the guard tower, Farrell having ordered two-man watches on the village since the attack on the HA mission. The radio next to them was quiet, and the thermal video feed from the unmanned drone circling high overhead showed no movement in the vicinity.

“What’s your dad like?”

Jesse blinked. “My dad? Well, uh, he was a lot older than my mom. Actually they were both pretty old when they had me. My mom was forty-five.”

“Jesus.” Riley blew smoke into the sky. “Did you get along with him?”

“Yeah, he was one of my best friends.” Jesse paused for a moment. “My parents were both Deaf.”

“Really? Like they couldn’t hear at all?”

“Not at all.”

“How did you talk to them? Sign language?” Riley waved his fingers in the air, and Jesse grunted.

“Yeah.”

“Wow, cool. What’s my name in sign language?” Riley flicked his cigarette away and turned to Jesse expectantly.

Jesse gave an uncomfortable shrug. He always hated it when people treated sign language like some kind of party trick. “Riles—” He broke off when Riley poked him in the ribs.

“Don’t be fucking boring. C’mon, what’s my name?”

“It’s too dark—”

Riley turned his flashlight on low, and Jesse heaved a sigh before self-consciously finger-spelling R-I-L-E-Y.

“That’s so cool! Teach me it.”

Jesse tried to protest but Riley persisted, so they went through the letters one by one, over and over, until Riley was almost as smooth at it as Jesse.

“That’s pretty awesome, dude,” Riley said at last. “I’m impressed.”

Jesse chuckled. “Well, I could sign before I could talk.” He paused. “Why did you ask about my dad?”

Riley shrugged. “Just curious, Byrney. You never talk about yourself, or your family, so I wanted to know.”

“Not all of us are a fuckin’ open book like you, Estes,” Jesse said in disgust, a smile playing about his lips when Riley flipped him off. If Jesse was being honest, he loved hearing Riley’s stories about growing up with his dad, loved hearing how close they were.

“My dad died when I was sixteen,” he said impulsively. “My mom when I was eighteen.”

Riley’s voice was gentle. “I’m sorry, Jess.”