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On Thursday, we packed up the car and left for Arlington. We were staying at a hotel on the outskirts of the city, close to the cemetery. I dreaded seeing Dan’s plaque on the Columbarium, because I’d know that behind it sat the urn with Dan’s remains. It made me think of his death in that chopper in a desert storm. We had so few details of the mission because it was classified, but I knew he died in the crash along with two Marines.
Their families would be at the memorial and we planned on meeting up with them for lunch. I was not looking forward to it – rehashing everything would open the old wounds again. After Beckett, I didn’t need anything else to hurt.
I was numb all day, following Scott and Jeanne, letting them lead the way, make the conversation. I was mostly silent, looking out the window at nothing as we drove from Topsail Beach to Arlington, barely noticing the scenery. The entire trip, my mind went over everything I could remember that Beckett said to me, what we did, to see if there were any clues. He did repeatedly say, in a joking manner, that he couldn’t tell me things. He said I shouldn’t ask him about his work with the DEA. I was used to not asking questions, given Dan’s work with Special Operations Forces, especially his last deployment, so I hadn’t pushed. I had no idea that he didn’t want to tell me things because he was lying straight faced to me about what he knew.
He had my letters. He knew everything.
“You okay, hun?” Jeanne said from the front of the car. “You’ve been so quiet since you got your letters. They upset you.”
I nodded and forced a smile. “I’d forgotten about the letters. Just brought it all back to me.”
I turned away, my throat choking up. In truth, I thought maybe Dan had thrown the letters out, for they weren’t with his belongings when they brought his remains back home. It hurt me a bit because he told me he kept them with him, inside his jacket, when they went on a mission – for good luck.
But in the aftermath of his death, in all the confusion around the event and the lack of details, I was too upset to think about it. The first month after his death I spent on his bed in the bedroom that Jeanne kept as it had been since he was a teen and when he first joined up. His Star Wars and Marvel posters were all there, beside the cork board where his ribbons from track and field in high school were pinned. His football trophies, his academic achievement certificate. He enlisted before he finished college, and trained as a Hospital Corpsman with the Navy. He received special training so he could become qualified for independent duty and was attached to Fleet Marine Force Recon. As a Fleet Marine Force Warfare Specialist, he was invited to be a member of the Marines Special Operations Forces – a high honor.
He was so brave…
My brave warrior. I fell in love with him because of his strength and easy smile, his sense of humor and his love of life. He was an honorable man. A man like my father, who was willing to put his life on the line for his country.
I sighed and braced myself for the ceremony, and tried to put on a brave stoic face so I could meet the other families and offer my condolences for their loss. We didn’t spend any time together between the initial funerals and today’s anniversary memorial, but there was a common bond with the other families that could not be denied when you shared a loss with someone.
Our loved ones fought together and were injured or died together.
Only the families and friends left behind understood what it felt like to be in our shoes.
We stayed at a small hotel close to the cemetery, and had a quiet dinner in the hotel’s restaurant. I didn’t feel much like talking after dinner and spent the majority of my time reading an eBook on forensic science, trying to get my mind back into the world I’d left a year earlier when Dan died. It was futile. I read the same passage over and over again before finally turning the Kindle off and going to sleep.
In the morning, we all dressed and decided to make an early trip out to the cemetery before the memorial, because we wanted to be alone for a while before the other families joined us. We parked in the lot to the east of the Columbarium where Dan’s ashes were kept and as we walked up to the stone arches, with row upon row of plaques marking the spots where the dead were interred, I saw a Marine in uniform. He was standing close to where Dan’s remains were located, leaning against the wall, his hand on a plaque. He turned and even from a distance of maybe thirty yards, I recognized him instantly.
Beckett.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Beckett
I turned to walk away but Miranda didn’t stop. Instead, she came at me, her face flushed, her fists clenched. I turned back to her and held my hands up, wanting to apologize, but before I could she was right there in front of me, tears in her eyes.
I turned around to face her, bracing for her anger.
“You knew,” she said and hit my shoulder. “You knew all along who I was.”
I held my hands up defensively. “I did,” I said. When she stopped hitting me, I took hold of her shoulders. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry isn’t good enough,” she said and wiped her eyes. “Why did you do it?” she asked, her cheeks wet. “Was getting laid so important that you’d sleep with me, knowing that I wrote those letters? Why didn’t you just give them to me instead of waiting until after you seduced me?”
I shook my head, struggling to find the words. “It was wrong. I know it was. I was afraid if you knew who I was, you’d hate me.”
“What do you mean? Why would I hate you?”
How could I explain? Her husband died became of me.
“I have to go,” I said. “I’m sorry…”
“I know you got the letters by mistake,” she said. “Why would I hate you for that?”
I backed away. “Goodbye, Miranda. I’m sorry all this happened.”
Then I turned and left.
