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“I’m not a baby,” Julien hiccups, still curled on his side with his eyes closed and his fist pressed to his forehead like he’s trying to press a headache into submission.
“I know you aren’t,” Banks says.
He looks off into the distance. The night is cool and spring-crisp with a hint of more rain to come. The ground is damp beneath him, but Banks knows that Julien needs him sitting there next to him, not standing up and staring down like a disapproving father. It’s the one thing that he knows with certainty that he wouldn’t have done to a child of his own, if he’d had one: he’d never stand there in reproachful silence, judging.
“You know,” Banks says, glancing at Julien, who continues to hiccup next to him. “My dad was a Marine, just like me. Sergeant Major Banks. He was also my Boy Scout leader.” Banks waits for a beat, but Julien says nothing so he goes on. “Not sure if you have Scouts here in France, but basically it’s a bunch of boys who camp, learn to survive outdoors, to be resourceful, and to basically be confident, capable young men. Of course now there are girls who want to join the Boy Scouts, but that’s a whole other story.”
Julien’s hiccups have slowed, and he’s clearly listening.
“Anyway,” Banks goes on. “I was a young Scout and the Sergeant Major—I called himDadat home…sometimes, but he insisted on the other boys calling him Sergeant Major Banks—he had taken us on a camping trip up near the border of Canada. Real rough terrain, unpredictable weather, and no frills. Outdoor fires, making your own bathroom in a hole in the ground—that kind of stuff.”
Julien pulls his fist away from his forehead and looks up at Banks with interested eyes. “You had to dig a hole?”
“Yep. Dig a hole, cover it after. Whatever you pack in, you pack out. And there were bears up there in the woods—bears, fox, and all kinds of wild creatures.” Banks squints at the dark sky as he remembers it all: ten young boys in uniform, carrying backpacks that weighed almost as much as they did while Sergeant Major Banks called out commands that he expected to have followed without delay.
"Did you see a bear?"
"Once," Banks says, nodding. "My friend Douglas and I were tasked with putting out the campfire while everyone else took a morning hike, and as we were sitting there, a black bear came out of the trees. He probably smelled our food and trash and wanted some of it for himself."
Julien's eyes are wide. "Were you afraid?"
Banks shrugs. He was, certainly, but the passage of time and so many years have dulled the fear in his memory. "Sure, we were scared, but we knew what to do. When you see a black bear, you back away and start waving your arms. Make noise. You try to frighten him off. And if he attacks, you fight back immediately. But you don't run, and you don't make eye contact."
Julien pulls himself up to a sitting position, wiping his mouth with the tail of his untucked shirt. "Did he attack you?"
"No, he didn't. Douglas and I waved our skinny little boy arms like a couple of wild banshees," Banks says, one side of his mouth pulling up in amusement at the memory. "And after we scared that bear off, we both cried." Julien is watching him to see if he's joking, but he's not. "When the rest of our troop got back, we'd already dried our tears and put out the fire, and without even discussing it, we told everyone how brave and how tough we were, but we didn't ever admit to anyone that we'd been scared or that we'd cried."
Julien nods. "Because men aren't supposed to cry."
"That's what they tell us," Banks says, looking him in the eye. "But I like to think it's okay to be afraid sometimes. And it's definitely okay to cry if you need to." They sit with this for a moment. "But I knew as soon as I saw my dad that he could tell I'd been crying. He gave me a look, and it was a long, hard stare. What it said to me was, 'I know you cried and I know you were scared, but you better not tell a soul.' So I didn't."
Julien waits a few seconds before speaking. "I cried in front of my dad. I cried every time he left when I was a child. And he never got mad at me."
"You had a good dad," Banks agrees. And he knows this to be true, because he'd observed Jack many times with the girls, and even with Julien. He'd seen him read to his children, laugh with them, ask questions, and truly listen. He was everything that Banks had always feared hecouldn'tbe if he'd become a father.
"Yeah," Julien says softly. "I did."
"And I bet you miss him," Banks says, trying to imagine what Julien must be feeling. "Is that why you went out drinking with your friends?" To Banks this seems like a plausible conclusion, and it's a tactic most of the men he knows might use: feel sorrow, go drinking, drown sorrows. Vomit. Sober up. Hopefully feel better. (Except maybe skip the vomit step as an adult, because grown men are better judges of their own limits...most of the time.)
It's Julien's turn to shrug. He's pulled his knees up and has his arms clasped around them the same way that Banks is doing. "I went out drinking because nobody wants me here."
"That's not true," Banks says.
"Of course it is. None of us would be here in this house together if I'd never been born."
Banks can't argue with this logic.
"My mom loves me," Julien says, "but if I wasn't here she would be free. She could do anything. She wouldn't have to live in the countryside and have some quiet life away from the city. And my father's wife doesn't want me to be alive," he says, his face turning sour. "Why would she?"
It's tough to come up with something that doesn't ring false here, but Banks ponders it. "Ruby isn't the kind of woman who would wish for that," he finally says. He knows this is true; for all the years he's known Ruby, he's never seen or heard her be spiteful, bitter, or unkind, even when it would have been easy for her to do so. Even when she had the right to be. "She's here because she and your mom need to talk about some things, but I know Ruby, and I can pretty much guarantee you that she's never once thought badly of you."
Julien shakes his head like Banks is an idiot. "She doesn't wish for me to die," he says, lowering his chin and speaking slowly as if he's explaining something to a simpleton. "But I promise you she wishes I'd never been born."
This is the point in the conversation where Sergeant Major Banks would have said something so hard, so truthful, that it would echo on ad infinitum in Banks's head, and he doesn't want to do that to Julien, so he holds his tongue and thinks.
"You're very nearly a man," Banks finally says, "and I'm not going to lie to you. Maybe her life would be less complicated if you'd never been born, but as a person, you get to choose whether the hard things that happen add to your life or take away from it. And I believe that Ruby sees every challenge as addingtoher life. Including you. You should give her a chance."
"I want to know my sisters," Julien allows.
