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The guns are the worst part of the ceremony. It is jarring, shocking and unnerving. However, for me it will be the worst part because it means the end is near. After the guns fire, they will fold the flag and hand it to me and then his body will be lowered. Then he will be gone.
As the gunmen get into place, the hand next to me moves, and a man’s pinkie finger stretches out and grasps mine. I don't move, but I grab his pinkie finger back, and we stay like that, holding each other's pinkie fingers in comfort and support. As the first gun fires, I jump, and my pinkie tightens around his. The second gun fires, and I jump again, then the third fires, and even though it is now over, we remain connected. Our little fingers entwined in each other’s, neither of us wanting to let go.
I am too scared to move. Too scared to look. Whoever the man is next to me, our pinkies are wrapped together like both our lives depend on it. It is like he knew. It is like he understood that at that moment, at the sound of the guns, I needed support. Whoever he is, I have no doubt that my father sent him to me for this, because aside from my father, no one has even held my pinkie before. Not ever.
We stand there, not moving, covered by a large black umbrella as the rain continues to fall around us. Our arms are touching, and I can tell he is tall and large and that he is in uniform. The same uniform my dad treasured, so I know that he is a friend.
I take a deep breath to steady my nerves, and I smell him. He smells like pine, and mixed with the rain and wet grass, he reminds me of the forest. It is freeing, fresh, and makes me think of freedom and space. Taking me away from the claustrophobic vibe of the city here in Washington D.C.
We stand, both watching the soldiers folding the flag. It is folded so precisely, thirteen times until it is tightly secured within itself. Folded and wrapped so firmly that it will stay that way forever.
I am scared to touch it. It is like dad's final goodbye, his parting gift to me, and a public fuck you to my mother. He put up with so much when it came to her. He had a deep sense of guilt for their marriage failure, due to his long times away on deployment. In my mind, being faithful is not that hard, especially when your husband is giving his life for his country at every moment.
Although publicly they remained married, privately, dad spent a lot of time at his cabin, and mom spent a lot of time with Brian. Me, well, I swam between the two until in my later years when my mother swept me up in the D.C. social scene. My life up until a few months ago had consisted of working my butt off at my events company and being on Richard’s arm at the various events and parties he dragged me along to.
With the flag now folded, the soldiers stand to attention, and the senior officer walks the flag over to me. As he bypasses my mother, I hear people murmur, wondering where he is going. My finger gets a small squeeze and then my pinkie partner lets go so I can hold the flag in both hands. It is not until I am clutching it to my chest, eyes filling with water, that I feel the hand on my lower back. Solid, comforting, and supportive. Whoever he is, he didn’t let me go, and for that, I am grateful.
I am a confident and strong woman, that is how I was raised, but right now, I am barely hanging on by a thread. His support, however small, is the only thing that is stopping me from having a total breakdown. That and the fact that I really don’t want to be like my mother. I take some deep breaths to try and calm myself. I try to breathe some strength into my body, to help me survive the rest of this day before I can fall into a heap tonight and cry myself to sleep, which is what I have done for the last few nights since dad passed.
I choose to look at the man next to me under the protection of the umbrella. I slowly turn my head and raise it to meet his. Our eyes connect. He has a stern look on his face, deep concern etched into his brows, and he is striking and not at all what I was expecting. Many of dad's former Beret friends are much older. This guy I would place in his late thirties, and he is as solid as a tank. His uniform is tight across his arms and fitted around his chest.
The eyes staring back at me are piercing blue, and his skin looks like it has light bruises from an injury. His hand remains on my back without hesitation, his arm protective around my body.
As we look at each other, a tear escapes my eye and starts to fall. I have tried so hard to keep them at bay. I wanted to remain strong today, I wanted to keep it together. But one look from him, and I think I might crumble. My tears are ready to overflow for the first time since the ceremony started. Without missing a beat, he lifts his hand and brushes it away with his thumb, while his other hand rubs my back gently.
“It’ll be all right, baby girl. Stay strong,” he whispers so quietly I can barely hear him.
I have no words, so I nod, my eyes still looking right into his. Someone coughs, and it is then that I realize that the rain has stopped, and the umbrella has been removed. Sunlight now filters through the break in the clouds, and the rays are pouring over me and my soldier. Basked in the light, we both turn and look back at my father as he is lowered into the ground to his final place of rest.
2
Jake
I don’t know what possessed me to touch her, but now that I have started, I can’t stop. As soon as I grabbed her little pinkie, I knew I could never let her go. But I need to stop. She doesn’t need an old guy like me touching her at her own father’s funeral. God, Danny would have my balls.
I can’t believe he is gone. I saw him only six months ago, and he was fine. He wrote to me, told me he had cancer, but it took him so quickly, so suddenly, I didn’t have a chance to see him before he died. It bothers me. I wish I could have seen him before he passed. He was a big influence in my life, and I will miss him greatly.
My body is aching, sore and battered, having just returned from Sicily only a week ago after getting my boy, Marco, and his wife, Frankie, back to safety. It is still a precarious situation; whoever thought personal security was a boring job, certainly has never stepped foot into my world.
Years ago, after I retired from active duty, Danny wanted me to work with him here in D.C. at the Defense offices, but I didn’t want a desk job. Even now as I approach my 39th birthday, I am as fit as a twenty-year-old, and I still have a lot of energy, so wouldn’t even consider a full-time office job.
Instead, I work as Head of Security for the Marshall family, made up of Boston’s wealthiest businessmen, Shaun and Marco, and their cousin, Stephen. Them, their billion-dollar family business, along with their wives and girlfriends, are all targets from the most hardened and smartest criminals, so my life is never dull. They are my best friends as well, so not only do I head up their security and have a large team of my own, but I am also considered part of their family. Brother, uncle, and son are all names I can relate to with them. I would protect them all with my life.
Having joined the Marines as an eighteen-year-old kid from Texas, I was earmarked early as potential for the Green Berets, and that is where I met Danny. He was the Commanding Officer on my first deployment with the Berets, and we remained close confidants ever since. I served with him many times before he retired from active duty, and I continued with the Berets for a few more years before I retired. He was a father figure to me, taught me so much about life, resilience, and leadership. He was a strong man, both physically and mentally, and I know many of the positive traits I have today are as a result of him being a key figure in my life.
I am still in disbelief that he is gone. I was looking forward to many more fishing and hunting trips with him, but they are no longer in my future.
The small rain droplets run down my shoulders. My uniform is tight, fitting snug around my biceps, and the waterproof material keeps me dry. Wearing it takes me back to the old days, of when us boys were together. On the other side of the world, in conditions so terrible that I wouldn’t wish the experience on my worst enemy.
With the umbrella now removed, our little bubble of privacy is gone, and if it wasn’t for the sunlight streaming on us and highlighting her beautiful face even more, I would have dropped my hand from her back. But it remains. I feel like it is permanently glued to her; I can’t remove it even if I wanted to, and I really don’t want to. She is small but curvy and fits right into my body so well it is almost like we were made for each other. Like two puzzle pieces that fit together.
I met Danny's daughter, Isabelle, once when I got back from my very first deployment. Danny and I were standing at the family reunion, talking together after the official proceedings, both of us trying to search the crowd for our loved ones. Me for my ma and pa and Danny for his wife and Isabelle—who he talked about constantly. He always carried a photo of her with him, no matter where he was in the world, so she was always close to his heart. She was the apple of his eye, that is for sure.
I still remember that day like it was yesterday. She must have been all of seven or eight, in the cutest white dress with red and blue ribbons in her hair, and she ran as fast as a whip through the crowd, making a beeline directly for her father. She slammed into him so hard he barely had time to grab her and pick her up. She clung onto him like a monkey and didn’t let go. Clearly, their love for each other and their bond ran deep. She remained that way for the entire afternoon, but Danny didn’t care. He walked around, shaking hands and greeting people while she remained in his arms. Her arms and legs tightly wrapped around her father, her head buried in his neck.
Now, all these years later, she is not that little girl anymore. She is obviously sad and upset, but she is striking. I'm not sure I have ever seen a woman so beautiful, and damn if my body is not reacting in a way that is not appropriate right now. She looks strong as her eyes are glued to the casket, to her daddy.
Her eyes haven’t left it, for the entire ceremony, and I know this because my eyes haven’t left her. I shouldn’t be staring, especially at Danny’s funeral, but I have a very strong feeling to support her. I am protective by nature, and watching her today, going through this alone, it sits in my gut like led. I don’t like it.
