11 November 2004 – George Hill Road, Lancaster, Massachusetts

“I don’t know what’s up with my family, man,” Jeff commented before taking a swig from the bottle in his hand. “One second they’re all over me like white on rice, the next I couldn’t find them with the Hubble Space Telescope. It’s like they can’t make up their minds: they want to show me they’re happy I’m home, but they also want to give me ‘time and space to adjust.’ I know they still feel bad about last week.” Another sip. “Don’t bring up how Mom reacted to me be being wounded again, either.

“Of course not wanting to go to the Veterans Day events with Keiko and the kids today probably isn’t helping their confusion any. I don’t know if I can get into the ‘rah-rah, U-S-A’ stuff right now. That’s why I came here early, before the parades and stuff end. I’m sure other families will come by to visit afterward and I didn’t want to get caught in any sort of rush here. That, and I don’t really want to talk to strangers right now. My friends are still over in Afghanistan, half of the country couldn’t give a shit about folks in the military, and the other half wants to treat all of us vets like damn heroes!”

“‘Hero,’” Jeff snorted before taking another sip from his bottle. “A damn building crushed my leg, that’s all. I’m still here. Terry and Blow, along with the guys who went home missing pieces, they were the heroes in our Ranger platoon. If people want to treat folks like us as heroes, they should turn up at Memorial Day and Veterans Day events, not go shopping.” Jeff glanced at his drinking buddy. “I know you know what I mean.”

 
KENJI
ISOROKU
TAKAHASHI

SGT
USA

PANAMA
PERSIAN GULF

MAR 15 1968
FEB 28 1991

BSM W/V
PH & OLC
 

Ken’s headstone stood mute, a silent sentinel watching over his grave.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought you’d say,” Jeff muttered.

Jeff emptied the contents of his bottle into his mouth, then pulled another from the six-pack carrier next to his chair. He twisted it open with a hiss of escaping carbonation. He scanned the area around Ken’s headstone, assuring himself again that all was in order. As promised, the Veterans of Foreign Wars post here in Lancaster placed a new American flag at Ken’s grave before today’s holiday. Glancing around the cemetery Jeff could see flags marking other veterans’ graves swaying in the gentle breeze. His eyes followed a swath of grass from the cemetery up the hill where the bright, blue sky met the bare trees on the faraway ridge. Jeff pulled his old field jacket’s collar up against the growing cold wind.

“I’m glad Keiko and I kept the old pickup – and kept it registered – when I bought my car before the boys were born. If it wasn’t still in the garage, I don’t know what I would have done today. Gone stir crazy is what I would have done, I suppose. It’s a little tricky trying to drive with my left foot while my right’s lying across the bench seat. I’ll need a little more practice, but the short drive here went okay. Good thing the truck’s not a stick. That would have been a real challenge. I’ll probably sell the Passat to someone at Benning. Battalion has my keys, so I’ll just mail the title down if someone there can handle the sale for me.” Jeff stared off in the distance again.

“Part of me knows Shawna was right in what she said to me about Heather earlier this week. A bigger part of me couldn’t give a shit. What Heather did still gets my blood boiling. TC came by the house the day after Shawna, and brought Jeff by. He’s almost six now, has his mother’s blond hair and green eyes, and his father’s easy-going personality. Jeff was a bit wary of me at first but was calling me ‘Uncle Jeff’ by the time they left. He even asked me to read a book to him. It was good to see them again, even if their visit did keep reminding me of the rift with Heather.

“Anyway, I’ll find out what the plan for my rehab is when I go over to Donovan tomorrow. I hope it won’t be too long before I can get started with my workouts again. Going from working out every day to doing nothing kinda sucks. I’m starting to feel like I’m gonna come out of my skin. Other than when we were wounded in Panama, this is the only time I haven’t worked out daily since I was thirteen.”

Jeff sighed and pulled himself out of the folding chair. He slung it over his shoulder once he’d packed it away in it’s sleeve. He picked up his six-pack of root beer.

“I’ll tell Keiko and the kids I came by to visit. I’ll probably catch hell from your sister for leaving the house by myself. That’s one reason why they make cell phones, though: in case of an emergency.” Jeff hobbled to Ken’s headstone and placed his hand on top of it.

“I miss you, buddy.” He trudged back to his truck.

Sweat rolled down Jeff’s face the following day while he concentrated on his exercise. The machine he used worked his quadriceps, hamstring, and hip muscles with each push and pull of his thigh against the pads. Jeff and his therapist attempted to prevent atrophy in his right leg as much as possible. He battled his way through fifteen minutes on the torture device.

“Nice work, Jeff.”

“Thanks, ma’am,” he replied while toweling off his face.

Lieutenant Nina Quentin smiled down at her patient. Jeff already showed her he wasn’t afraid of hard work. The man didn’t know the meaning of the word quit from what she’d seen so far.

“How’s that contraption feeling?” she asked while pointing to his fixator.

“Like about fifteen pounds I can’t wait to get rid of.”

“It’s titanium, Jeff. It’s only five pounds.”

“That makes me feel so much better.”

“Come on,” she laughed. “Back to the table with you.”

Nina waved to the low PT platform where she helped her patients stretch. After twisting him into various pretzel shapes she and Jeff sat at a table to discuss his treatment plan.

“Okay, we can’t do too much with your legs until that right tibia heals, other than that exercise I just had you try. There’s a harness we can use to keep you upright on that machine so you can work on your left leg, but I don’t want to work anything lower than your knees until you’re free of your fixator. For your upper body I shouldn’t have to make many modifications to your usual exercises, so you can use the gym I hear you have at home while you’re on leave.”

“What about cardio?”

“No running obviously, and no rowing machines right now. There is a table-top ergometer which has handles on what looks like the pedal crank of a bicycle. In fact, you could convert it to a stationary bike if you wanted to. The problem is it’s fairly expensive, like about fifteen to sixteen hundred dollars expensive. Swimming’s out for the moment because your fixator pins are a possible route of infection, otherwise I’d recommend it as low-impact and excellent cardio.”

“Tell me where I can order the ergometer and I’ll buy it, ma’am. No sense falling too far behind with my cardio. I’m sure it’s going to be a while before I can run six miles a day again, right?”

“We’ll help you regain as much of your previous function as we can, Jeff. I’ll offer whatever suggestions I can along the way but, as I’m sure you’re aware, it’s going to take a lot of work on your part if you want to get back to maxing PT tests.”

Jeff nodded. As the lieutenant had suspected earlier, he wasn’t afraid of hard work.

Jeff hadn’t left the house by himself the first week he was home other than for his trips to the cemetery and his rehab session. The ration of shit Keiko gave him for his unauthorized Veterans Day trip to the cemetery still rang in his ears. Today, though, he’d had enough of the spacious, comfortable prison of a house on Hilltop Road to risk her wrath. He had to get out, move around, and interact with people other than his family for a change.

Jeff’s first stop after his jailbreak was a flag shop in Fitchburg where he special ordered an item. He also picked up a new US flag and two new snap-hooks for the rope of his flagpole. He could have ordered the items over the phone, or online for that matter, but that would have defeated the purpose of getting out of his house.

His next stop was the place he’d nominally worked for four years, though three of them were spent on leave of absence. Abby Sheerer still greeted visitors to Devens Medical Defense, and was still unfazed by the threat of a sexual harassment seminar after giving her boss a hug.

“You scared the crap out of us, Boss! Sean Brophy called to tell us of your injuries after he heard from Keiko, and we were all so glad to hear you were going to be okay,” Abby said while Jeff settled into a chair by her desk. “He told us about how you surprised Keiko and the kids with your homecoming, too. When are you coming back to work?”

“I won’t be out of the Army until next year, Abby, if they let me out on time that is.”

“Why wouldn’t they?”

“The Defense Department is extending some terms of service for retention purposes, especially in certain military jobs – jobs like a Ranger medic’s which requires lots of training, for instance. They call it ‘stop-loss.’”

“They can’t do that!” Abby gasped, horrified.

“Sure they can, Abbs. My enlistment contract specifically states that my term could be extended based on the needs of the government. I gotta get better first, though. I just started my rehab so it’ll be a while before I’m back in the game.”

Before Abby could ask another question a slick-looking man approached from the back hall where the offices were. Out of the corner of his eye, Jeff could see Abby give the man an almost-convincing smile.

“Yes, Mr. Haussmann?”

“I need you to file these,” the man said in a curt tone. He dropped a stack of folders on her desk while giving Jeff a dirty look. Jeff gave him a bored look in return.

Now that he was on convalescent leave, Jeff didn’t worry about maintaining his appearance in accordance with Army regulations. Four day’s growth of beard covered his face. A knit watch cap covered his Ranger-approved haircut. His clothes were decidedly disreputable. His ensemble for this day was a plaid flannel jacket over a well-worn hooded sweatshirt, sweatpants oversized to fit over his fixator, and untied work boots on his feet.

“Yes, sir,” Abby replied with her smile still frozen in place.

Haussmann jerked a thumb toward the hall. Abby glanced at Jeff before rising from her desk.

“Why did you let him in here?” Haussmann hissed in what he thought was a quiet voice. Unfortunately for him, Jeff’s hearing was better than average.

“The vestibule doors are unlocked, sir. Anyone can just walk in.”

“Why are they unlocked?”

“Fire regulations require exit doors be unlocked during business hours in the absence of a panic bar on the inside, which those doors don’t have since the bars broke last year. If you recall, sir, we’ve been asking to have those doors fixed for some time now, too.”

Haussmann glared at Abby.

“Get rid of him,” he hissed before leaving Abby standing there alone. She turned and walked stiffly back to her desk. Jeff rose as she approached.

“I didn’t mean to cause you any trouble, Abby,” Jeff whispered in French. Abby minored in French in college. “I’ll go.” She gave Jeff a sad smile.

“I’m sorry, Boss. He’s been bearable up until a few weeks ago. Until about the time we heard you were home, actually.”

“Hhrrmmm,” Jeff grumbled. “Is your cell number still the same?”

“Yes, why? Are you planning to harass me for a change?” she asked with a come-hither look.

“Are you trying to get me in trouble with Keiko, Abby? I can get myself in trouble, you know? Seriously, call me after work. I wanna hear about this butthole. Keep out of the line of fire here, okay?”

Jeff stepped out of the DMD office. He drove his truck out of the lot and around the corner. There he called Sean Brophy.

“Hey, tell me about this douchebag at DMD...”

Jeff’s excursions to date kept him near his house and off the highways. Today, however, he would drive east on Route 2 while headed for the Brophy EMS and Ambulance Group headquarters in Malden. Sean hadn’t wanted to get into the issue with Haussmann over the phone, so Jeff volunteered to make the drive. Remembering the traffic in the mornings heading toward Boston, Jeff waited until after rush hour to start his journey. Rolling east from Route 2’s junction with Interstate 1-90 Jeff started to shift into his autopilot mode when he noticed a huge sign a few miles down the road.

“What the hell is that...?” he muttered.

The enormous sign warned drivers they would soon enter a section of highway under joint military and civilian control. The sign was less of a shock than the fortified compound on his side of the highway after he passed the Shirley Road exit. A similar compound sat at a former rest stop on the westbound side of the highway just after the base and the Eastside Expressway. Signs along that stretch warned drivers not to stop unless there was an emergency. No other surprises greeted Jeff during his drive, save the number of cars on the road. He wasn’t used to the volume of traffic anymore. Sean met him in the lobby when he arrived at Brophy.

“What the hell are those compounds on Route 2 near Devens?” Jeff asked once in Sean’s office.

“Those are the Army’s security observation and control points. They built those last year around the time you deployed. The MPs patrol the section of highway between the two exits near those OPs. That section of the road is considered to be part of the base so the Posse Comitatus Act doesn’t apply. The State Police has jurisdiction there for traffic infractions, but the Army has jurisdiction if there are any base security issues,” Sean explained. Jeff shook his head. “So, you wanted to talk about your interim replacement?”

“I wanted to ask what the hell his problem was. I stopped in to visit and he gave Abby a ration of shit when he saw me.”

“Were you dressed as elegantly as you are now?”

Jeff glanced down at his wardrobe. He wore a nearly identical outfit as the other day.

“No, actually, it was worse but why should that matter? We never treated people like that when we worked together, regardless of what they wore.”

“Erick Haussmann seemed like a good match for DMD, and a good interim manager, until news of your return began to spread.” Jeff stared at his former partner.

“It’s not like I’m even close to coming back, Sean. I’m government property until next October at least! What’s his deal?”

“He managed to slip a clause into his contract saying that he couldn’t be let go until the end of your USERRA leave, which is in two years if you remember. Even still, he probably feels threatened.”

“How the hell did he get that clause past you two?” Jeff asked, meaning Sean and his father, Seamus.

“Dad and I weren’t looking for something like that, to be honest. During his interviews he seemed to understand he was only the operations manager until your return. It wasn’t until two weeks after he started in his position that someone in legal caught the phrase added by his attorney.” Jeff scrubbed his face with his hands and looked at the ceiling.

“So, what you’re telling me is I can’t have my job back until 2006? Doesn’t that violate federal law?”

“Unfortunately, no, it doesn’t because you’ll still get your job back at that point. The staff isn’t as happy as when you were in charge of the place, but the division is running fairly smoothly.”

“So I have to sit on the sidelines and watch him potentially destroy everything I helped build out there with this attitude of his? What have the towns we contract with said about his behavior?”

“It hasn’t been an issue until now.”

“So I might be shit out of luck, is that it? I might have nothing to look forward to after I ETS? I don’t want to just sit on my ass and wait for my portfolio’s dividend checks to roll in. That’s not living to me, Sean, that’s existing! I want this job back!”

“Jeff, calm down. We’ll figure this out...”

“When, Sean? When the hell are you going to figure this out? You’ve had – what? – two years to do so? Tell me why I should expect you to figure it out in two more!”

Jeff didn’t give his friend and former partner a chance to answer. He lurched out of his chair, stormed out of Sean’s office, and out of the building.

Keiko noticed Jeff’s foul mood that night after she got home from school. It didn’t improve during the two weeks following the meeting with Sean. At this point she certainly wasn’t going to comment on his insistence on driving himself around, nor on the email she’d gotten from Sean’s wife, Beth. Jeff wouldn’t return his friend’s phone calls or emails following their meeting, either.

The Knox and Jarrett clans noticed the storm clouds over Jeff’s head when they gathered for Thanksgiving. Rather than join the adults in conversation before the meal, Jeff sat on the Jarrett’s back deck staring off into the distance.

“Jeffrey is having difficulty readjusting,” Keiko whispered to Kathy while they looked out the kitchen windows. Snowflakes stuck to Jeff’s clothes and hair while he sat motionless in a chair outside. “He feels cut off from all of his friends, both in the Army and out. His recent Army friends are still deployed in Afghanistan, are preparing to deploy, or rehabbing from their own injuries. Friends from his first enlistment are busy with their own lives. His work friends here seem inaccessible to him because of a recent argument with his boss and former partner. He feels cut off from us and feels unimportant at home.” She drew a shuddering breath while a tear fell.

“We forgot about him, Kathy. The day after coming home he tried to surprise us by making dinner for us. The kids and I repaid him by forgetting he was home, going to the dojo, and then out to dinner without him.”

Keiko turned to her husband’s high school classmate with the tears now coursing down her cheeks.

“How could I forget about my husband, Kathy? He is my partner in this life, the father of my children! We used to talk all the time before he reenlisted and before he deployed. The kids don’t know how to relate to him any longer, nor do I. He won’t talk about his deployment, about his new Army experiences. I feel we have developed separate lives without him and I don’t know how to fix it!”

Jeff continued his self-imposed silence throughout dinner, speaking only when necessary, and returned to the deck after dinner. While Keiko didn’t know what to say to her husband, she did know what to do. She curled up on Jeff’s lap and simply held him. Even in his foul mood he wouldn’t push her away.

“Well as I live and breathe! Jeff Knox! How the hell are you?” boomed Darrell Costigan, one of the owners of the Lancaster Rod and Gun Club.

“Hey, Darrell. How’ve you been?”

“Good, real good! Shit, I haven’t seen your nasty ass or your pretty missus in about three years! What have you two been up to?”

“Keiko’s been busy with teaching at the high school and our dojo, and with taking care of the kids while I’ve been gone.”

“‘Gone?’ Gone, where?”

“I reenlisted, Darrell.”

Darrell’s eyebrows rose almost to his hairline, which was a long way off considering his haircut.

“You reenlisted? Dude...”

“Yeah, I already knew what being a paratrooper was like, so I signed up to do something easier this time.”

“Which was...?”

“Being a Ranger medic.”

“Ha! You asshole.” Darrell made sergeant in the Rangers before he ETS’ed in the mid ‘90s. “So, to what do I owe the displeasure of seeing you again?”

“Thought I’d put my Sig through its paces a few times. It’s been a while and my trigger finger is gonna get out of shape if I don’t exercise it.”

“You need ammo, or did you bring your own?”

“Why don’t I do a little local economic stimulus and buy one hundred fifty rounds of full metal jacket from you?”

As Darrell placed some targets and three boxes of .40-caliber FMJ ammunition on the counter another voice boomed across the office.

“Who the hell let that degenerate into my range?”

Jeff turned to see another bristle-haired man stalking toward him. He checked behind himself but saw no one other than Darrell.

“I don’t know why you’re talking about Darrell like that, Sergeant Major, but you’re the one who went into business with him.”

“Nice...” Darrell grumbled.

Sergeant Major Chester Lazarashvili, US Army Special Forces (retired), held out a massive paw for Jeff to shake.

“Did I hear you right? You reenlisted and joined the Rangers?”

“Not all of us want to live forever, Lazarus.”

Chet Lazarashvili retired from the 10th Special Forces in 1985 and remained in the Devens area, having grown to like it during his years at the base.

“I can see that,” Chet remarked while pointing at Jeff’s leg. “What happened there?”

“I zigged when I should have zagged.”

“The Rangers should have taught you to be more careful.”

“I got hurt when I was working with a team of snake eaters, Chet.”

Chet pulled a face before waving Jeff back to the indoor range. They both fired off three magazines of ammo through their pistols before any substantive conversation started. Their earmuffs allowed normal conversation while blocking the sharp spikes of weapons discharges.

“You gonna tell me what’s wrong, Jeff?” Chet asked while they changed out their targets. Chet never called him Jeff. It was usually ‘hoss,’ ‘partner,’ or some variation thereof.

“What’re you talking about, Chet?”

Chet waved at Jeff’s target.

“Your group’s all over the place. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you shoot this bad. You’re rushing, jerking the trigger – in short, you’re not concentrating. Need I go on?”

“I guess I’m not doing well with these sudden changes, Chet. I went from working out every day for twenty years to nothing, from shooting every day to nothing, from having a purpose to nothing.” Jeff slammed a new magazine into his pistol and sent the slide forward. He raised the weapon into firing position.

“So being a good husband and father is ‘nothing’ to you now?” Chet asked before Jeff could pull the trigger. Jeff hesitated and lowered his pistol, still staring down range. “Jeff, you’re one of the luckiest sons-a-bitches I know. You’ve got a beautiful wife who believes in you and supports you, three great kids, a dry and comfortable house, and a good job waiting for you when you get out.

“That’s more than a lot of people in this country can say. Regardless of what else is going on, you’ve gotta remember that your family is always the most important thing in your life. Period.” Chet raised his own handgun. “By the time I learned that lesson it was already too late. Don’t drive them away like I did.” He fired off two rounds.

“They forgot about me, Chet,” Jeff replied angrily.

“Boo-effing-hoo!” Chet shot back. “How often did you call them before you deployed, huh? ‘I was too busy, Chet.’ What about when you were over there? ‘I was too busy, Chet.’ I know your regiment made sure there were satellite phones available for you guys. And don’t give me the ‘night ops’ line of crap, either. An eight and a half hour time difference meant you could have left messages for them before you went to sleep so they could at least hear your goddamn voice once in a while! Don’t feed me your frikken bullshit!” Chet emptied his weapon, then thumbed the switch to bring his target back to the firing line. “Pull your goddamn head out of your ass and get with the program!”

Jeff’s face burned at the dressing down. His embarrassment came from his feeling that Chet was absolutely correct in everything he said. Jeff could have made the effort but, like his family, he allowed himself to get caught up in his routine at the time. They did it once, by mistake. He did it repeatedly. He’d long believed that a marriage took hard work on both sides, as did parenting. What kind of example was he setting for his kids? Had he shown even half the dedication to Keiko after he reenlisted that she’d shown him?

Jeff hoped the range time would help clear his head and get it back on straight. Unfortunately, Chet’s comments had the opposite effect. Jeff’s mind continued to whirl as he stood at his bench on the firing line. He knew he would just be wasting ammo and time if he remained here. Jeff cleared his pistol of the target rounds. He reloaded again with his self-defense ammo and holstered his weapon. He picked up his things and left the range without another word.

Jeff hobbled around his pool table analyzing his next shot a week and a half before Christmas. The external fixation apparatus around his right tib/fib was unwieldy, but he was used to it now. His orthopedic surgeon at Donovan told him last week that occasional weight-bearing would be helpful for the fracture. It would help to stimulate additional bone growth now that the leg was about ready for the fixator to come out, but it still felt counter-intuitive to do so. A few games of pool every day seemed to be the right frequency for his ‘exercise.’ He still used the one crutch otherwise. Overuse caused the muscles in his lower leg to cramp during the night, which was exquisitely painful. He preferred to avoid that.

Bent over the pool table while lining up his shot he felt someone else enter the family room, but he concentrated on making the shot first. The cue ball struck its target with a gentle <clack>. Believing the other person to be Keiko he straightened up wearing a smile. The smile evaporated upon seeing who the person was: Heather Pelley. Jeff’s face hardened into a blank mask before he turned back to the table. Heather wasn’t expecting an enthusiastic welcome but she hadn’t anticipated being ignored, either.

“Hi, Jeff,” she said in a hesitant voice. There was no return greeting.

“How have you been?” The only response was a louder <clack!> of the cue ball striking its next target. Heather cringed at both the sound and her question, which was a stupid one.

“I’m glad you’re home and safe. It’s good to see you.” A glare joined the next forceful shot, but Jeff remained silent.

“Tom tells me you were writing to him while you were deployed. Mom, Grammy, and Grampy said the same thing.”

Jeff kept his mouth shut and lurched to the opposite side of the pool table to line up his next shot. Heather’s annoyance at her treatment grew with each snub and this non-response pushed her past her limit.

“Why didn’t you write to me, Jeff?” she demanded.

A whistling <CRACK!> split the air of the room. While the thin end of the pool cue cartwheeled past her on the way to the floor, Heather’s mind replayed the sound’s origin. In one moment she asked Jeff her question. In the next Jeff chopped down in an overhead strike on the table rail, snapping the cue.

“Are you shitting me?” came Jeff’s question in a low, menacing voice. “YOU HAVE GOT TO BE SHITTING ME!” he thundered next.

Jeff’s anger once manifested itself over the treatment of a friend while Heather was present. That outburst could have been best described as incandescent rage. This one was far worse. Jeff’s face – his entire head – turned a livid purple. Veins bulged in his neck and on his forehead. A wild, malevolent glare shot from his wide, blazing eyes. His nostrils flared while he took deep, hungry breaths through his nose. He gripped the broken butt of the cue with a white-knuckled hand.

Heather’s reaction to that episode long ago was shock and surprise. Tonight she took a step back, afraid for her life.

“You’ve got a lot of goddamn nerve, lady!” he growled, grinding his teeth. “I tried to talk to you for two years after I signed back up. TWO YEARS!” Jeff vibrated in his anger. “You came to my going-away party and ignored me. I tried calling your house before I left for San Antonio and you hung up on me, repeatedly. I wrote to you during training and you never answered. I finally had to say the hell with it and concentrate on the people who were counting on me: my family and the men in my platoon.” He pointed the wrecked pool cue at her. “I didn’t have time for some spoiled little BITCH!”

A short thrust with the cue helped emphasize the word ‘bitch.’ Jeff leaned on the table, white knuckles on green felt while he glared at her in utter contempt.

“The only person in this world – the ONLY person – I answer to is the woman upstairs who’s shared my bed for over a decade and, believe me, you sure as shit ain’t her! When you and I agreed to be brother and sister back in ‘89 I told you I’d be your little brother for as long as you’d have me. I thought you’d at least have the courtesy to tell me if you wanted out of that agreement. I’ve come to realize that I was wrong on that score.” He straightened up.

“Now, if you’d be so kind, get the hell out of my house and the hell out of my life!” By now Heather cried openly from the harsh truths being hurled at her.

“Jeff...”

Jeff spun and drove the shattered end of the pool cue through the wall like a spike.

“OUT!” he spat when he turned back to face Heather.

Grabbing his crutch he limped up the stairs. When he opened the door to the kitchen he could hear Heather’s footfalls on the treads behind him.

“Jeff!” she called to him, pleading.

In the kitchen TC and Keiko turned to the basement door when he emerged.

“Jeffrey?” his wife asked, seeing the look on his face.

“Bud, you okay?” TC asked. “We heard yelling.”

“TC, you should take your wife home,” Jeff whispered.

“Jeffrey?”

“Not now, Keiko.”

“Jeff?” Heather asked again, now also in the kitchen.

“TC, take her home. Get her out of here.”

“Jeff, please,” Heather sobbed.

“Jeffrey?”

“Jeff?” Heather asked one more time. This time she reached for his arm.

The incessant questioning from multiple directions made his head spin and pushed him to his breaking point. Jeff felt Heather’s hand on his upper arm and he snapped. He snarled, spun, drew back his fist, and –

”JEFFREY!”

Keiko’s shout brought him crashing back to lucidity. Jeff froze. He stared in disbelief at the arm raised across his chest, at the fist clenched at the end of it, and his jaw dropped. He looked back to the others in the room. Heather wore a look of surprise and fear on her face, TC shock, and Keiko...

Keiko wore one of sorrow and disappointment.

Jeff shook his head in shock and denial, his eyes brimming with tears of shame. In the kitchen stood the people who he felt represented the reasons he reenlisted in 2001, of the belief he held in his country then and its promise. He remembered his conversations with Mirwais, his assertions that women deserved all the chances men got, that they didn’t have to stand for any abuse, and how he’d never do that. And he just made all of that a lie.

Jeff staggered away from the others, dropping his crutch. He fled down the back hall. He snatched a coat and his keys from the pegs near the door to the garage and slammed that door shut behind him. He punched the button to raise his garage bay’s door before hobbling to his truck. When the door behind it opened enough he dropped the pickup’s transmission into reverse and stomped on the gas.

The truck shot backward down the driveway in a cloud of acrid smoke. At the far end Jeff threw the pickup into a hard turn. It skidded sideways off the paved drive and onto the gravel of the access road. He slammed the transmission into drive and, with a spray of gravel, Jeff disappeared into the night.

Brian Dufault snapped awake when he heard tires on the unpaved parking lot outside his window. He slept with a window open regardless of the time of year. Peering through the open sash he saw an unfamiliar pickup with a single occupant inside pulled up to the house. People used the lot of his restaurant next door to check directions all the time, or to check something under their hood before pulling out again, however this driver just sat there with his head down on the wheel. The other drivers usually avoided the house, too.

Brian dressed before stepping out onto the unlit back deck holding a thick wooden dowel. He crept close to the truck out of sight of the driver. He slid around the back, still out of view, and positioned himself just behind the driver’s door. Brian’s rapping on the thin metal of the door startled the driver. The man’s head snapped up and his face became visible in the sideview mirror. Recognizing the operator startled Brian, too.

“Jesus! What the hell are you doing here? Are you all right? You look like shit!”

“Thanks, Brian. If it makes you feel any better I feel like shit, too.”

“Well, get out of your truck and come inside!” Jeff stepped out of the pickup, hopped on his left foot a couple times to get his balance, and carefully extracted his metal-encased right leg. “What the hell is that thing on your leg?”

“A parting gift from Uncle Sam.”

“Go inside before you freeze your butt off! That coat’s too thin for this weather!”

“I didn’t exactly plan for my trip, Brian,” Jeff explained while limping to the deck. There wasn’t any snow visible on the ground in Stoneham, Maine, but Jeff guessed the temperature was in the high twenties.

“Sure looks that way. Didn’t they give you crutches?”

“They did.”

“Well where are they?”

“On the floor of my former kitchen in Lancaster.”

“‘Former’ kitchen? Lucy, joo got some ‘splaining to do!”

Inside the house Jeff dropped into an overstuffed chair in the living room off the deck. The look on Jeff’s face told Brian the younger man felt hopeless. Jeff looked older than Brian was at this point, which certainly wasn’t thirty-five.

“It’s gone, Brian. All gone.”

Jeff’s voice was a flat, hollow whisper as the weight of what he felt he lost crashed down on him. Brian closed and locked the sliding door to the deck before he settled into a chair opposite Jeff.

“What is, Jeff?” he asked in a gentle voice.

“Everything.” Brian waited for Jeff to elaborate. A raised eyebrow spurred that explanation. “My family, my friends. My life.”

A loud popping hiss behind him made Jeff jump almost out of his chair. Jeff spun to see Brian’s daughter Annie – his friend, former roommate, and former partner on the ambulance in Springfield – approaching with two bottles of root beer in her hand.

“Sorry,” she said. Annie sat on the couch next to his chair and extended one of the bottles to her friend. “What happened, Jeff? What made you drive almost two hundred miles in the dark without a plan?” Brian looked at his daughter. “I heard your conversation before you walked inside,” she shrugged.

Jeff couldn’t bring himself to tell Annie what he did. The shame he felt in his house before his escape slammed into him along with the aching loss, and he began to cry. Seeing this man bawl his eyes out, a man who once stood over her wielding a shotgun ready to give his life in defense of hers, shocked Annie to her core. She wrapped her friend in a protective hug and held him while he loosed his misery.

Twenty minutes later she led her exhausted, zombie-like friend upstairs to the guest room, helped him strip to his boxers and t-shirt, and tucked him into bed.