Beyond the Point(62)

“You’ll need to keep a copy of this form in your possession. So pack one in your trunk and give a copy to someone at home—preferably a spouse or relative.” He paused again, looking to Hannah for some kind of recognition or understanding. “Am I going too fast?”

“Nope,” Hannah said. She felt herself detaching from the room. Detaching from the possibilities. The sooner he could breeze through the paperwork, the better.

“Good. Last few forms here and we’ll get you on your way. This here is your S—G—L—V form eight—two—eight—six. Life insurance. You’ll need to list your assets. Anything of value or debt. Your car, mortgage, any outstanding loans. That kind of thing. And this here? This is a power of attorney. You’ll need to have this one notarized.”

Hannah listened dutifully as he flipped through the rest of the paperwork, but her mind wandered. In contrast to the chaos of her life, the SRP documents all seemed so organized. As if paperwork had power over tragedy. As if all this preparation would help if the worst really happened.

She wasn’t exactly sure what she’d expected life to feel like as an adult, but she hadn’t expected this. She was married but hadn’t seen her husband in months. She had friends, but they were spread out all over the country, or worse, they lived down the street but might as well have been light-years away. Avery had disappeared—again—like she always did when she started dating someone new. It would have been annoying if it weren’t entirely predictable.

Hannah had assumed that after the trial, Avery would change the way she related to men. Of course, she’d never blamed Avery for what John Collins had done. He deserved what he’d received, and then some. But he was one in a long line of Avery’s poor dating decisions, and Hannah worried that the streak wasn’t over.

Instead of changing her patterns with men, Avery’s relationship roller coaster had only grown more extreme. The highs got higher. The lows got lower. She and this new guy—Noah Candross—had only known each other for a few short months, and already, he’d basically moved into Avery’s house. Hannah grew annoyed when her text messages to Avery went unanswered, even though she could see Noah’s motorcycle parked outside of her house at night. And despite the fact that he seemed to always be around, Hannah had only met him once. They’d met at Noah’s favorite vegetarian restaurant, because apparently he didn’t eat meat—and though the things he said were nice enough, he kept looking around the restaurant, as if someone more interesting were going to arrive any minute. Meanwhile, Avery had never looked more in love, gripping his arm. Hannah had smiled and tried to act happy for her friend, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something about that guy was off. Hannah wanted to like him—after all, she remembered all too well how it felt when your best friend hated your boyfriend.

Ever since the summer after their sophomore year at West Point, Avery had held Tim at arm’s length.

Tim had mailed Hannah a handwritten letter explaining the whole thing: How he’d made a mistake, allowing a flirtation to build with another girl. They’d kissed, he admitted. But as soon as it was over, he’d regretted every second. The letter was full of remorse and shame and scattered with round blots where his tears had fallen on the page. Hannah had read it in her bunk at Airborne School and cried, wondering what to do. She still loved him so much.

“You cannot take him back,” Avery had insisted after they’d returned to school that fall. She’d read the note, and Hannah had to pull it out of her hands, for fear that Avery might rip it apart. “If he loved you as much as he’s claiming, he never would have done this. It has to be over. You can’t let people mess with you, Hannah.”

Those months of junior year watching Tim from afar were some of the worst of Hannah’s life. And while grudges seemed to give Avery something powerful to hold on to, they only weighed Hannah down.

Now, staring at all the forms assembled in front of her, Hannah wondered if their friendship would survive this deployment. They were so different. And if they couldn’t make it work living on the same street, how would they do it living on separate continents?

“So that’s that,” the man in front of her said. He tapped all of the papers into a neat stack and slid them into a black folder with her name on it. “Do you have any questions? I’ve got all the time in the world.”

From the look of the wrinkles on his face, the nearly imperceptible shake in his hands, Hannah wasn’t sure that was true.

“I don’t think so,” she replied. “Seems pretty straightforward.”

“Nothing is straightforward about war,” he said, though not condescendingly. “Oh!” He snapped his fingers. “Last thing. Do you need assistance writing a legal will?”

“Actually, no,” Hannah said. She remembered writing a will as a Firstie at West Point. A strange final assignment that she’d updated after the wedding. “I already have one.”

“Then you, my dear, are all through.” He stood and shook her hand firmly, passing her the black folder. “By the way. I noticed your necklace.”

Hannah reached for the silver cross and wrapped her palm around it tight. It felt smaller, somehow, under the gaze of his eyes. “Yes, sir.”

“You’re lucky to have it,” he said sagely. “Not the necklace. The faith.” He smiled, took his seat, and put his glasses back on his face.