First Shift: Legacy (Shift, #1)(17)

“How’s your sister doing?” Thurman asked.

The question caught Donald off guard. A lump formed in his throat at the mention of her.

“Charlotte? She’s...she’s fine, I guess. She redeployed. I’m sure you heard.”

“I did.” Thurman slotted the book in his hand back into a gap and weighed the one Donald had appraised. “I was proud of her for re-upping. She does her country proud.”

Donald thought about what it cost a family to do a country proud.

“Yeah,” he said. “I mean, I know my parents were really looking forward to having her home, but she was having trouble adjusting to the pace back here. It...I don’t think she’ll be able to really relax until the war’s over. You know?”

“I do. And she may not find peace even then.”

That wasn’t what Donald wanted to hear. He watched the Senator trace his finger down an ornate spine adorned with ridges, bumps, and recessed lettering. The old man’s eyes seemed to focus beyond the rows of books.

“I can drop her a line if you want. Sometimes a soldier just needs to hear that it’s okay to see someone.”

“If you mean a shrink, she won’t do it.” Donald remembered Charlotte before and after the sessions. “We already tried.”

Thurman’s lips pursed into a thin, wrinkled line, his worry revealed in hidden signs of age. “I’ll talk to her. I’m familiar enough with the hubris of youth, believe me. I used to have the same attitude when I was younger.” He touched another book. “I thought I didn’t need any help, that I could do everything on my own.” He turned to face Donald. “The profession’s come a long way. They have pills now that can help her with the battle fatigue.”

Donald shook his head. “No. She was on those for a while. They made her forget too much. And they caused a—” He hesitated, didn’t want to talk about it. “—a tic.”

He wanted to say tremors, but that sounded too severe. And while he appreciated the Senator’s concern—this feeling again like the man was family—he felt uncomfortable discussing his sister’s problems. He remembered the last time she was home, the disagreement they’d had while going through his and Helen’s photographs from Mexico. He had asked her if she remembered Cozumel from when they were kids, and Charlotte had insisted she’d never been. The disagreement had turned into an argument, and he had lied and said his eventual tears were ones of frustration. Parts of his sister’s life had been erased, and the only way the doctors could explain it was to say that it must’ve been something she wanted to forget, and what could be wrong with that?

Thurman rested a hand on Donald’s arm. “Trust me on this,” he said quietly. “I’ll talk to her. I know what she’s going through.”

Donald bobbed his head. “Yeah. Okay. I appreciate it.” He almost added that it wouldn’t do any good, could possibly cause harm, but the gesture was a nice one. And it would come from someone his sister looked up to rather than from family.

“And, hey, Donny, she’s piloting drones.” Thurman studied him, seemed to be picking up on his worry. “It’s not like she’s in any physical danger.”

Donald rubbed the spine of a shelved book. “Not physical, no.”

The conversation fell silent, and Donald let out a heavy breath. The wail of the espresso machine leaked through the wall of ancient books. He could hear the chatter from the café, the clink of a spoon stirring in some sugar, the clang of bells against the old wooden door, hinges squealing.

He had seen videos of what Charlotte did, camera feeds from the drones and then from the missiles as they were guided into their targets. The video quality was amazing. You could see people turning to look up toward the heavens in surprise, could see the last moments of their lives, could tick through the shots frame by frame and decide—after the fact—if this had been your man or not. He knew what his sister did, what she went through.

Bells rang and hinges squealed as an old door was closed again.

“I spoke with Mick earlier,” Thurman said, seeming to sense that he’d brought up a sore topic. “You two are going to head down to Atlanta and see how the excavation is going.”

Donald snapped to. “Of course. Yeah, it’ll be good to get the lay of the land. I got a nice head start on my plans last week, gradually filling in the dimensions you set out. You do realize how deep this thing goes, right?”

“That’s why they’re already digging the foundations. The outer walls should be getting a pour over the next few weeks.” Senator Thurman patted Donald’s shoulder and nodded toward the end of the aisle, signaling that they were done looking through books.

“Wait. They’re already digging?” Donald walked alongside Thurman. “I’ve really only got an outline of my structure. I hope they’re saving mine for last.”

“The entire complex is being worked on at the same time. And all they’re pouring are the outer walls and foundations, the dimensions of which have already been settled on in committee. We’ll fill each structure from the bottom up, the floors craned down completely furnished before we pour the slabs between. But look, this is why I need you boys to go check things out. It sounds like a damned nightmare down there with the staging. I’ve got a hundred crews from a dozen countries working on top of one another while materials pile up everywhere. I can’t be in ten places at once, so I need you to get a read on things and report back.”