Something Like Normal(51)

The wooden floorboards of the porch creak in the quiet darkness as I carry Harper’s bag to the front door. We stand there a moment in the dim yellow glow of the porch light, a couple of idiots grinning at each other because things are different now. For one thing, I don’t have the specter of my hookup with Paige lurking over my shoulder. For another, the memorial service is behind me.

Also, I’ve seen Harper’s tattoo.

But it’s not only that. On the drive home we played Slug Bug, punching each other every time we saw a VW Beetle. Tried Guinness-flavored ice cream. And stopped to eat at this pirate adventure dinner theater place in Orlando, where we watched a Broadway-style swashbuckler show about a princess taken hostage by pirates. It was goofy to a degree that should have been embarrassing, but it wasn’t. It was fun.

Normal.

I don’t know if my life will ever be completely normal again, but something like normal is a good start.

“Thanks for coming with me,” I say. “And, you know, just being there.”

“What can I say?” She gives me a smart-ass little grin as she shrugs. “I kinda like you.”

“Kinda?” I wrap my arms around her, my lips next to her ear. “I call shenanigans.”

She turns her face toward me so I can kiss her, and we’re making out when the door opens. Her dad is on the other side of the screen. He runs his hand through his bed-head hair and squints sleepily at the light. “You’re home.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Does this public display of affection with my daughter on my front porch mean I’m stuck with you now?” he asks, opening the screen door for Harper.

I’m not sure if I should laugh, so I hold back. “I’m afraid so.”

He chuckles and shakes my hand. “Thanks for bringing her home in one piece. Now go home and don’t come back until the sun has been up for at least several hours.”

When I get to my own house, my mom is curled up in the corner of the family room couch, watching her favorite old black-and-white movie.

I sit down beside her and she offers me her bowl of popcorn. I take a handful and clear my throat. “I, um—think I forgot to thank you for everything you sent me while I was in Afghanistan.”

“I turned it into a game, trying to find the best and most useful things,” she says. “I had so much fun.”

I shovel in the popcorn and talk with my mouth full. “Next time, send more porn.”

“Travis!”

“I’m kidding,” I say. “But you know what would have been awesome? Tuna. I’d have killed for a tuna fish sandwich.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “I guess I didn’t want to come off as ungrateful, especially since I sucked at keeping in touch.”

Her face goes serious. “I’m not going to pretend my feelings weren’t hurt, but I’d have sent you anything you wanted. You’re my son, Travis, and I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

We sit in silence for a few moments while the princess in the movie gets a haircut so no one in Rome will recognize her.

“I was a jerk about Dad and I’m sorry,” I say. “It’s not really my business. And I’ve got your back whatever you decide.”

“I filed the papers.”

“I can’t say that makes me sad,” I say. “But are you going to be okay?”

“Now?” She smiles at me. “Absolutely.”





Chapter 17

Charlie,

I know you can’t read this, but I’ve been seeing a therapist and she thought I should write about you. Instead, I thought it might be easier to write to you. Maybe we’re both wrong, and either way I feel kind of stupid writing to a dead person, but I figured I’d give it a try.

I’ve been diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder, but just talking to a therapist doesn’t make it magically disappear. I mean, it’s good to unload some of the stuff I’ve been carrying around in my head, but I still have nightmares. I still wake up in the middle of the night, sweaty and scared, and have to remind myself it’s not real. The thing is, she tells me that the nightmares may never go away. That it could take years to stop reacting to loud noises or scanning the ground for IEDs. And even though I haven’t seen you in a while, I’ll probably never stop mistaking strangers in crowds for you. It sucks, but I’m learning to deal.

A lot of things have changed since you’ve been gone. My parents split and my dad moved back to Green Bay. That’s what my mom tells me, anyway. I don’t talk to him, he doesn’t talk to me, and that seems to work for both of us. Mom sold the house and got a smaller place. She spends most of her time collecting supplies for Afghan kids, but she’s been up to see your mom and Jenny a couple of times.

Speaking of your mom, I went to see her like I promised. You were right about her. She’s kind of weird, but in a good way. You’d have laughed your ass off when Kevlar found out she’s a lesbian. By the way, Kevlar finally got laid, but you really don’t want to know those details.

Remember how I joked about doing the recon course? Turns out, Kevlar went instead and he’s with First Recon out of Pendleton now. Ever since Afghanistan he’s been living from adrenaline rush to adrenaline rush, so I hope this works for him. The last time we talked, which has been a while, he claimed to have a seriously hot girlfriend but won’t show me any pictures, so I call shenanigans. She’s probably a whale.