Purple Hearts(91)

He cleared his throat, putting his hands in his pockets. “You’ll get a dishonorable discharge, I expect.”

“Just as long as nothing happens to Cassie.”

“Nobody can guarantee that.”

“Maybe not, but I can try.”

Dad paused. “What do you mean?”

Just then, the lawyer entered. A man about my age, of Asian descent. Thick, black hair cropped over plastic-rimmed glasses, dress blues. “My name is Henry Tran, and I’m with the United States Army Trial Defense Service.”

He shook both of our hands, and sat down next to Dad, across the table from us.

“So,” he began, running his eyes down a piece of paper. “You stand accused of entering into a contract marriage in order to fraudulently collect BAH and FSA pay, in violation of UCMJ Article 132.”

For a minute, we were all silent. Dad opened his mouth to speak, but I spoke first. “We were married. That’s it. That’s all anyone has to know.”

“I agree, Private Morrow. The Department of Defense’s official stance is that marriage is a personal, private decision, and ‘why’ someone chooses to enter into a legal union is not a court issue.” He held up his hands in quotation marks. “The issue is usually whether you can provide the necessary legal documents to the service proving that you’re married.”

My face burst into a smile. Dad looked at me from across the table, frowning. I ignored him, holding out my fingers one by one, thinking of Frankie, his goading, his insistence on closing every loophole. “We have an official marriage certificate. We have photographic evidence of the proposal. We have witnesses that saw us before and after the wedding as a couple . . .”

I glanced at Dad. He was looking at the lawyer, his eyebrows raised. I don’t think he realized how very committed I was.

Henry spoke slowly, considering. “Could the prosecution collect significant evidence that the marriage coincided with a time of financial need?”

I swallowed. They could. They could dig. They could see how my bank account went rapidly up and down as I paid Johnno, mostly down. They could see that Cassie got fired. But if I could stop them from doing this before the investigation got that far . . . I put a hand flat on the table, leaning forward. “They could, but it wouldn’t be relevant. If they bring up evidence, I will testify that I married her because we loved each other and we wanted to help each other out. It’s not up to the court to determine ‘reasons for marriage,’ that’s what you just said.”

Dad shifted in his seat. I couldn’t tell, but he might have given me a small, almost imperceptible nod.

“Beyond that, the angle they may take here is ‘intent to deceive.’?” Henry cleared his throat. “The phone call included mention of adultery on the part of Ms. Salazar. This would detract from the legitimacy of claims of love or support.”

I heard Kaz’s voice, saw Johnno sneering. Why you gonna let her play you like that, bro?

“If I don’t—” I choked on the words. I tried not to wince at the thought of Cassie and her drummer embracing. “Whatever anyone saw, if I don’t consider her adulterous, then she wasn’t adulterous. And I will testify to that, too.”

I felt Dad’s gaze on the side of my face.

I kept my eyes on the lawyer, and continued. “Cassie was there for me while I was in Afghanistan and she cared for me, day and night, when I came home injured, and we have proof of that. She was my wife in the ways that mattered, and she was an amazing wife.”

A discerning look passed over the lawyer’s face, and he picked up the case folder again, flipping through the papers. After a minute, he put the folder under his arm, and nodded. “Private Morrow, the hearing will likely be in a few days.” A small smile grew. “I advise you to keep hold of the words you just said. I advise you to list to me any witnesses of the authenticity of Ms. Salazar’s commitment, and vice versa. And I advise you to plead not guilty.”

After I told him about Rita and Jake and the photos, Henry reassured Dad and me that, depending on how motivated the prosecutor was, he would likely not even have to use them. He stood. Before he exited, he looked back and forth from Dad to me. “I’ve defended cases like this before. From what I can see, you share something very real.”

A micro version of the warmth I’d felt when I kissed Cassie two nights ago spread under my skin. It wasn’t over yet, but it was real. Even a stranger said it was real.

Dad turned in his seat to look at the doorway, and we heard footsteps down the hall. He turned back to me, speaking quietly, deliberately. “You did a good thing. When you said you would testify. You didn’t bring her into this. You didn’t even bring up the possibility.”

“Yes, sir. I want to keep her out of trouble.”

He lifted his chin. “You care, huh.”

“Damn right.” The words came quickly, sure. I had never felt more sure of anything.

“Okay,” Dad said, standing. He looked down at me under his brows. “Let’s get you out of here.”

There’s a photo of my dad from the day Jake was born, holding the little wrapped purple potato like a football. The long line of his mouth had become crooked with joy and awe. He’s looking up at my mother, the photographer, with dewy eyes.

I had a strange thought once, that my dad, through no fault of his own, hadn’t had one of these moments at my birth. That was why I continued to disappoint him, because we never connected, and I never knew what he wanted from me.