Chapter 5

5

SARAH

W ith my bags in tow, I went home. My family lived in Colorado Springs which meant I was able to spend a few weekends and every holiday at home, but this was different. I was done with the academy. It was a break before I moved on.

It was kind of like graduating high school and having a summer break before heading off to my assignment. I was looking forward to getting out of town. I loved my family, but I was anxious to spread my wings and fly. Literally.

The scent of home and the familiar surroundings were a welcome change from the regimented routine of dorm life on base. I left the bags in the car and walked along the walkway that did not have a single blade of grass growing between the stones. The lawn was freshly mowed, again no sign of weeds. I was pretty sure the weeds were too afraid to grow on my father's lawn.

I knocked before I entered the house. It was weird to knock on the door, but I also didn't know if it was okay for me to just walk in. I pushed open the door and looked around. I had not been home since Christmas break. The last few months I had been busting my ass studying and making sure I pulled good grades.

It was good to be home. The house was meticulously kept as always. Every piece of furniture, every decoration, every photo frame perfectly aligned. The sofa cushions were plumped up and not a speck of dust was to be found anywhere. It was my father's military precision at work. With a father in the military, we were all in the military. We knew how to pass an inspection.

"Hello?" I called out.

"In the kitchen," Mom said.

I walked into the kitchen and was greeted by the comforting sight of my father in regular clothes. It was a rare occurrence since most of my interactions with him at the academy had been in uniform. He was wearing a pair of cargo shorts and a pale blue polo shirt. My mother and sister, Meg, were making dinner. At least that was what they were trying to do. At the moment, they were fussing over a salad and bickering over the amount of balsamic vinegar to add to the dressing.

"I'll do it," I said. "You guys are going to ruin it. Or kill each other."

"Thank goodness you leave for Columbus at the end of the summer," Meg teased. "Is it August yet?"

I chuckled and playfully hip-bumped her. "You'll miss me as soon as I'm gone," I countered, knowing full well that despite our occasional disagreements, Meg and I had a strong bond.

"I'll miss you bossing me around," she retorted. "You're a couple years older but think you're my third parent."

At nineteen, Meg and I got along well for the most part, our arguments typically revolving around trivial matters like salad dressing. We were very different people, but we embraced our differences. But there was one topic that always seemed to cause tension between us—our father. We had our reasons, buried deep beneath layers of unspoken resentment and unresolved issues. But we didn't talk about that. It was easier to ignore and pretend there was nothing going on.

"Dinner is ready," Mom announced.

Dad had gone outside to survey the flower beds. He walked in with a frown. "Looks like a few of the plants got a touch of cold."

"They'll be fine," Mom assured him. "Wash up."

My father commanded thousands of people and no one would ever dare mess with him, but Mom was the boss at home. She was the only one that got to order him around. She subtly guided him to the small powder room adjacent to the kitchen. He gave her a quick peck on the cheek before complying.

While he was away, we set the table. It was an old one, full of nicks and scratches from years of family dinners, holiday feasts, and late-night card games. It had been moved back and forth across the US too many times to count. Its worn surface was something familiar and comforting even if it was old and marked up. It contrasted with the rigid routine of the academy.

Mom started bringing out the food. We settled around the dinner table, but no one dared reach for any food. We knew the rules. My father put his hands together and we all followed. With bowed heads, we listened as he gave thanks for the meal before us, a moment of quiet reflection before the chaos of conversation ensued.

Mom brought up the graduation ceremony. "I can't believe you're all graduated. You're growing up too fast."

"She's far from grown up," Meg said with a sarcastic laugh.

I rolled my eyes and pushed my hair back. I heard Mom's gasp and quickly put my hair back to cover the side of my face, but it was too late.

Mom noticed the faint purple mark on my cheek. I cursed inwardly.

"Sarah! What is that?"

"Nothing."

"It's something," she said and reached over to push my hair back. "Is that a bruise? It's a cut!"

"It's not a big deal," I said. "It's just a little bruise."

Meg couldn't help but snicker as she took a bite of her salad. "A shiner, you mean?" she teased.

"Shut up," I hissed, shooting her a warning glare.

"Sarah," Mom chided. "Let me see."

"It's nothing," I assured her.

"But it's something," Meg insisted with a wicked grin, clearly enjoying my discomfort. "Did you get into a fight? You're not boxing again, are you?"

I glanced at my parents. Dad was quietly shaking his head, but Mom was glowering at me. She was always the one who worried most. He was usually more understanding, having been in plenty of fights in his youth. Mom, on the other hand, had been a straight-A student and never broke any rules.

"I'm not boxing, Meg," I replied, trying to downplay the matter.

My father gave me a hard look. The unspoken warning clear in his gaze. "If you continue down this path of unruly behavior, you risk jeopardizing your career," he warned. "And it's not just your career you're messing with. You're tarnishing my hard-earned reputation because you like to throw a right hook whenever the mood strikes."

"You shouldn't have put me in boxing when I was a kid if you didn't want me punching things," I retorted, a hint of defiance in my voice.

He took a bite of his chicken and then gave me another look that would make any man wither. "Things? Or people?"

"I didn't start it," I said defiantly.

"It's unbecoming of an officer," he said, using his general's voice. "You will get kicked out on your ass if you keep this up. Columbus will not tolerate this behavior."

Mom shook her head with the same look of disappointment. "I just don't know how you are ever going to get married at this rate. I want grandbabies, but I don't know if there is a man on this planet that can handle you."

"I never wanted those things," I reminded her. "Meg is your girl. She'll make sure you get your grandkids and a good husband."

I had never felt the pull of domesticity like my sister did. My dreams lay elsewhere, in the cockpit of a fighter jet where the sky was limitless and the horizon stretched out before me.

"You're young," she said as if it wasn't obvious. "You're going to want those things. You're going to want a good husband to support you. To grow old with. But you're just a little too much for anyone to handle."

"I'm flattered," I replied, my tone laced with sarcasm. "But I don't need a man to handle me."

"I want kids," Meg chimed in. "I'll have enough for me and Sarah."

"Thanks," I said with a tight smile.

Dad finally broke his silence. "Sarah, your mother's right. You're young, but you need to start thinking about your future. If you want to stay in the program and get one of the coveted seats in the cockpit, you damn well need to get it together. You know I can't run cover for you. I won't do it."

"I never asked you to."

Mom sighed and rested her hand on mine. "Honey, we just want you to be happy," she said softly.

"And I am happy," I reassured her. "I'm very happy."

"Punching people?" Dad added with a raised eyebrow.

"For your information, the dude started it," I replied. "He shoved me, and I hit back. You taught me to never back down."

"You fought a man?" Mom groaned. "Oh, Sarah. What are we going to do with you?"

"Train me to punch harder," I suggested, receiving a short laugh from Meg.

Dad cracked a smile, but it was fleeting. "No, Sarah. This isn't about punching harder or better. It's about learning to control your temper, to channel your aggression into something more productive." He paused, shooting a glance at Mom then sighing. "And yes, I taught you to never back down, but it was not meant to be taken literally all the time. It's about standing up for yourself, for what's right. Not settling scores with your fists."

Thankfully, the subject was dropped. The conversation shifted to lighter topics. We talked about our summer plans. We only had a couple precious months together before I was shipped off to Columbus.

As we talked of the beach and camping trips, I couldn't help but wonder if this was the last summer we'd have together as a family.

"Let's make it the best summer ever," Meg suggested with a twinkle in her eyes that I hadn't seen in years. "Nights by the bonfire, swimming in the lake, and having as many cookouts as possible."

Mom's face lit up. She was obviously thrilled by the idea.

I, on the other hand, knew this was going to be the longest summer ever. I was itching to get back into the cockpit, to feel the rush as I soared through the sky. It had been weeks since I had flown, and it felt like I was going through withdrawals.

I swallowed down my frustration and nodded, a plastered smile on my face. "Sounds fantastic," I agreed, but the insincerity was clear in my voice.

"She's itching to get started with her training," Dad joked.

I nodded. "I'm determined to be the best pilot. I'm going to shatter the old records."

"To do that, you need to keep your record clean," Dad warned. "There is stiff competition, and your COs are always going to pick the airman that isn't going to give them any trouble."

"Then I won't give them any trouble," I said, trying to sound nonchalant. "I'll fly straight."

"That's my girl." Dad grinned. But the worry lines around his eyes didn't disappear completely. They never did when it came to my future. I knew I could be a little unruly. I didn't break any laws. I simply refused to be put in a box.

People always said I was all bark and no bite. They commented on my petite stature and referred to me as a chihuahua. I supposed sometimes I felt like I needed to back up the words with some action.

I would prove them all wrong.