Chapter 6

It takes me nearly a week to work up the courage to track down Drake's info. Using the address on the envelope, I found him online. He lives in Fort Worth, went to school with Brian, and they're the same age. Were they sweethearts in high school? Had they been hiding their relationship that long?

Taking a deep breath, I dial his number, almost hoping he doesn't answer, or that I have the wrong number. But I don't. He answers on the third ring.

"Hello?" He sounds curious, or suspicious, and I wonder what the caller ID shows.

"Is this—" I have to clear my throat and try again. "Is this Drake Wahl?"

"Yeah. Who's this?"

"My name's Rhett Marsh. I'm Brian's buddy."

"How'd you get this number?" He's definitely suspicious now, but then he asks, "Is Brian okay?"

"Uh, so, we were, um…" What the fuck am I supposed to say? "We served together. He was my best friend."

"Yeah, he's mentioned you." Drake doesn't notice my use of past tense, which only makes this harder 'cause I'm gonna have to spell it out for him.

"He…he's never mentioned you before."

"I'll ask you again, Rhett. How'd you get this number?"

"I looked it up. Listen, about Brian, he… we… he's gone, Drake. We were deployed, and we had to make a dangerous jump, and he…" My throat closes up and I have to swallow hard to push down the lump of emotion blocking it. "He got shot. He died." Clearing my throat again, I repeat, "He's gone, Drake."

He's silent, and then I hear an anguished sob. "No. No, he's coming home. Two more months left of his deployment and he's coming home. We… we had plans."

I don't know what to say. He's working it out, coming to terms with it, and I just remain silent throughout his denial. I can relate to his feelings.

"He can't be gone. He's…"

"I'm sorry, Drake."

He falls apart, a high-pitched keen, and the sound of his tears squeezes my already broken heart until it can't beat anymore. Why is fate so fucking cruel?

"How'd you find out about me?" he asks brokenly.

"Your letters were in a box of Brian's stuff in storage. He asked me to go through it before it was mailed home. I gotta admit, man, I've never heard your name on his lips before, and I thought I knew everything about him. This was a surprise."

"Yeah, maybe that's why he never said anything. You just wouldn't get it."

"You're wrong. I do get it. He should've told me." And I should've told him my secret. "I'll mail your stuff back to you. Maybe…maybe you could call his mom and see if she's planning a memorial service or something."

"Yeah, maybe. Can I ask you something?"

"I guess so."

"Did he die quickly?"

Fucking tears, damn! They're running down my cheeks. "Yeah, he never knew what hit him." I swipe them away. "And he wasn't alone. I was with him the whole time."

He chokes up again. "I loved him. Someday, when he got out, we were gonna make plans. He was… he was mine."

I swallow hard. "I know how bad it hurts, man. I'm sure he loved you, too."

It feels so bizarre to say that to a guy about my best friend, but I know deep down in my heart it's the truth. Brian would never have kept those letters and pictures if he hadn't been in love. He just wouldn't have risked it.

"I'm gonna hang up now. Call his mom. Take care, Drake."

"Thanks, Rhett. I'm sure it wasn't easy for you to call me. I appreciate it."

Harder than you'll ever know.

As soon as I hang up, a wave of sadness swamps me. I feel empty and sad and just… tired. Same as always lately. My mission is complete. My promise fulfilled. Now what? What the fuck do I do now? What's my purpose?

My lids droop closed and I sigh heavily. Settling Brian's affairs drove me all week to keep going and keep living, but with that behind me now, I've got nothing. I don't have a purpose anymore. I'm fucking useless.

When I open my eyes again, Liza is sitting on the end of my bed eating a mini cup of ice cream. It's plain vanilla from the cafeteria. "Hey, sleepy. I brought you ice cream, too." She motions to my tray table where my cup sits with a plastic spoon sticking out of it. "Nice menagerie. I think I might take the swan home with me."

She's pointing to the little petting zoo I have lined up on my tray table of origami animals I made using the stack of brochures she gave me.

"Thanks, but I'm not hungry."

My appetite is half of what it used to be. Maybe because I'm not as active as I once was, or maybe it's my depression. I'm losing weight, and I feel kinda weak, like every little movement is exhausting, despite feeling restless.

To emphasize my point, Tony walks in smiling like he's excited about PT. I'm glad one of us is.

"You ready to sweat?" he jokes, like we're doing hardcore exercises. My grandmama used to watch this exercise show on television geared toward older folks or people with physical limitations called Sit and Be Fit, where they did exercises while seated in a chair. Nothing strenuous whatsoever. I used to think she was real cute doing those chair workouts. Now I have to laugh at myself 'cause they were tougher than what I'm capable of doing now.

Fucking pathetic.

"I'll just get out of your way," Liza insists, grabbing my uneaten cup of ice cream. She chucks it in the can on her way out.

"Just two more weeks until the real fun begins," Tony says, sounding way too positive.

Two more weeks until I can bear weight on my leg. Then maybe I can regain some of my mobility, move to a step-down unit, and work on being discharged. So I can return to… to I don't fucking know what. I need to talk to my chain of command about my reenlistment status. I'd been all set to sign up for another four years of jumping out of planes, or however long my knees and ankles would allow me to continue, but now that that's off the table, I'll have to choose something else.

My cell phone rings and I grab it from my tray table and answer, "Hello?"

"Are you there, baby?" my mama asks. She always sounds worried and concerned. It's hard for her, knowing I'm so far away and hurting and there's nothing she can do for me.

"Yeah, Mama, I'm here." Where else would I be?