“Not stepping in? A little. A lot, maybe.”
“Thank you, again. What did you think of the meeting?”
“It was really interesting, Soph. You know what you’re talking about. You’re a good leader. I’ve got to say I’m impressed by what you’ve got going.”
“But?”
“I think you’re in a safe place once you get there, but I don’t think I’m any less worried about the getting-there part. Have you been keeping track of your seizures?”
“Yeah. Two this week. One definitely got triggered by heat, or maybe heat and stress. This one, I don’t know. No reason. Are you going to tell Mom?”
“I’ll tell her what I just said: you’re in a safe place, and you have people looking out for you, and you’re a good leader. I didn’t realize how much you were in charge of.” The light turned red and she met Sophie’s eyes. “I’m proud of you, Soph. You’re doing an amazing thing.”
Sophie smiled and sank back into her seat.
Back at the house, Sophie disappeared into her bedroom, though her footsteps were soft, and the door closed rather than slammed. Julie lounged on the couch, television on, maybe dozing, but she opened her eyes when Val walked in.
“How did it go?” Julie shifted her feet to let Val sit, then let them drop again into her wife’s lap.
Val kneaded the ball of Julie’s right foot, eliciting a groan. “She’s really good at the thing she’s doing. Organized, inspiring, well-spoken.”
“And?”
“I think she’s safe there. I’d prefer she crash there than go back and forth, honestly. I don’t think we should be setting a curfew. She’s an adult.”
Julie frowned.
“It’s good people there. Not just Gabe. They’ve got her back.”
“What about you? Are you going to go again?”
Val shook her head and switched feet. “I don’t think it’s for me.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
DAVID
At the airport the civilian airport almost home people crowds laughter announcements beeping carts instrumental versions of songs from movies music means you can’t hear what you need to hear tune it out tune it out David tried to tune it out. He kept his back to the wall even here however many miles from where he needed to keep his back to the wall he didn’t know the miles he’d never needed to know the miles there was an ocean between a desert between the miles didn’t matter keep your attentions elsewhere, soldier. It didn’t feel like less of a need here it didn’t feel any less urgent the space was so vast there were so many people so many corners so many angles. He scanned the crowd like he’d been taught like he had practiced a thousand times in a thousand rooms on a thousand streets. It didn’t matter that this place was supposed to be safer. Supposed to be home whatever that meant anymore.
Some homecomings got military jets to the base, families on the tarmac. Big publicity stuff. Not David’s. He’d arrived home commercial. He preferred it this way. He wasn’t much for open spaces these days. He stayed close to the wall.
Beyond the security checkpoint, some volunteer greeters stood ready to welcome, and families waited for their soldiers to step out. Dolenz pulled a woman into her arms; Tuvim was quickly surrounded by children with balloons. David’s eyes did their customary sweeps, his Pilot boosting and processing the signal so he could check the rafters the windows the doorways the alcoves in a quick glance. A yellow balloon bounced against the skylight high above, and a sparrow cut panicked arcs around it. Plain black bag unattended near a potted plant whose bag nobody’s bag where was security a woman next to the garbage can tossing a coffee cup returned to the bag nothing to see here. The other soldiers looked relaxed. David was more like the sparrow.
He walked past the happy reunions, overwhelmed by guilt. His moms would have loved to be here. Would have been here in a second, if David had told them to come. It wasn’t their fault David had been unable to visualize the reunion scene, unable to imagine hugs or kisses or any fuss made over him. He didn’t want to draw anyone out into the open. Didn’t want it to be his fault if anything happened.
He fumbled with his stateside phone, hoping it had kept its charge. Twenty percent. Enough to message both moms. On my way home—surprise! I’ll be at your door tomorrow.
He tucked the phone back into his pocket and made his way down the corridor, his pack over one shoulder slightly obscuring his peripheral vision on the right, so he kept to that wall to compensate. He dug for his wallet as he walked. He should have done that on the plane, so he wouldn’t have to do it here in the open. Already he’d slipped.
He took a deep breath and stepped away from the wall, then out the door onto the train platform. The machines to buy rail tickets were still the same one broken one working no line there was also an app these days but he didn’t have it. He negotiated the menu while his other attentions examined the people on the platform. Mostly airport workers finishing their shifts: tired, routine, IDs still around their necks, some with safety vests, fingerless gloves, dirty fingers, some in polos, varied as jockey silks based on their airlines. An acned white teen in a purple jacket slumped on a bench, the only one who seemed out of place. No bags, so he wasn’t a traveler. No airport or police badge, unless he had it under his jacket. David jammed his ticket in his pocket and reframed himself so the boy was the center focus, everything else peripheral.
The train arrived and new passengers negotiated the geometric dance that put them all at the farthest points from each other. David took the first rear-facing seat in the first car, so the only
