My rehab took time.
I had no strength. No endurance. Sitting up required all I had. In all my life I’d never known fatigue like I was experiencing. Many days I thought I’d never get back to half the man I used to be. But there’s only one Summer.
And Summer was having none of that.
Sitting up led to standing. Which led to three steps. Which led across the room. To down the hall. To outside. To tying my own shoes. To showering myself. To cutting my own steak. Pouring my own coffee. She was the perfect mixture of compassion and tough love. And she never quit.
Every night, whether I felt like it or not, Summer put a record on, set the needle in the groove, lifted me out of bed, and we danced.
Gunner seldom left my side. One day I looked down and realized I’d done a rather crummy job of thanking him. He’d found Summer’s handkerchief. Then he found me. Without him, there was no us.
I asked Summer to buy the biggest and most expensive rib eye she could find. Seventy-four dollars and thirty-six ounces later, she returned. “What do you want with it?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
I cranked the grill and rubbed Gunner’s tummy while the smell caused him to drool like a spigot. Somewhere between medium-rare and medium, I pulled the steak off and cut it into bite-size pieces.
“Gunner.”
He sat up, tilted his head, and stared at me. I held out the first bite of steak and inched it toward his nose, where he smelled it and stayed, waiting. Licking his muzzle continuously.
After a second, I said, “Okay,” and he gently took the steak from my hand, chewing once and swallowing.
A second piece followed.
As did a second bite and swallow.
And a third.
We continued this way for thirty-six ounces.
When finished, I lay on the floor with him, pulled his muzzle to my face, and kissed him. “Thank you, old friend.”
Gunner licked my cheek, rolled over on his back, stuck his paws in the air, and snored like a drunk sailor.
A few months in, I woke in the middle of the night and knew there was no way I was going back to sleep. My body was attempting to detox all the meds they’d pumped into me to keep me alive, and it often did this at night. Of course, they’d prescribed a sleeping pill, but I’d had enough medication. Summer lay next to me, her hand across my chest. My tether. Not wanting to wake her, I slipped out, leaned on my cane, walked downstairs, and punched the code to get into my basement. I wasn’t sure I could get back up, but at least I made it down. I’m not sure why I walked down there other than I needed some reminder of the me I used to be. The place was immaculate. Everything had been cleaned and put in its place. Even my Sig was hanging on the wall with the others. I wandered through each room with no particular aim, thanking the organization fairy who’d straightened up my mess.
Leaving my piddle room, I noticed Bones’s light was on. I shuffled down the hall where I found his door cracked. He was sitting in his chair, sipping wine, staring at a slideshow on the wall. One I’d never seen.
I pushed the door open with my cane and watched Bones watch his show. I stood there a moment, propped between the doorframe and my cane, before he spoke without looking at me. “Couldn’t sleep?”
I shook my head.
“We can get you a pill for that.”
Another shake. “I’ve had enough pills.”
“Don’t blame you.”
The slides changed. “What you watching?”
He sipped and stared at the multiple images spinning around the room as if placed there by a disco ball. All of the images were of me.
“When you were laid up in the hospital, I spent the days with you and the nights in here. Put this together to remind me.”
“Of?”
This time he looked at me. “How much I love you.”
I sat alongside him, catching my breath. He offered me his glass, which I took. One sip. Then another. We sat there nearly an hour watching the narrative of my life. Twenty years in pictures. From the academy, training, to seminary, my first few assignments, my first time in the hospital, then Key West, writing on my rock, tending bar, and looking for Marie.
“I read the letter.”
He nodded and pulled the letter out of his breast pocket. It was dirty, smeared with blood, and inscribed with my charcoal writing. He flattened it with his hand, careful not to smudge the lettering. “We’ve traveled some miles, you and I.”
I chuckled. “Some easier than others.”
“But all good.”
“Yes. All good.”
We sat in silence several minutes. When he spoke, his words were accompanied with tears. “For a long time, I hated her for asking me what she did. To keep her a secret.” A pause. “But one day the enormity of it hit me, and I knew not only what it cost me but what it cost her. And hatred grew to admiration and returned to love. Marie saw what I could not.” He studied the walls and the thousands of slides.
The faces of the found.
He continued, “She’s the reason we’re here.” He waved his hand across the room. “She’s the reason they’re here.”
I sat up. “You need to know something.”
Bones turned to me.
“The man who did this, blew up Freetown, kidnapped the girls, almost killed me—he’s still out there. And if he did it once, he can do it again. I won’t live looking over my shoulder. I won’t sit up at night biting my nails to the quick every time Ellie goes out with friends or Summer goes to the store.”
Bones lifted the remote to his slide machine and pushed a single button. The slideshow changed. Black-and-white photos of two boys. Same size. One sandy blond. The other dirty brown. Both handsome. Strong. Shoulder to shoulder. Arm in arm. Cutoff jeans. No shirts. Summertime tans. Fishing poles. Skateboards. Motorcycles. Paddling a canoe. Their smiles were magnetic. And similar. Eventually, the pictures changed. Color. Sepia. High school. And the images changed. One boy always stood in the light. The other in shadow. One a buzz cut. The other hair hanging down over his eyes. Dark circles. One smiling. One not.
I did not make the connection.
I spoke to Bones. “I’m going to get healthy. And when I do, I’m going after him.”
He raised an eyebrow and spoke as he brought his glass to his lips. “I thought you were a priest.”
I took his glass, sipped, sipped again, and handed it back. “I also priest.”
Bones nodded without looking at me. Around us, the slideshow continued. High school led to college. Whereas they once stood together, posing for the camera, now they stood apart. Not even in the same frame. Finally, the show shifted and the pics were only of the light-haired boy who had become a dark-hearted man. Even the pictures showed that.
Bones turned toward me. “You should know something.”
“Okay.”
His countenance changed. Pain rising to the surface. “He’s more evil than we are good.”
“I know that.”
Bones turned to face me. “I’m going with you.”
“I know that too.”
“But there’s one thing you don’t know.”
“What’s that?”
Bones stood, pressed the remote a single time, and the show stopped. The picture on the wall was the last picture in the chronology where the two were together in the same frame. They were in a small boat. Cast net. Fishing poles. Fish littered the bottom of the boat. One sat with his hand on the outboard tiller. The other stood with the net. One part tossed over his shoulder, one part held in his teeth, and one part spread through his hand. Muscles taut. Eyes trained on the water. Just before the cast.
Something about the lighting brought my attention to the boy seated at the motor. His features. I’d seen him before. Walking through fire in Montana. Looking at me. And in that moment, Bones spoke. “He’s my brother.”
“I thought he was dead.”
Bones shook his head. A tear trickling down. His gaze focused on a memory. And when he spoke I couldn’t tell if he was feeling anger or sorrow. “Not hardly.”