37

I said good-bye to Mike in the space between our bedroom doors. He had on his dress uniform and his pack was slung over his shoulder.

“Don’t you want me to come to the airport?” I asked. “Bernie said he’d give me the time off.”

“You’ve already taken so much time for me.” Mike shook his head. “It’s all right. Mom and Frank decided to take me.”

“I don’t mind, really.”

He scratched behind his ear, looking away from me. “Annie, it’s just . . .”

I moved my head so my eyes were in his line of vision. “It’s just what?”

“It’s already going to be hard for me to get on that plane.” He shifted his eyes to the ceiling. “If you and Joel are there, it’ll be that much harder.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I’ll want to stay. If you two are there, I won’t be able to leave.”

“Mike . . .”

“You all made my leave so good,” he said. “Too good.”

I leaned back against the doorjamb.

“I have so much to say,” I whispered. “I just don’t know how.”

“Write to me,” he whispered back. “All the time, okay?”

He put his pack down on the floor and reached for me, wrapping his arms all the way around me. “You’ll be okay,” he said.

“So will you,” I told him.

He let go of me far too soon and picked up his bag, walking down the steps, and only looking back at me once.

Then he was gone.

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Bernie didn’t say a single word about me showing up late. And he didn’t get after me for wearing a pair of bell-bottom jeans instead of the slacks he required. But after I dropped my second plate, making it shatter across the kitchen floor, he pulled me aside and stooped so his face was level with mine.

“Get your mind off him,” he said, his voice gruff. “Just stop thinking about him.”

“I can’t.” I felt myself breaking and I breathed in deeply.

“Okay, then.” He pushed his shoulders back and crossed his arms. “Tell me what you’re thinking about.”

“My brother.”

“I’m not dumb, Annie.” He rolled his eyes. “What are you thinking about him?”

I stammered, trying to figure out what he wanted me to say. “I’m worried about him.”

“All right.” He nodded. “What else.”

“I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

“That something will happen to him.” I shoved my hands into my back pockets and blinked quickly, hoping that would discourage my tears.

“Don’t tell me generalizations. Be specific,” he said. “What are you afraid will happen?”

I couldn’t say the words. They were stuck. I started and stopped more than a couple of times before my breath became shallow and I could no longer deny the crying.

“I’m afraid,” I started. “I’m afraid that he’ll get killed.”

I shook, certain that I would fall down right there on the kitchen floor among the shards of the dish I’d broken. But Bernie put his thick, strong hands on my arms—his grip more gentle than I’d expected—holding me still.

“I’m afraid of that too,” he said, all the harshness out of his voice. “Because it might happen. But it might not. We can’t know.”

“What will we do if it does?” I cried.

“I don’t know.” He shook his head. “We can’t plan for it. What we have to do is keep going. We have to live today and then tomorrow and then the next day. And if something happens to him, we’ll live that day too. Can we do that?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know how.”

“The same way you’ve lived all the other days up until now.”

He told me to go to the restroom and put a cold washcloth on my forehead.

I let the water run in the sink to get good and cold and took off my glasses so I could wipe them clean on the bottom of my shirt.

When I looked up in the mirror I saw my reflection, blurry from tears and not having my glasses on. Squinting, I got a clearer view. I moved my face from one side to the other, tipping my chin this way and that.

It was like being face-to-face with my mother. My jawline and the slope of my nose. Cheekbones, eye shape, fullness of lip.

She’d been a year younger than I was when she first met Frank and only one year older when they got married. A handful of years later and they had Mike and me. Then Frank had gone to Korea.

Live today and then tomorrow and then the next day . . . the same way you’ve lived all the other days.

Don’t duck and cover. Keep your eyes open.

I put on my glasses and smoothed my hair. Turning off the faucet, I took one last look in the mirror.

I made sure to turn out the light behind me.