CHAPTER ONE 

A bright-eyed seven-year-old walked alongside his mother as they strolled the aisles of the crowded, outdoor market. He maintained a mischievous, snaggletooth grin as a stick of blue raspberry flavored rock candy hung from his mouth. He zigzagged between shoppers, dribbling his basketball with the precision of a future point guard.

It was a Saturday afternoon; the summertime weather was refreshingly cool, and a slight breeze, filled with the pleasant aroma of freshly cut flowers and various fresh fruits, blew through the busy streets. The market was bustling with people carrying baskets filled with colorful fruits and vegetables. A man strumming a guitar sat in front of the corner fruit stand; children passed by in the street kicking a soccer ball back and forth, laughing as they darted effortlessly through the crowd. Two elderly men, both distinguished, sharply dressed, retired, college professors, sat outside a nearby café playing chess and laughing heartily over coffee and conversation.

The moment the little boy spotted the two gentlemen, he turned to his mother and asked permission to cross the street. With only a slant of her eyes, his mother reminded him that when he addressed her, he was to do so in English. He smiled, realizing his error, and his mother smiled back at him with an amused nod. Again, he asked permission to cross the street to go to the café, and his mother sent him on his way. The little boy dribbled his basketball across the street as he bounded toward his two companions, eager to hear what new stories they had for him.

“Hurry back, Grant!” his mother called after him. “We have a lot of packing to do this afternoon!” She breathed in her own words as she practically danced down the row of fruit with a spring that had been absent from her steps for months if not years.

Grant Cohen was a quiet little boy, much more comfortable in the presence of adults than with children his own age. He had spent the past two years being home schooled by two German professors who found his inquisitive nature most remarkable. They taught him the language, culture and history of their country while taking him through daily lessons on arithmetic, philosophy and literature. Otto and Ludwig didn’t believe in classrooms or textbooks, so, instead of boring their young student with lectures, they took him on frequent fieldtrips and allowed him to experience Europe firsthand. At seven years of age, Grant had an incredible command of the German language and a vast understanding of things beyond his years. He was an incredibly gifted child who genuinely enjoyed learning; he was a teacher’s dream…attentive, yet not without his own views, opinions and surprisingly well-thought-out theories. Otto and Ludwig’s teaching methods were unconventional, but Grant thrived under their care, and they grew to love him. The inevitable news that Grant’s father was taking him back home to the United States had hit them much harder than they had expected. In a matter of days, their young protégé would go back home to America and integrate into a classroom where Dresden is a dot on a map and studying its tragic history means looking at a picture in a history book, not going on an educational walking tour through the site of World War II’s most controversial bombings. Otto and Ludwig worried that, while they had educated Grant in the most stimulating manner they knew how, they had done very little to prepare him for the classroom he would enter back home in North Carolina.

It was not at all uncommon to find Grant, after his lessons were done for the day, sitting in the vast library in Ludwig’s office, mesmerized by the shelves of books that stretched from floor to ceiling. Grant loved literature, particularly, at that point in his life, the work of Ernest Hemingway. He was fascinated by stories of bull fights, boxing matches, fishing expeditions and warfare. One day, while on a train to Hannover, Grant found himself transported into the world of an American ambulance driver serving in the Italian Army during World War I. Ludwig was a tremendously talented storyteller, and he pulled no punches while discussing the fictional tales that Grant loved. While A Farewell to Arms was not necessarily intended for a seven-year-old boy, it was always Ludwig’s belief that if Grant possessed enough discernment to ask certain questions about a books’ content, it was his responsibility as an educator to answer them honestly. Grant was always full of questions; he wanted words defined, scenarios explained and themes analyzed. He sat on his knees there in his seat on the train listening carefully to every word that Ludwig said. Their conversation moved with ease from German back to English and back to German again. Fellow passengers found themselves intrigued by the astuteness demonstrated by the young, unassuming, fair-haired, little boy whose English was accented by a subtle, yet distinctive, German accent.

At night, Grant often sat outside at his father’s feet, dribbling his basketball and listening to his father and his father’s foul-mouthed comrades telling stories, which often included language that made his mother, who listened inconspicuously from the kitchen window, shudder angrily.

Nora Miller Cohen was a southern belle from a tiny Tennessee farm town, and, though she had traveled with her husband for the entirety of their twenty-six year marriage, she was unashamedly partial to the American Southland. When her husband’s job had landed the newlywed couple at Fort Bragg, North Carolina, she had fallen in love with the state, and, for the simple reason that none of her five children had ever lived in her home state of Tennessee, she now proudly called North Carolina her home.

As Nora walked through the market on that Saturday afternoon that summer, she did so with a pep in her step because in less than twenty-four hours she was going to board a plane that would take her and her family back home to the Tar Heel State.

“All by yourself today, are you?” General Cohen chuckled as he snuck up behind his wife.

Nora turned quickly, smiling at the sight of her husband, now a much older, but equally intense, version of the West Point cadet she had fallen in love with so many years earlier. “Oh, Randy, you scared me,” she scolded. “You know I hate it when you sneak up on me.”

“Where’s the knucklehead?” Randy asked as he draped his arm around his wife’s shoulders.

“He’s doing his morning rounds,” Nora mused. She pointed. “He spotted Otto and Ludwig sitting outside the café.”

From across the street, Randy watched his youngest son conversing with the two gentlemen. Grant sat on Otto’s knee, and they seemed to be discussing their Chess game with passionate intensity. Randy had never particularly cared for Chess, but his son’s introduction to the game had turned him into somewhat of a master strategist, and Randy reveled in thoughts of the possibilities that lie ahead of his brilliant mini-me.

“Grant really will miss this place, Randy,” Nora sighed. “I’m afraid that his teachers back home might find that he speaks better German than English.”

“Well, we both know that he speaks perfect English and has a rather exhaustive vocabulary to boot, but perhaps Grant would prefer to spend another year here with his tutors,” Randy suggested.

“You let him speak German to you…that’s the problem, you know?” Nora said, intentionally ignoring Randy’s announcement. “Do you have any idea how it makes me feel that my seven-year-old can carry on entire conversations during which I have no cotton-pickin’ idea what he said? Sometimes I think you forget you were born in Massachusetts and not somewhere on this side of the world, Randy.”

“But thanks to a twang like yours, we won’t ever forget that you’re a farm girl from Tennessee, will we little lady?” Randy replied with a roll of his eyes. During his days as a cadet, Randy had taken painstaking measures to eliminate what had once been a very thick Boston accent. For the sake of his job, in order to be taken seriously, he had acquired a sort of accent free, middle American dialect, but his wife was one hundred percent southern and proud as she could be about it.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Nora shot back. “You don’t like the way I talk? Is that it? Is that why you’d rather have my son speaking some foreign language than back home picking up the twang of my people? You know, Randy, a nice southern drawl might just do that boy good.”

“Oh, Lord, help me,” Randy sighed as he massaged his temples. “Honey, he can park his car in Harvard Yard like my statesmen, drive his tractor down yonder to the general store like your folks, or find himself while backpacking through this foreign landscape with a cast of characters worthy of a Chaucer sequel for all I care.”

“You should care about what your son is exposed to, bless his heart,” Nora said angrily. “I don’t approve of the vulgarity you allow to be used in front of him. I don’t agree with the fact that he sees you drinking yourself into oblivion. You didn’t used to drink, Randy…not in front of me and certainly not in front of our children. You spent quality time with our other kids when they were growing up, but Grant spends way more time with those two old men than he does with his own father.”

“Nora,” Randy said irritably, “can we please discuss my parenting skills later? Right now I need to talk to you about a change of plans.”

“I heard what you said about staying here, but I’m ignoring you,” Nora nodded. “The plane leaves tomorrow, and we will be on it.”

“Nora, I can’t take you back to North Carolina right now,” Randy shook his head, “and I think it would be best if you and Grant stayed here, so he’ll have the benefit of spending time with his tutors.”

Nora shook her head. “I don’t believe this,” she sighed, even though years as a military wife had taught her that nothing was definite until it happened. “You promised me that we could go home and spend some time together as a real family…all of us… together…finally.”

“Well, plans changed, Nora,” Randy explained rather harshly. “Surely you can understand that is always a possibility in my line of work.”

“I’m taking Grant home,” Nora insisted.

“I think that Grant might do better if you stay here for now,” Randy said in a tone that told Nora he had given the subject some thought. “It’ll be hard enough on him if I have to leave, and that scenario is looking extremely likely. I think we should at least do him the courtesy of not ripping him out of school right now.”

“He doesn’t go to school here!” Nora practically yelled. “Going to school means learning to associate with other children…picking teams on the playground…finding a group of friends who will always save you a seat in the lunchroom…passing notes and hoping the teacher doesn’t catch you…that’s school, Randy! He spends all day long with two old men who sometimes seem to forget that he’s an innocent child. And his best friend? Well, his best friend, his only friend, is that basketball he hauls around.”

“There are other children he could play with, Nora,” Randy argued. “There’s a school he could go to, but our son’s just not like other kids; I think that if you take him away from Otto and Ludwig right now, he’s going to resent you. He’s not used to being confined to a classroom, and that new environment, coupled with the deployment of his father, could cause him to act out. You know how stubborn that boy can be.”

“I spent plenty of time taking care of our other kids while you were away, and I can take care of Grant too,” Nora sighed, wishing that she could make her protest sound more believable. It wasn’t that Grant was a bad child by any stretch of the imagination; it was just becoming increasingly difficult for Nora to create boundaries for a child whose age said little about his abilities. In fact, there were times like that morning when Nora found the stained, blue lips of a carefree child unimaginably refreshing. Those were indeed the moments she treasured most…moments when she felt like she could relate to a child whom she feared was rapidly slipping away from her.

Randy said nothing as he stared across the street.

“What about Emily? What about what is best for her?” Nora shrugged. “I promised Rachel that I was coming back home to help her take care of Emily. Our granddaughter needs us.”

“It’s about time that Rachel learns to take on full-time responsibility for Emily,” Randy fired back. “You raised the baby for the first four years of her life. We offered to sign the papers…raise Emily as ours…but Rachel insisted that she wanted to be her daughter’s mother. She chose to keep Emily in North Carolina, and, ever since then, it has been one problem after another…unnecessary stress put on you…money out of my pocket that I’m not always certain is going toward Emily’s needs.”

“Need I remind you how our daughter got pregnant?” Nora said, almost hatefully.

“That was seven years ago, Nora!” Randy snapped. “She’s not a fifteen-year-old girl anymore! Rachel is a grown-up now, and it is about time she started acting like it.”

“She’s only twenty-two years old, Randy,” Nora sighed. “She should be finishing college, starting her life…she didn’t ask to have a six-year-old daughter!”

Randy shook his head insistently. “Ever since she had the baby, Rachel has done nothing but squander her life away. I reached out to her in every way that I knew how, and nothing seemed to motivate her to pick up the pieces and move on with her life. Now she needs to grow up; it’s about time that she gets focused on what’s best for her and her daughter,” Randy said, his voice booming, despite the fact that Nora was trying to shush him. He shook his head angrily and lowered his voice. “And NO…I certainly don’t need any reminders of what happened to my little girl, but there has to come a time when she moves on. She’s not in college; she’s not trying to make anything out of her life, so the least she can do is step up and take care of Emily.”

“She’s never been the same since that night, Randy; you know that,” Nora said tearfully. “She needs me, and, I don’t care how old she is, I’ll always be there for her and for Emily. I know you’re disappointed in Rachel’s lack of motivation, but what about Joanna? Jo graduated from law school this year, Randy, and you had to miss her graduation! Well, I’m tired of missing out on things! I raised two sons and two daughters traveling from base to base, but at least they had each other. Grant doesn’t have that. He’s a loner, and I worry about him.”

“Nora, I have a job to do,” Randy said sternly. “Grant will understand that; why can’t you?”

“Your job,” Nora challenged, “is to be a father to our five children.”

Randy swallowed hard, taken aback by the number his wife had used. “We don’t have five children anymore,” he snarled, “and I think that fact alone testifies to my failures as a father. So are you happy now…do you rest your case?”

The coldness in Randy’s voice made Nora turn away, though she made no attempt to hide her tears.

Randy grimaced as he put his hand on Nora’s shoulder. “Honey, I’m sorry,” he sighed after a moment. “I shouldn’t have said that. I know you didn’t mean it that way.”

Grant skipped across the street with his basketball tucked under his arm as he called out to his father. General Cohen ruffled the little boy’s hair affectionately. “Speak English,” he demanded. “You’ll upset your mother!”

Grant handed his basketball to his mother, raised his arms, and his dad tossed him effortlessly into the air, catching him with one arm. His arm around his father’s neck, Grant continued rattling off his thoughts in a quick string of German.

“Grant,” Randy said too harshly, “did you hear me? Speak English when your mother is around!” His voice softened. “And, every now and then, mention sweet tea, turnip greens and cow tipping, so she’ll feel at home.”

“Stop it, Randy,” Nora mumbled.

“How would you like to spend another year here, Soldier?” Randy inquired as he walked along the street with Grant in his arms.

Grant shrugged. “If we’re not going to North Carolina, does that mean I can go on vacation with Otto and Ludwig?”

“We’ll see,” Randy nodded.

Nora let out a squawk of surprise. “What do you mean, we’ll see? Where are they going?” she inquired, indignantly. “This is the first I’ve heard of it.”

“Where are they going, Buddy?” Randy asked calmly.

“Otto is going to Prague to visit his cousin,” Grant said excitedly. “Do you remember when Otto and I went to Scandinavia and the sun was out twenty-four hours a day? Remember how he took me to Stockholm, and we went to the Royal Dramatic Theatre. Trips with Otto are my favorite! May I go? Please!”

“Is Ludwig going too?” Nora asked.

“No, Ma’am,” Grant replied quickly. “Otto will be back from Prague in a month, and he and Ludwig have planned a trip to Thailand. If you let me go, Otto promised we can go to Vietnam at the end of the summer because I’ve been reading so much about it.” Grant giggled. “Ludwig said he’s going to toss me into the South China Sea and see if I can swim all the way to the Philippines.”

“Any boy of mine better make it all the way,” Randy laughed.

“I just don’t know about all that, Grant,” Nora sighed.

“Nora, nobody is really going to toss him into the sea,” Randy scoffed. “Besides there are little islands along the way he could latch on to.”

Nora rolled her eyes at her husband’s quip. “Grant, Sweetheart, I just don’t know if right now is a good time for you to be going away.”

“Please, Mom,” Grant begged. “Don’t you remember last time you let me go on vacation with Otto? I got to see the Taj Mahal, and, in Bangladesh, I got to see a real tiger.”

Nora nodded. “Do you remember after you got back last summer, and you and I went home and took Rachel and Emily to Disney World? Wasn’t it nice to get to spend time with your family? Florida was beautiful, and there was so much to do that we couldn’t get it all done.”

“I had fun,” Grant recalled.

“Do you remember wearing Mickey Mouse ears and eating the chocolate covered ears off of Mickey Mouse ice cream bars?” Nora asked with animated enthusiasm.

Grant nodded.

“Did you have as much fun as you had with Otto?” Nora gulped after a moment.

“Nora, that’s not fair,” Randy grumbled.

Grant shrugged. “Mom, you do know that Tigger is a guy in a costume making minimum wage, and the tiger I saw in India was a stunningly beautiful beast on the verge of extinction, right? No cages, no nothing. No readily accessible, removable head for smoke breaks. No maintaining the same goofy grin that’s plastered on his face even as some kid tugs on his tail.”

“Oh, come-on now, Soldier,” Randy shook his head with a chuckle. “Don’t ruin the magic of Disneyland for your mother.”

Nora stared back at her little boy, her face contorted, as though to ask who had stolen her child’s soul. “Didn’t you enjoy eating breakfast with all of Mickey’s friends?” she asked seriously. “I remember how much you loved seeing the Pirates of the Caribbean. Emily was scared, but not you! You made us wait in line to go through for a second time and then a third. I couldn’t take my eyes off you for a split second in Epcot Center because you were darting about so curiously, and…”

“Nora,” Randy interrupted, “I think we should let him go with his teachers. You can go home and visit the other kids. You can make sure that Emily is getting everything she needs; you can even go to Tennessee and see your mother if you want to. It’ll be relaxing for you to get away.”

Nora glanced at Randy, her eyes full of tears. “I wanted us to go home as a family,” she cried.

“This is my job, Nora,” Randy shrugged. “You knew that before you married me.”

Grant wriggled free of his father’s arms and reached for the security of his trusty basketball.

Randy stared at his wife, then glanced down at his son. “Run on and tell Otto and Ludwig the good news,” he said with a nod of his head.

Nora watched her little boy run across the street dribbling his basketball. She had once enjoyed watching high school basketball games, and, as Grant ran, she couldn’t help but wonder if she would one day sit in the bleachers watching him play the game that they both enjoyed. She didn’t know the rules to soccer. Randy had never once taken her to Boston to see his beloved Red Sox or Patriots play, but she understood basketball, and there was something about the game that transported her back to her youth and made her feel young and carefree again. She had bought Grant his first basketball when he was just a baby; she had never pushed him toward it, but when he gravitated toward it on his own, she had been quite pleased.

Randy put his hand on Nora’s shoulder. “Are we okay?” he asked softly.

Nora pecked Randy on the cheek. “I’m going to enroll him in school in North Carolina next year,” she said confidently. “I need to be home for awhile.”

“I love you and our kids more than anything,” Randy replied.

“I know,” Nora nodded, “but you promised to slow down. Then after the accident…” She couldn’t bring herself to finish her sentence. “You’ve thrown yourself into your work, Randy. You could retire…you should retire. Ike is gone; I know how close the two of you were, but it’s been five years since we lost him…perhaps we should consider going to counseling.”

“Am I not allowed to miss my son?” Randy shrugged angrily.

Nora shook her head. “I miss him everyday,” she sighed, “but you have a seven- year-old who needs you. You could retire; we could spend time together. You could spend more time with Grant…build a relationship with him like you had with Ike.”

“Grant and I have a great relationship,” Randy said defensively. “And when he’s older we’ll have a relationship more like Ike and I had.”

Grant bounded back across the street, obviously excited after having told Otto and Ludwig that his parents had signed off on his summer plans.

Randy put his hand on Grant’s shoulder. “You know your daddy loves you, don’t you, Trooper?”

Grant nodded.

“See there,” Randy smiled. “This kid is just fine…he’s better than fine…you’re looking at the next General Cohen right here, Nora.”

“Randy, he’s a gifted child,” Nora sighed. “Do you even talk to him about what he wants to do with his life or have you just decided for him?”

“He’s seven, Nora,” Randy grumbled. “He doesn’t know what he wants out of life yet. He’ll have plenty of time to figure that out while he’s at West Point.”

Nora rolled her eyes. Their oldest son, David, had graduated from West Point, becoming the third generation Cohen man to graduate as part of the Long Gray Line, but, much to his father’s dismay, David was counting down the days until his years of required service were over. Their middle son, Ike, had dreamed of nothing but attending his father’s alma matter, and, though Grant was only two when his brother Ike lost his life in a tragic accident, Randy seemed to have transferred Ike’s dreams onto him. At first it was endearing, the efforts of a father who wanted his son to follow in his footsteps, but it had become more than that. Ike had been, not only a spitting image of his father, but eager to please him. He had grown into a strong, disciplined young man who was totally focused on becoming an Army officer. He not only had a great respect for his father’s profession, but he strived to emulate his father in every way. In fact, the day of the deadly accident, Randy had been taking his eighteen-year-old pride and joy out to celebrate his appointment to The United States Military Academy. Ike never got to live out his dream of becoming an Army officer. The son who had shared Randy’s passion, hopes, dreams, goals…was taken from him in an instant. It was too early to tell what Grant would gravitate toward, but Nora worried that if it wasn’t West Point, her husband would have his heart broken.

Randy pulled Nora into a hug. “I have a few things to take care of; I’ll meet you at home tonight,” he promised. “We’ll sit down and talk about where we want to go from here.”

Nora pulled away. “I’m not that naïve, Randy,” she replied. “I know you love your family, but you’re a slave to your job. You love it with everything you are, and, because that’s exactly how I love you, I’m going to take Grant back to the house, pull myself together and prepare myself for the inevitable possibility that this will continue to happen again and again.”

Randy started to reply, but Nora shushed him and walked away, pulling her little boy along side her as he glanced back over his shoulder at his father.

Following a summer away, Grant spent the next year acclimating to a classroom setting at a small, private, Christian school in North Carolina where his greatest struggle seemed to be the fact that he was much more advanced, both academically and socially, than the other children on his grade level. While his teacher was impressed by his grasp of the curriculum, she often struggled to keep him interested. At the school’s urging, Nora registered Grant for a series of written tests that would provide them with a better idea of what level he was performing on. When the results came back, Nora met with Grant’s principal who suggested that they consider bypassing elementary and middle school and challenging Grant on the high school level. Nora was shocked, if not appalled, that anyone would seriously suggest essentially robbing a child of his childhood. Nora, a staunch traditionalist, could not fathom sending her little boy into the high school jungle. He was her baby, and while he might have been mentally prepared for high school…she wasn’t.

“What then?” Nora exclaimed as she vented her frustrations over the telephone to her husband. “If he graduates from high school in four years, are you going to be trying to get my eleven-year-old an appointment to West Point? I don’t think so! Is that even legal? I can’t send our baby to high school! That’s crazy! He’s not even four foot tall yet, Randy. He couldn’t reach his locker. He would be trampled. Am I a horrible mother because I think this idea is outrageous?”

“You’re a wonderful mother…” Randy began before Nora spun off into another rant.

“He wants to play basketball! He can’t play basketball with high school boys!” Nora exclaimed. “High school kids don’t get to spend recess climbing on the Monkey bars. Their Mommies don’t get to put Flintstone vitamins in their Spiderman lunchboxes. Seven-year-old little boys don’t get dates to the prom!” Nora flopped down on the sofa, fully aware that she was pouting. “I want all of that for him, Randy.”

“Then the decision is made,” Randy agreed.

“Are we being selfish?” Nora gulped. “I don’t want to give up my baby, and you’re holding out for West Point…not as subtly as you might think either. In the meantime, are we holding Grant back?”

“Grant will be just fine,” Randy insisted. “Maybe you ought to just pull him out of school and find him a private tutor.”

“No,” Nora insisted. “Call me an eternal optimist, but I think that school will do Grant good.”

Grant was never a disruption during class; instead, he spent most of his time sitting in his desk with his nose buried in a book he had brought from home. Though his teacher desired to challenge him, she was busy trying to accommodate the other twenty-two children in her classroom.

Otto and Ludwig wrote letters as they had promised, but their words only served to make Grant miss them more. Ludwig wrote letters that went on for pages. He told magnificent stories penned in neatly written German, and, as Grant read them, he could practically hear his old friend reading them to him.

During the summer, while Grant was in Prague with Otto, he had fallen in love with cousin Ulrich’s housekeeper. She was a portly, middle-aged woman named Rayna who was so irreverently funny that she kept the witty old men on their toes. Ulrich was the only family she had, and nothing delighted her more than the idea of having a child around the house for the summer. She could not imagine a more affable little darling than the sandy-haired boy whose lucid smile and understated dimples tugged at her heartstrings. Every night, as Grant sat cuddled next to her, Rayna translated fascinating stories from her great-grandfather’s journal. He had been an incredibly wise and insightful man; his writings were so detailed that every sense was stimulated, as though you were right there with him on his adventures. He had written about everything from his views on politics to his childhood memories of growing up in a dirt poor, working class family. Rayna had never met her great-grandfather, but the journal had been passed down to her from her father, and it remained her greatest treasure.

Grant had thought about Rayna a great deal since arriving back in the states. All summer she had called him Master Grant, in her heavily accented English, and it still made him smile every time he thought about it. He remembered how excited she had been to show him the famous landmarks of her country and how, at night, he looked forward to hearing more of the journal. When the time came for the two of them to say goodbye, Rayna sobbed openly as she held Grant close to her bosom. She pointed a short, pudgy finger in Otto’s direction, warning him to take proper care of her young friend. Grant didn’t know if he would ever get back to Prague to visit Rayna, but he knew he would never forget her fieriness, the feistiness with which she popped Ulrich’s hand when he reached for dinner before it came off the stove, the huskiness of her voice, the volumes she spoke with a simple raise of her eyebrow. As Grant left, he waved to her for as long as he could see her, and, as her heavyset silhouette disappeared into the distance, he turned around and sank down into his seat, biting his bottom lip as he stared at the seat in front of him.

It was an unforgettable summer, and, at the end of August, when Otto and Ludwig took Grant to the airport to catch his flight home, he feared he would never see his two best friends ever again. He sat in his airplane seat, his little legs dangling over the edge as he looked out the window, wondering if he would have any luck making friends in North Carolina.

During a quick stop in Stockholm that summer, Otto had taken Grant into a small, corner bookstore. Shelves and shelves of old books were stacked to the ceiling. They were arranged in no particular order; the floors creaked; the air was musty, but both Otto and his pint-sized companion had looked at one another to acknowledge that they had discovered where they would spend the rest of the day. Library time at school, on the other hand, consisted of thirty minutes every two weeks, twenty-five of which were spent sitting on a rug away from the bookshelves listening to the librarian go over library rules, eagerly awaiting your group’s turn to go on a five minute search for the one book that you would check out until your class returned to the library two weeks later. The selection was trivial at best, but Grant occasionally found an interesting biography that he finished before day’s end.

During the year that Randy was away, Nora prayed daily for his safe return. She also made sure that Grant stayed busy to keep his mind off of his father’s absence and his attention off of news reports out of the Middle East. He played on multiple basketball teams in North Carolina and, by year’s end, had made several new friends in his teammates. The boys would run and play together, and, after several months of demanding basketball schedules, the letters to Germany became few and far between. Grant actually looked forward to going back to school at summer’s end, but when Randy returned home, he brought news of a move, and, before school started the following year, Grant found himself saying goodbye to new friends he would never see again and preparing to begin a new life, a world away from North Carolina…in Japan.

During the time that Randy was gone, Nora had also taken on full-time responsibility for Emily. Though Rachel loved Emily, she thought that it was best for her daughter to remain with Nora, as she had given up hopes of being able to support her either financially or emotionally. When Emily was with Nora and Randy, she felt secure in a way that she had not at Rachel’s apartment. Within a matter of a few short weeks, the once timid, stringy-haired little girl who had become accustomed to being ignored had blossomed into a bubbly extrovert, confident in herself and one hundred percent assured that she was loved.

Nora knew very little about Randy’s current job description, only that he constantly seemed to find new ways to busy his mind. He was a brilliantly talented officer with a network of connections and a wounded heart that no assignment would heal. He was looking for something to fill the void he felt in his life. He needed something to do. He needed to do great things; he needed to matter. He needed to use his skills and the wisdom of his experience to save lives. He had put his life on the line in the line of duty; he had saved countless lives, but what haunted him was the one life he couldn’t save. As an officer he was taught to make quick, informed decisions. He was entrusted with critical choices in critical moments. He had dealt with life and death situations on a daily basis. He was good at what he did, but he had never figured that the most critical choice of his life would come as a result of the most impossible decision he was ever faced with…and he never could have imagined that the decision wouldn’t happen on a battlefield, but a back road in rural North Carolina.

Grant and Emily were both enrolled in an International School in Japan. Nora was pleased with the curriculum and the school’s focus on each child’s unique needs. She admired their emphasis on the importance of self-expression and prayed that Grant would excel there. Though it was an English speaking school, there was a strong emphasis placed on the Japanese language and culture. Emily made friends quickly while Grant struggled to find his place in school. He was increasingly moody and brooding, and he seemed to actually prefer spending time alone. He was pleasant and sociable when he had to be, so Nora didn’t worry too much about his behavior. He wasn’t like Nora’s other children, and she was never quite sure how to handle him. While her other children were made to walk the line during their formative years and adhere to strict codes of conduct, she had never been successful in implementing such rules with Grant. He was unintentionally rebellious, but he wasn’t a bad kid. He was just the sort of kid who didn’t take things at face value. He had to discover things for himself. He was capable and resourceful, and he was allowed greater freedoms because of it.

Within a year, Grant had learned enough Japanese to communicate well, but, after a year at the International School, Grant was getting restless. He had more questions than his teacher had time to answer, and he began to get frustrated. Soon he was getting into trouble, skipping out on class to read books in any quiet place he could manage to sneak into. Though Grant’s offences seemed relatively minor, Randy wouldn’t stand for it, as Grant’s behavior was seen as reflective of his abilities as a commanding officer. As troubles began to escalade, Nora set out to find a tutor for Grant, and she found the answer to her prayers in the form of an elderly Japanese man who had been part of the Imperial Japanese Navy during World War II. Though he was extremely strict, Grant respected his intelligence and his willingness to venture beyond the set curriculum.

This former pilot gave Randy cause for concern, however. He was not at all thrilled about the idea of his young son being indoctrinated with propaganda, and he questioned Nora’s decision to entrust Grant’s education to someone whose views differed so drastically from his own. The only positive that Randy saw was that Grant seemed more settled. He wasn’t getting into trouble, and that was a huge weight lifted from Randy’s shoulders. He chose to momentarily ignore the fact that he wasn’t pleased with Nora’s selection. Even if he did keep it a secret from everyone he knew, he allowed Grant to continue spending his days with his tutor.

Each day while Emily attended the International School, Grant spent long hours with his new teacher. They grew close, and their budding relationship gave Randy extra incentive to make sure he made time to talk to his son about the things he was being taught. Randy seemed pleased by Grant’s ability to discern that what was being taught as fact was actually a point of view that varied greatly from those of his father and others. While Randy saw some benefits to Grant’s multifaceted introduction to world politics, he ultimately decided that Grant’s tenure with his tutor would be terminated at the end of the school year.

Finding Grant a new and suitable tutor proved to be a challenge until Randy was introduced to a young, Ivy League educated wife of a fellow West Point graduate.

Jill Scott was a cultured, free-spirited and unique young woman whose black rimmed glasses and alternative style of dress gave Nora reason for pause. Yet, when she witnessed the way that Jill and Grant got along, she decided to withhold judgment and give Jill a shot. Nora remained unconvinced, however, that her husband’s selection was any more appropriate than her own had been. Randy raved about Jill’s credentials, and, though he had rattled off a few impressive accolades, Nora believed that the only credential that meant anything to Randy was that Jill Scott had apparently been smart enough to marry a West Point man.

It was safe to say that twenty-four-year-old Jill Scott was the ripped blue jean clad, knitted scarf wearing object of Grant’s first crush. Jill, a New Jersey native, was bright and accomplished but as laidback as any person Grant had ever met. She smoked cigarettes and listened to interesting music. She wrote poetry and had a tattoo of an electric guitar on the small of her back. She introduced Grant to new books, taught him how to play guitar and piano and constantly referred to him by a variety of pet names. She repeatedly told him what a heartbreaker he was going to be when he grew up, and, for him, that time couldn’t come soon enough.

Grant’s innocent infatuation with Jill concerned Nora. Under Jill’s tutelage Grant seemed to spend little time on traditional subjects and more time honing his acting chops, practicing songs on Jill’s guitar and learning yoga in Jill’s living room floor. The day that Nora informed Grant that he would be going back to school instead of spending his days with Jill, Nora felt her relationship with her little boy change. The way he looked at her was different…cold somehow. He yelled at her, which he had never done before. When she scolded him for being disrespectful, he declared that she didn’t understand him and never would. He stormed off to his room, slammed the door behind him and buried himself under his covers, crying into his pillow until he drifted off to sleep. For two weeks Grant didn’t initiate a single conversation that wasn’t centered around Jill. She was no longer a part of his everyday world, but there was something about Jill Scott that would stick with him forever.

Though Grant found his replacement tutor less than impressive, he had to admit that he preferred studying with him to going back to school. The redeeming factor seemed to be focused around that fact that he also worked with a ten-year-old Japanese girl whom Grant became fast friends with. Hoshi Yamamoto spoke no English, but she and Grant became nearly inseparable. When Nora arrived to pick Grant up in the evenings, it was not uncommon for her to find the two kids lying on their bellies, staring at the television, the backs of their heads, Hoshi’s jet black hair next to Grant’s blond, all that she could see. The two kids laughed together, learned together, and when news of a move came, Nora feared that her son would have his heart broken again.

When it came time for Grant to say goodbye to Hoshi, it seemed almost like second nature to him. Though the two had become attached, he seemed to detach with the flip of a switch. Two days before his family was to head back stateside, Grant totally separated himself from the people he had met in Japan. He spent the majority of both days in the street, alone with his basketball. In the days, weeks and months that followed, Grant never mentioned Japan or anyone he had left behind. He had cut all ties with his former life, and, increasingly, he said very little at all.

When the Cohens left Japan, they found an apartment in Washington D.C.. The move was to be a permanent one, and Nora needed time to search out the perfect house. Randy’s work at the Pentagon left him little time to spend with the kids, but Nora was so thankful to be back in the states that she didn’t even nag him about his busy schedule.

There was a basketball court less than a mile from the apartment, and Grant would disappear for hours at a time to shoot hoops in the park. He had become an expert ball handler, and his skills shined on the court, even against guys who were older and bigger.

At school things weren’t going nearly as well. Grant got into more than one fight at the public school he was attending, and, after several warnings, he was expelled. The little time that Randy and Grant were able to spend together had become strained. Randy was humiliated by the calls coming from the principal’s office. He had never had to deal with behavioral issues out of his older children, and he wasn’t in the mood to start. Randy’s temper often flared, and he threatened military school on numerous occasions.

The summer that Grant was twelve, he was sent to stay with his paternal grandfather in the Chestnut Hill area of Boston. The stay was to last two weeks, during which the retired colonel and former senator would spend time with his young grandson, teaching him about military history and the importance of discipline. Colonel Cohen came from old money, and, though he didn’t flaunt his wealth, he liked to splurge on his grandchildren…especially his youngest.

Though they had only seen each other three or four different times over the course of Grant’s life, the two had always admired one another. Every year around his birthday, Grant received a card with a hundred dollar bill and a note that always read in big capital letters: POPS LOVES YOU, SAM! HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

Nicknames are a West Point tradition, and when Hiram Ulysses Grant was appointed to the United States Military Academy under the name Ulysses S. Grant, he soon became known as to the corps of cadets as U.S. Grant. The U.S. came to stand for Uncle Sam, and Sam would stick with Sam Grant for the rest of his life.

R.J. “Pops” Cohen made the trip to North Carolina the day after his daughter-in-law gave birth to his youngest grandson, and, when his only child placed the baby in his arms, they bonded instantly. Randy had named both of his older boys after his hero, and he was anxious to tell his father what he planned to call the new baby.

“Well, tell me already, Son,” Pops insisted as he stared at the baby in his arms. “What are we calling this handsome guy?” He excitedly awaited Randy’s answer, imagining what twist on Dwight D. Eisenhower his son had come up with on the third go-around. Randy’s answer would surprise him.

“Pops, his name is Grant,” Randy smiled proudly.

Pops nodded as he stared at the baby named for the military man he most admired. “Well,” his voice cracked a bit as he gently kissed the baby’s forehead, “welcome to the world, Sam.”

Randy laughed, thrilled to see his father so overcome with joy.

“We’re calling him Grant, Pops,” Nora chimed in.

“Maybe you and everyone else,” Pops smiled admiringly, “but this little fellow here is my Sammy.” So it remained…Pops forever in awe of his Sam.

The Colonel had aged well, and, despite a lingering limp that was the result of shrapnel wounds, there was nothing that he wasn’t willing to try. He cut Grant no slack as he chased him around the makeshift basketball court in his driveway, and he was impressed, yet not surprised, by Grant’s speed and agility. In fact, when his twelve-year-old grandson revealed to him that his father had recently started requiring him to take the Army Physical Fitness Test each morning before he went to school, Colonel Cohen was not surprised in the least. With a chuckle, he recalled a recent telephone conversation during which his son had, with utmost sincerity, discussed the necessity of dying Grant’s hair at some point before he entered high school. Randy had lamented how he had always assumed that, at some point, Grant’s hair would darken to the shade that was shared by his four brunette siblings. He had gone on to say how disappointed he was that the transformation didn’t seem to be taking place. All of this, of course, to assure that Grant entered West Point with a more commanding look than he currently possessed. When Pops dared suggest that the reason Sam didn’t resemble Randy’s vision of the country’s most revered general had less to do with his hair color and more to do with the fact that he was a twelve-year-old little boy, Randy had dismissed the argument.

Randy had always been hardcore, bent on excellence and focused on molding West Point cadets. Zealous was always the word that the colonel used to describe his only child because it was the nicest way that he knew how to classify his son’s dedication, if not obsession, with his job. There was no doubt that he was proud of the patriot that his son was, but, personality wise, he and Randy were on opposite ends of the spectrum. Colonel Cohen was more laidback, more gentle, more understanding, more open-minded, and more willing to listen to Grant’s dreams rather than imposing his own hopes upon him.

During Grant’s stay in Boston, Pops arranged a trip to visit a friend who was a law professor at Harvard, and they took Grant on a tour of the campus. Pops took Grant to The Garden to see where the Boston Celtics play basketball. Grant got to see the locker room and even meet a couple of the players. They sat for hours in a bookstore in Cambridge. They sat at the kitchen table in the middle of the night, eating Zingers and talking about everything from the colonel’s days in Washington to Grant’s crush on Jill Scott.

Pops saw something very different in each of his three grandsons. David had always been the type to do exactly what was expected of him but little more, and it was no shock to anyone that David Cohen graduated from West Point at his father’s insistence, served his five years and quickly deserted Army life. He was a good man, a good husband, even a good police officer, but he wasn’t a born leader.

Eisenhower Cohen, or Ike as he was affectionately called, was the epitome of a military man. He had been the embodiment of the mature, disciplined and adaptable Army brat…a title he wore like a badge of honor. He was up every morning, never complaining about the regiment his father had prepared. It was all leading him toward his eventual goal. He dreamed of attending West Point, eager for the day when he would be asked to choose a division, and he would, without hesitation, choose to go infantry. Ike was his father’s son in every way, but, in molding himself after his father, Colonel Cohen truly believed that, while Ike had the instincts of an officer, he had spent too much time working to become a carbon copy of his father and too little time distinguishing himself as his own man. Ike died before he had an opportunity to prove himself as a cadet, and there was no doubt that he would have done well, yet it was the youngest of the Cohen boys that made the colonel think he was watching the evolution of something great.

Grant had never been one to blindly follow any certain path. He was a brilliant thinker, who, at twelve years of age, was interested in philosophy and psychology. He was relatively quite, much more content to read than engage in trivial conversation, but he asked thought-provoking questions, and when he articulated his views on a subject, one would have been convinced to bet on him in a philosophical debate against Aristotle himself. Not only was he intellectually gifted, but this gift made him the obvious choice to take the lead. He liked, and, expected even, to be in charge of things, and that was apparent in the way that he behaved. He didn’t appreciate being questioned; he expected people to trust him to take care of things and make the right decisions, and he usually did just that. He also had a charm that made him likable. There was a world behind those dark brown eyes that most people would never tap into, but there was a kindness in those eyes that made people feel comfortable in his presence.

The colonel seemed to understand Grant in a way that others didn’t; he knew when Sam wanted to be treated like a kid and when he didn’t feel much like a kid at all. The two of them fished and played basketball. They spent hours in the colonel’s massive study, reading books and looking at pictures. That was the summer that Grant fell in love with the work of William Shakespeare, and that was also the summer when the colonel called his lawyer and had an airtight will written up that would assure that if Grant opted out of West Point, or basketball scholarships didn’t land him at the school of his choice, his Sam would have the money at his disposal to go to any university he desired.

Before Grant left that summer, the colonel made promises of frequent return visits, and Grant was eager to take him up on his offer. The two had bonded in a way that Randy had never had time for, and, for the first time in a long time, Grant felt like he had a friend who wasn’t going to disappear from his life. Then, six weeks after Grant boarded a plane back to Washington, Colonel Cohen died of a massive heart attack.

Grant’s sophomore year of high school, after continued trouble in D.C. had led to him spending his freshman year of high school at a strict disciplinary military school in Virginia, Randy prepared to move his family back to Germany. The move that was supposed to be permanent had only lasted a few years. For Grant’s sake, Nora insisted on staying in Washington with the children until the end of the varsity basketball season. Randy moved to Germany, and, three weeks later when Grant’s team lost out in the playoffs, Nora, Grant and Emily joined him. Grant had resented Nora for allowing his father to send him away to military school; he punished her by refusing to come home on the weekends. When she allowed him to finish out basketball season before moving to Germany, he, in turn, allowed her back into his good graces.

It had been years since Grant had heard from his old tutors. The first thing he did when he arrived in Germany was to go to Otto’s house in hopes of catching up on all the years he had missed. Otto came to the door and, when he saw Grant, he couldn’t believe his eyes. Grant might have been two feet taller than the last time Otto had seen him, but it was as though no time had passed. Otto had aged considerably, but his mind was as sharp as ever. The two embraced for a long moment before Otto invited his young friend inside. Sitting in Otto’s living room, Grant learned of Ludwig’s passing. It was difficult for him to take in; the man who had created the stories that dominated his childhood was gone. Otto and Ludwig had been extraordinarily close friends and colleagues, and Grant could see that Ludwig’s death had been difficult on Otto. Having Grant back seemed to be exactly what Otto needed, and, before Grant could even ask, Otto offered to resume tutoring him.

The only obstacle to Grant’s schooling was that Otto and his younger brother had planned a trip to visit a colleague. They would remain in Germany for three months, only to be gone for the next three months. Nora asked Grant to consider enrolling in school, but Otto had another idea. He wanted Grant to accompany him and his brother on their journey, and his plan came complete with a well-articulated sales pitch that he was sure Nora couldn’t possibly say no to. Nora trusted Otto to look after Grant, so she saw no reason that Grant couldn’t study while vacationing with his teacher. Otherwise, she knew, she would be left to deal with three months of one moody teenager and one high-strung general.

There was a certified high school teacher who lived on base. She home schooled her daughter, who, like Emily, was a freshman, and she welcomed the opportunity to tutor Emily as well. Emily’s teacher was originally from Macon, Georgia, and she, like Nora, had maintained her accent despite her travels. She and Nora became fast friends, and, after school, it was not uncommon for the two of them to spend time entertaining the girls. Her new friend helped her keep her mind off of the fact that Grant was away.

Nora missed many things in her life. She even missed Grant’s sarcasm when he was away. She missed Ike, and she missed the way that her husband had been when Ike was around. She missed her mother and the little town in Tennessee that would always have a part of her soul. She missed North Carolina and being close to her other children. David had a daughter now, and the reality that she was not there for every important moment of little Leah’s life broke her heart. Joanna had a serious boyfriend whom Nora had yet to meet. Rachel didn’t call enough, and when Nora tried to get in touch with her, she was rarely able to reach her. Nora had been an Army wife for the entirety of her adult life, and she was desperately ready to settle down. She was a prayerful woman, raised by two, devout southern Baptist parents; her faith was all that had gotten her through the difficult times…the rape of her daughter, the death of her son, the moments when she didn’t know if her children’s father would make it home alive. She relied on that faith, and she prayed every night that Randy would realize that it was time for him to walk away from his work and spend time with his family.

Otto’s brother was a solemn man and, seeing the duo together, made Grant think of his childhood with Otto and Ludwig. Ludwig had shared Grant’s love of literature, and Otto’s brother shared his love of language. When he discovered that his American protégé had an aptitude for language, they began the task of learning Russian. Grant was fluent in six languages, and he welcomed the chance to add another to his repertoire.

In addition to being a skilled linguist, Otto’s brother was also a renowned math whiz, so, in addition to daily Russian lessons, he took Grant through daily sessions of geometry and calculus. They solved proofs and advanced algorithms for fun, and Grant commonly outwitted his genius professor.

Things seemed to come too easily to Grant, but Otto lived to find new ways of challenging his young student. Grant thrived academically under Otto’s supervision. He spent his days seeing the country, learning the language, reading books and playing basketball with different groups of strangers every night. Otto was impressed by what a skilled athlete Grant had become. He saw the boy’s passion for basketball, and, it too, seemed to come easily to him.

The three chums enjoyed Moscow’s vibrant night life; they saw St. Basil’s Cathedral; St. Petersburg was hauntingly beautiful, and Grant was mesmerized by its architecture. The bridges, palaces and immaculate cathedrals were all awe inspiring. Grant loved traveling and seeing the world, but, at night, he would dream of what it would be like to feel settled, to stay in one place and build a life there. He thought a lot about North Carolina in those days. He liked the house there; his brother, his sisters and his little niece were there; his mother seemed happiest there…and part of him longed to go back…and stay forever.

On the last day of their trip, after a day of sightseeing, Otto and his brother took Grant into a local pub. The legal drinking age was eighteen, but it wasn’t enforced, so it had not been unusual for Grant to accompany Otto and his brother to their favorite establishments. It was the last day of their amazing, extended vacation; the following day they would return to Germany, and Russia would become a fond memory.

Larissa was a thirty-two-year-old Russian model, and, with her sensual walk and captivating stare, she was the walking embodiment of the seductive femme fatale. She may have been an out-of-work actress, but that night she was playing the leading role in a sixteen-year-old boy’s fantasy. Wearing black stilettos and a scandalous dress, she walked up behind Grant, gently running her finger along the nape of his neck as she breathed in his ear. Grant laughed to himself, knowing she was trouble, but more than willing to take the bait. She whispered something in his ear, and Grant followed her to the bar. She seemed to know the bartender, and, with nothing but a wink, she ordered them both a drink.

When Grant woke up the following afternoon, he was alone; he was cold; he had a headache that wouldn’t quit despite the fact he only recalled having one drink, and he had no memory of the room. He propped himself up on his elbow as he lay in bed; he groaned to himself and glanced down at his watch to check the time, but Pops’ watch was gone. Grant rolled over and grabbed his blue jeans off the floor and quickly searched his pockets, only to find them empty.

“Oh, nice job, Grant,” he rolled his eyes as he fell back on the bed. “She took your watch…your money…your identification…” At that, he shot up out of bed, suddenly remembering the backpack he had been carrying. He searched the room frantically, then, realizing that it too was gone, he flopped back onto the bed. “I don’t believe this,” he groaned.

Grant pulled his shirt on, then his jeans. He rolled his eyes as he tied his shoes, thinking that he should probably just put the laces to good use and hang himself because he was as good as dead anyway when his dad found out that he had fallen prey to a much older woman who had drugged him and made off with all of his passport and visas. There he was, the son of one of the most prominent men in the United States military, trapped in a country with some of the most strict immigration laws in the world.

Grant walked outside, rubbing his eyes sleepily. He had the worst headache he had ever had in his life; his eyes were still a little blurry, and his shirt was on backward and inside out. Back when his father had sent him away to military school, Grant had felt like his dad had made a rash decision without taking time to examine the facts. He felt like every incident that had led to his father sending him away had been anything but his fault. Now, as he passed by a clock on the side of a building and saw that the plane he was supposed to have been on had left half an hour earlier, he knew that this time he had really let his father down. He was disappointed in himself, and his greatest regret was that his father, whom he had such tremendous respect for, would be disappointed in him to. He had never been in such hot water in his entire life, and, as he walked, he began to orchestrate the lie that he would tell his father, if he ever made it home.

Nora’s nagging finally seemed to have paid off, and, by the time Grant was a high school junior, Randy had retired to North Carolina. Grant attended a local public school and quickly established himself as the starting point guard on the varsity basketball team. At home Randy and Grant were spending quality time together talking about college and life in general; it seemed as though the two of them had really bonded in the months since Randy had settled down. Randy radiated with pride when Grant spoke of West Point, and he couldn’t wait for the day when he would see his youngest son commissioned as an Army officer. There were many times when Grant talked about not wanting to be in the military because he hated the nomadic lifestyle, however, there was always a part of him that wasn’t sure he knew how to stay in one place for very long. There were also times when he and his father were deep in conversation, their arms folded exactly the same way, that Nora could imagine her son wearing a cadet uniform.

For awhile, Nora thought that Grant may actually be considering following in his father’s footsteps, then, suddenly, in the blink of an eye, things took a very different turn. The relationship that Grant and his father had built seemed to crumble in an instant right before Nora’s eyes without rhyme or reason. Grant seemed different all of a sudden; he was always angry, rarely spoke, and, if he said anything at all, it was always said in a very passive aggressive tone. Nora never knew when he was going to decide to come home or where he was going to be. First there were calls from the basketball coach…then from the school principal…then, one night, after a fire at a local convenient store, a call from the police station that turned Nora’s world upside down.

When school ended after Grant’s junior year, he was eager to get out of town. He headed to the University of North Carolina for a week of basketball camp. From there he went straight to the University of Tennessee for another two weeks of camp. Back home, Nora waited, each night, for a phone call that never came. The day finally came that Grant was supposed to arrive back home, but when he didn’t show, Nora began to panic. She made repeated calls to his cell phone that went unanswered. Randy called around to the older children to see if they had heard anything from their brother, which they hadn’t. Another day passed, and Randy, who had been positive that Grant was just playing a cruel mind game with him, became infuriated by Grant’s brazen disregard for anyone other than himself.

Joanna and Emily sat on the sofa in the living room as Nora paced the kitchen floor.

“What if something is wrong, Randy?” Nora cried. “What if this isn’t just Grant being Grant? What kind of parents will we look like if a few days down the road he’s still not back, and we never reported our son missing?”

“I’m gonna make him wish he was missing,” Randy grumbled.

“Don’t say that,” Nora insisted. “What if he’s in trouble? What if there was an accident, Randy? Grant could be out there somewhere needing our help, and you’re back here plotting his punishment.”

“What if something really is wrong, Jo?” Emily asked softly.

Joanna patted Emily’s knee. “All we can do is pray that he’s okay,” she gulped.

“What does your gut say?” Emily asked. “Do you think he’s okay?”

“If I didn’t, I’d be out there looking for him,” Joanna sighed.

“This is typical Grant,” Randy scoffed, “and, as soon as he gets back here, I’m done paying for that cell phone he refuses to answer. That car I bought him now belongs to me. My misguided father saw to it that Grant will become a very wealthy man on his eighteenth birthday, so, as far as I am concerned, he is on his own until then.” Randy rolled his eyes and curled his lip. “I swear that old man must have been senile in the end!”

Emily walked down the hall toward Grant’s room. She sat in his desk chair and turned on his computer. She glanced down at his desk drawer and slowly pulled it open. She rummaged around for a moment as she shook her head in disbelief. “I don’t believe this,” she groaned. “Grant, what have you done this time?” She took a long, deep breath as she thought about the possibilities. “Dad, can you come here for a minute?” she called.

Randy, Nora and Joanna all promptly appeared in the doorway.

“I think his passport’s gone,” Emily announced matter-of-factly.

“What? How do you know?” Randy asked as he barged inside.

“He keeps it right here in this drawer; I’m sure of it,” Emily nodded.

“No!” Nora insisted. “Now why in the world would he need his Passport at basketball camp?” She began digging through his desk drawers. “I am sure it is in here somewhere. Maybe he just stuck it somewhere else by accident.”

Joanna sat on Grant’s bed and picked up the book that he had apparently been reading; there was another open book on his nightstand, and she examined it too. She raised her eyebrow curiously as she reached for the book on the floor. “Well, here’s a clue for you,” she sighed. “Apparently every book he was reading before he left is set in Venice.”

“Venice?” Nora exclaimed.

“I’m positive,” Joanna replied. “All of these stories take place in Venice.”

“Venice?” Nora repeated.

“As in Italy, Mother,” Joanna nodded.

“Maybe it’s just a coincidence,” Emily suggested.

Joanna picked up another book off the floor. “Here’s more proof if you need it,” she laughed. “A few of Shakespeare’s best…also set in Venice.”

“Randy, do you really think he is capable of taking off to another country without so much as informing me?” Nora fretted.

“I think that one is capable of just about anything,” Randy rolled his eyes. “But if he is in Venice, I’ve got news for him. He better start heading south to Vatican City because that boy will be in serious need of prayer when I get my hands on him.”

Nora followed Randy out of Grant’s room, and Joanna laughed to herself as she sat on the edge of her brother’s bed.

“Please share, Joanna. I could stand to hear something funny right now,” Emily sighed as she flopped down beside her.

Joanna closed Grant’s book and pulled it close to her chest. “Oh, I don’t know,” she grinned. “It’s just…sometimes…I think it might be sort of nice to be a little more like Grant.”

“Are you kidding?” Emily exclaimed. “He’s going to cause our sweet mother to have a stroke! The bulging, pulsing vein in Dad’s head may actually explode this time!”

“I know,” Joanna nodded. “Trust me, I don’t condone skipping the country without telling a soul, but…at the same time…I sort of wish I had the courage to do it.”

“What?” Emily asked, surprised. “You sound as presumptuous as he is.”

Joanna laughed as she began gathering the books spread around Grant’s room. “No,” she shook her head. “I’ll always be the girl that emails all the appropriate, emergency contact information to a trusted friend and then says a proper goodbye to her mother before she heads out of town. I guess that is just the cloth I’m cut out of. All I’m saying is…it would be kind of nice to have the guts to just take off sometimes, you know?”

Emily nodded as she helped Joanna slide the books onto the bookshelf beside Grant’s desk. “Why do you think he left?”

“I honestly don’t know,” Joanna shook her head. “Things have gotten pretty bad lately. I think he’s searching for something…happiness, peace of mind…I don’t know what exactly.”

“Whatever it is, I doubt he finds it in Venice,” Emily sighed. “Do you think something happened at basketball camp?”

“What if he never even went to camp?” Joanna shrugged.

The girls’ conversation dropped off when they heard the sound of their mother sobbing. They walked to the doorway and strained to listen. Given her blunt demeanor, they could tell that Nora was on the phone with her mother, venting all of her fears and frustrations to Granny Miller, who usually endured the brunt of Nora’s discontentment with Grant.

Emily sat on the edge of Grant’s bed and buried her face in her hands. “What have you done this time, Grant? Just come home…please,” she prayed.

Joanna watched Emily out of the corner of her eye as she listened to her mother voicing her concerns over the phone. Maybe, she considered, some people lacked the brazenness to escape their problems, but, maybe for Grant the true test was not having the courage to go but having the guts to stay and face whatever it was he seemed to be running from.

Joanna rushed into her apartment carrying a stack of papers in one hand and a cup of Starbucks in the other. She slid out of her shoes and dropped her purse onto the table. It had been a long, exhausting day at the office, and she was ready for a nice, relaxing shower. As she moved about the kitchen, eager for a quick snack, her cell phone rang. She reached into her pocket and answered it quickly. It was her boyfriend John, and hearing his voice instantly made her feel as though the night would be more kind to her than the day had been. Joanna and John had been together for a little over three years, but Joanna, who had a habit of focusing more on her career than her personal life, had yet to decide if their relationship was going anywhere.

“I was thinking I would come over and cook us some dinner,” John suggested.

“That sounds nice,” Joanna grinned happily.

She took a snack cake from the cabinet and walked toward her bedroom with her phone to her ear. She nudged her door open, prepared to fall out on her bed, but, when she found her bed occupied, she let out a startled shrill.

“Baby, what is it?” John exclaimed, panic evident in his voice. “Jo, are you okay?”

Joanna took a moment to catch her breath. “I’m fine,” she said evenly. She took a pillow from her bed and pounded it against Grant’s back. “I’m sorry, John. I thought it was an intruder, but it’s just my kid brother.” She glanced down at Grant. He was lying across her bed on his stomach, and he had barely acknowledged her when she walked in, screams and all. “Grant, is everything okay?” Joanna asked cautiously.

“May I stay here tonight?” Grant asked softly.

Joanna nodded slowly, caught off-guard by his request. “You know what, John,” she said into the phone, “can I get a rain check on dinner?”

“Are you going to cancel on me every time your insubordinate little brother burns down a gas station or conveniently decides to reappear after leaving your family worried sick for a week?” John scoffed.

“Don’t make me choose, John. You won’t like my choice,” Joanna replied with a firmness reminiscent of her courtroom voice.

“Well, Jo, that’s good to know,” John scoffed.

“Rain check?” Joanna gulped, trying to sound sweet and repentant.

John paused, and Joanna could sense his disappointment. “Yeah, of course,” he conceded. “We’ll do it some other time.”

“Did I ruin your night?” Grant sighed after Joanna hung up the phone.

Joanna sat down on her bed and rubbed her brother’s back. “Nah,” she smiled. “Not you…not ever. Now you just have to cook me dinner!”

Grant grinned. “I make some mean Chinese takeout.”

“Deal,” Joanna laughed. She reached into her dresser drawer and took out a pair of pajamas. “Give me a second to change, and then I want to know why you’ve gone AWOL from the Cohen residence less than a week after returning from your original disappearing act.”

Moments later when Joanna returned, she stretched out across the bed next to her brother. “So, what’s going on in that head of yours?” she smiled.

“Can’t we talk about something random and meaningless?” Grant shrugged.

“Okay,” Joanna nodded, “but only under one condition; you have to promise me that you aren’t in any trouble, and I want the truth.”

“I swear,” Grant grumbled, “I’ve been a good boy…practically a saint.”

“Yeah,” Joanna scoffed. “Then what’s with the mood?” she asked as she wrapped her arms around Grant’s shoulders and shook him playfully. “I mean, the way I see it, I’m the one who is in her mid-thirties, unmarried and breaking dates with a promising prospect! I should be the one who’s pouting, huh?”

“Joey, I meant it when I said that I didn’t want to talk about it,” Grant insisted.

“But I cleverly disguised my inquiry in the form of a humorous quip,” Joanna grinned.

“And I love you for it,” Grant smiled.

“Alright then,” Joanna conceded. “Keep your promise and get in there and order us something to eat. I’m starving.”

Grant stood, and Joanna grabbed onto his shoulders and jumped on his back. With ease, Grant carried his sister down the hall and into the kitchen. “Are you just planning to hang out back there while I call for Chinese?” he smiled over his shoulder as he flipped through the pages of the phone book.

Joanna grinned as she ruffled his hair. “Make sure they give us fortune cookies,” she whispered.

When Grant hung up the phone, he carried his sister over to the couch and dumped her off of his back with a little laugh.

From her vantage point on the sofa, Joanna glanced at her apartment door. “Grant,” she sighed as she sat up, “how did you get in here?”

Grant smiled as he flopped down next to her on the couch. “It was surprisingly easy.”

“I don’t even want to know,” Joanna shook her head. “I like the illusion of feeling safe.”

“Okay, fine,” Grant shrugged, “as long as you know that any guy with a credit card and a little skill can get in here at any time.”

“Did you really jimmy my lock?” Joanna gasped.

Grant laughed. “Those military IDs have more perks than one might imagine.”

“You broke into my apartment with your military ID?” Joanna asked in disbelief.

“I’m resourceful; what can I say?” Grant shrugged.

Joanna punched Grant’s arm playfully. “How about a movie?” she suggested.

They watched television until the delivery boy knocked on the door. Grant went to retrieve the food, and he and Joanna spent the rest of the evening on the couch eating Chinese food from the cartons with authentic chopsticks.

When they were finished, Joanna sat the carton of noodles on the coffee table. “That hit the spot,” she nodded.

Grant nodded in agreement as he took a sip of his drink before resting his head on the pillow in his sister’s lap.

Joanna gently ran her fingers through Grant’s shaggy, blond hair. “You are in desperate need of a haircut, Handsome,” she observed.

“I like my hair this way,” Grant shrugged.

“That wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact that a certain parental figure is undoubtedly grinding his teeth to bits over it, would it?” Joanna rolled her eyes.

“Oh, does Dad not like my hair?” Grant asked casually.

Joanna grinned. “Dad must be getting soft in his old age. I keep half-expecting you to wake up with a fresh buzz cut.”

“Why do you think I’m sleeping over here?” Grant kidded.

Joanna laughed. She realized that Grant was grown now, four inches taller than her and smarter than she would ever be. But, to her, he would always be the baby, and there were times, like now, when Mr. Independent, who could never wait to grow up, just wanted to cuddle close and be the baby again…and she was inclined to let him.

Melissa awoke to the sound of a knock at the front door. She rolled over and looked at the clock on the nightstand; it was almost three o’clock in the morning. The knocking persisted, so Melissa gently shook her husband’s shoulder. “David, wake up,” she said insistently. “Someone is pounding on the door.”

David Cohen sat up slowly and glanced over at the clock. “Who in the world is knocking on our door at this time of morning?”

Melissa slid her robe on and followed her husband to the door.

“Who is it?” David called as he reached for an umbrella that was propped next to the door.

“It’s just me; open the door already,” Grant begged.

David quickly unlocked the door and threw it open.

“Oh my goodness!” Melissa exclaimed when she saw the blood running down the side of Grant’s face and dripping onto his t-shirt.

Grant stared at his brother. “If you’re planning to bludgeon me to death with that umbrella, can it wait?”

David grabbed hold of Grant’s t-shirt and practically slung him inside. He poked his head out the door and took a quick look around.

“What are you doing? Checking for rain?” Grant smirked.

“What have you done now?” David asked insistently as he tossed the umbrella aside and locked the door. “I swear that if there are people chasing you, and you came here where my wife and my daughter…”

“Baby, are you alright?” Melissa interrupted her husband as she tenderly examined the cut on Grant’s forehead.

“I’m okay; it’s not as bad as it looks,” Grant said nonchalantly.

“I’m gonna get towels and bandages,” Melissa said as she rushed off toward the bathroom.

“What happened?” David groaned, kicking the umbrella out of his way as he began pacing the living room floor.

Grant rolled his eyes. “Just FYI, Mary Poppins…that gun they issued you when you made cop would probably be more intimidating to your average intruder than any props you may find in a Broadway production.”

“Answer my question,” David said sternly. “How did this happen?”

“Listen, I need your help,” Grant sighed.

“Let me explain to you how this game works,” David grumbled. “I ask a question and then you answer it. It’s called a coherent conversation…perhaps you’ve heard of it?”

“He has a gash on his head, David. Could you please not yell at him?” Melissa huffed as she returned to doctor Grant’s face.

“I borrowed someone’s car without his permission,” Grant gulped.

“Translation…you stole a car,” David nodded. “Go on.”

“Exactly, and now I need you to help me get it fixed and returned before the guy that I took it from notices that it’s gone,” Grant replied.

“Grant, be still, Sweetheart,” Melissa sighed as she gently attended to Grant’s face.

“I’m sorry, I must have misunderstood that last part,” David replied sarcastically.

“It’s called English…perhaps you’ve heard of it?” Grant grinned. “Car… crashed… wrecked… totaled… brother… help!”

“Let’s add a few significant adjectives in there, why don’t we?” David nodded. “Stolen car… idiot brother… deeply….”

“Deeply is an adverb,” Grant interrupted.

“Would you and your smart mouth like to bleed to death outside on my patio?” David smiled. “Because I could very easily head on back to bed right now.”

“It was just an observation,” Grant shrugged.

“Grant, you’ve got to hold still,” Melissa sighed.

“David, this guy that we’re talking about will kill me if he finds out that I wrapped his precious, little sports car around a tree,” Grant insisted.

“Grant, you’re lucky you weren’t killed,” Melissa exclaimed.

“Have you been drinking?” David asked sternly.

“No,” Grant replied quickly. “I swear. I would offer to walk the line for you, Robocop, but, honestly, my head injury has me feeling a little woozy. I know it was stupid, but I crashed the car with no help from any mind-altering substances, just sheer speed and stupidity. And now I need your help.”

“What exactly do you want me to do?” David shrugged.

“The owner won’t be back for a week,” Grant replied quickly. “Just loan me some money; I’ll have the car fixed up as good as new; I’ll put it back in the same spot I took it from, and he’ll never know that anything ever happened. I’ll be good for the money on my next birthday, and I’ll pay you back with interest.”

David turned to his wife. “It scares me that he’s serious,” he shook his head in disbelief.

“Come-on, David,” Grant begged. “You have always told me that I could come to you with anything. Please! We’re brothers; we’re in this together!”

“Yeah,” David exhaled. “Frankly, I fear that the jury would share your opinion.”

“David, do this for me, and I’ll never ask for anything again,” Grant promised.

“You know, Bro,” David nodded, “people in my profession tend to look down on things such as this.”

Grant let out a loud groan. “Okay, well, listen, Barney Fife…”

David smacked his brother hard across the back of the head. “Don’t even bother finishing that sentence.”

“David, don’t hit him,” Melissa scolded, and Grant grinned victoriously.

“Did you see that?” David pointed. “Did you see that little smirk, Mel?”

“I’m gonna go and get you a different shirt, Grant,” Melissa said as she finished bandaging his forehead. “Are you hurt anywhere else? Are you in any pain?”

“No, I’m really fine,” Grant shook his head.

“Okay then,” Melissa smiled. “Take that shirt off, and I’ll wash it for you.”

“Mel,” David sighed, “I’m sorry, but can you please stop playing nurse and mommy for a moment and at least bat an eyelash over the fact that my troublemaker of a little brother stole a car, somehow forgot that he wasn’t the second-coming of Jeff Gordon and crashed the stolen car into a tree.”

“You know what,” Melissa said thoughtfully, “I know that what he did was wrong, but if I have learned anything over the past couple years, it is to focus on the positive. So, the stupid car might be totaled, but Grant didn’t hurt himself or anyone else, and that’s what I’m choosing to focus on.”

David eyed Grant curiously. “No one else was hurt were they?” he asked, more in the form of a prayer than a question.

Grant pulled his shirt over his head and handed it to his sister-in-law. “No,” he rolled his eyes.

“I’m glad that you’re alright too,” David conceded after a moment. “I just don’t understand why you were out driving around at this time of night?”

“I couldn’t sleep. I needed to ride around and clear my head,” Grant said softly. “Then…I guess I was sleepier than I thought.”

“You fell asleep at the wheel?” David gulped.

Grant hung his head for a moment. “Yeah,” he finally mumbled.

“What were you up thinking about? What’s on your mind?” David asked.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Grant said as he turned his head.

“Okay, so who does the car belong to?” David asked.

“That’s none of your business,” Grant replied quickly.

“Oh, that’s funny because I’m pretty sure that you made it my business when you showed up at my door at three in the morning asking for money!” David hollered.

“Leah is asleep, David,” Melissa gulped. “Keep your voice down.”

“You don’t know the guy,” Grant lied.

David closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep, deliberate breath. “You do realize that a guy as pretty as yourself won’t do well in prison, don’t you?”

“Is that supposed to scare me?” Grant rolled his eyes.

“Doesn’t it?” David replied seriously. “It’s hard to blend in with the big, burly lifers who haven’t seen the outside in your lifetime when you’re eighteen, six foot tall, blond and prettier than any women they could have ever landed.”

Grant crinkled his nose and curled his lip. “Honestly, I don’t know which scares me more,” he shrugged, “Butch the mass murderer, or the fact that you’ve called me pretty twice in the last thirty seconds. I mean, do you have a little bit of a man crush on me or something?”

David glanced over at Melissa, looking for a little backup. “Sorry, I’m actually with Grant on this one,” she shook her head.

“Yeah,” Grant grinned. “How about going and getting me that clean shirt now? I’m suddenly a little uncomfortable.”

“That’s great,” David exhaled. “I’m being serious, and the two of you have decided on careers in stand-up.”

“David, I know you’re serious,” Melissa nodded. “It’s just that in this case, I think you might be overreacting. I realize this isn’t the first straw, but I hardly think that having a fender-bender in a borrowed car is going to land him in prison.”

“Stolen, Mel…not borrowed…stolen!” David insisted.

“Borrowed without permission,” Melissa argued. “It’s not like he intended to take off with it and not return it. It was more like a joy ride gone bad.”

“Who are you, and what have you done with the perfectly sensible woman I married?” David protested.

“I get where you’re coming from. I know this isn’t the first time,” Melissa nodded.

“No, it’s a pattern with him, Mel,” David insisted. “Grant finds trouble anywhere he goes. You might be right, and this might just be kid stuff tonight, but what about the night of the fire? What about that whole ordeal a few months ago? Do you remember that? Do you remember how frightened my mother was when she got that call? What about the fact that he’s only a few weeks shy of his eighteenth birthday, and things just seem to keep getting worse and worse? I am scared for him, and someone has to put a stop to this before the next phone call comes from someone wanting one of us to come identify his body. I lost one brother; I don’t want to lose another one.”

“We really are just concerned for you, Grant,” Melissa agreed.

David walked over to the phone.

“What are you doing?” Grant exclaimed.

“I’m calling Dad,” David said.

“No!” Grant yelled. “Don’t call Dad!”

“Shh,” Melissa sighed. “Leah’s sleeping!”

“Yep, I think that’s what I’ll do,” David nodded with a sly smile. “I think I’ll call Dad and let the general deal with this in whatever way he deems suitable.”

“No,” Grant begged. “David, please; it’s late, and he’s in Washington.”

David dropped the receiver back into its cradle. “And it all just became so clear…”

“David, he will kill me,” Grant sighed.

“You wrecked the general’s car?” Melissa asked in a whisper.

“Yeah,” Grant sighed. “My life is pretty much over.”

“You can say that again,” David agreed.

“David, try to be positive,” Melissa insisted. “He didn’t steal a car; he just borrowed Randy’s. I’m a little relieved to tell you the truth.”

“I’m sorry,” David rolled his eyes, “have you met my father?”

“Please tell me that you didn’t touch the Corvette,” Melissa gulped.

“The red one that stays in the garage, rarely gets driven and gets shined on a daily basis?” Grant nodded.

“You didn’t?” David sighed.

“Wreck the general’s dream car?” Grant nodded.

The color drained from David’s face. “You’re telling me that the obsession of the general’s midlife crisis is no longer in mint condition?”

“Are we still talking about the car?” Grant mumbled under his breath.

“What? What did you say?” David insisted. “You know I can’t stand it when you mumble.”

“Nothing,” Grant rolled his eyes. “Can we go and get the car, please?”

David reached for the phone again. “I’m gonna call Mom and let her know that you’re staying here,” David sighed.

“Go look in David’s closet and find yourself a shirt,” Melissa instructed Grant as she carried the blood-stained shirt to the laundry room.

“Hello?” Nora answered chipperly, as though she had not been awakened from a deep sleep.

“Hey, Mom,” David replied less enthusiastically. “I just wanted to let you know that Grant spent the night with me. I don’t know if he remembered to tell you, and I didn’t want you to worry.”

“Well, a sleepover is just what the two of you needed,” Nora smiled. “He really loves spending time with you, David.”

“Okay, I’ll talk to you later, Mom,” David grumbled as he hung up the phone. He turned and faced his wife. “You know,” he said seriously. “I love my mother to death, but she is really blinded when it comes to her baby boy.”

“Well,” Melissa added. “you and Joanna work overtime to make sure her illusion isn’t shattered.”

“It’s just unfair to her,” David acknowledged. “She was a good mom.”

“He’s a good kid,” Melissa sighed.

“He’s his own worst enemy,” David gulped. “I mean the fire, the fights, the lies, the drinking, the expulsions, the disappearing acts, and, to top it all off, he crashed the general’s prized possession. He’s headed down an ugly path, Mel, and there is nothing I can do to stop the speeding train.”

When Grant woke up on the couch the following morning, he found company gathered around the kitchen table. “Joey?” he sighed as he threw the covers off of his legs. “What are you doing here?”

Joanna turned to him as she took a bite of bacon. “Good morning,” she smiled. “Melissa invited me to come pay my final respects before Dad finds out what you did and eliminates you from the planet.”

Grant chose to ignore his sister as he walked over and reached for a piece of cheese toast.

“Fix yourself a plate,” Melissa urged. “There is a little of everything.”

Leah was sitting in the chair next to her mother. Though she had a plate in front of her, she had not touched it. She stared at the wall as she sipped apple juice from her sippy cup. Leah was six years old; she had thin, strawberry-blond hair, porcelain skin and translucent blue eyes. Leah had never spoken a single word; she did not play with her toys, despite her parents’ efforts; she just stared at the wall or at the floor, refusing to make eye contact with anyone.

Grant smiled at his niece as she sat there in her dainty, pink nightgown. “Leah,” he said sweetly, as he bent down and kissed the top of her head. While she had resisted human touch in the past, she seemed to appreciate it now. Leah reached for the sleeve of the shirt that Grant was wearing and balled it up in her frail fist.

Grant cradled her close to his chest as he carried her into the living room.

“Who loves you, Leah?” he asked as they sat down on the sofa.

Melissa smiled with pride as she watched her little girl move her hand to her heart and sign the letter G. “Have you seen her do that, Joanna?” Melissa beamed. “Have you seen what he taught her to do last week? Ask her again, Grant! It’s amazing!”

Grant nuzzled his nose against Leah’s cheek. “Who loves you?” he asked.

Leah giggled as she signed the letter G.

“Oh my goodness,” Melissa jumped and clapped with joy. “David, did you hear that? She giggled! Our daughter just laughed!”

“That was awesome,” David said, his mouth open and his eyes wide.

Leah burrowed herself into Grant’s chest, as if refusing a repeat performance.

During breakfast, Leah sat on Grant’s lap, holding a slice of gluten-free toast in one hand and her purple, princess sippy cup in the other. Grant was very attentive, feeding her and wiping her hand each time she sat her piece of toast on her plate because he knew she didn’t like to have grease or crumbs on her hand.

After breakfast, Leah napped while Grant helped Melissa clean up the kitchen.

“Grant,” Melissa said as she looked up from the dishes. “I want to talk to you.”

“I’m listening,” Grant said hesitantly.

“I just worry,” Melissa admitted. “About you and about Leah.” She paused as she stared at Leah’s photograph on the refrigerator. Leah wasn’t looking at the camera, but her profile was beautiful. When Melissa saw Grant looking at Leah’s photo, she smiled at him. “Most moms worry that their little girls will have their hearts crushed if they don’t make the cheerleading squad or the homecoming court. They worry that they won’t approve of the boy their daughter brings home to meet Mom and Dad. I want that! I want to sense the normal fears…scrapped knees, first crushes, but I’m scared I’ll never have that. I’m scared that Leah will never speak, never go to a regular school; I wonder all the time if she’ll ever even have a friend. Will she ever call me Mama? Will David ever get to walk her down the aisle on her wedding day?”

Grant swallowed. He found the subject of Leah particularly difficult. He had always been the boy with all the answers, but, for Leah, he had none. Since her diagnosis, he had read every book, ever article he could find on Autism Spectrum Disorder, but he found more questions than answers.

“But she’s not the only one I worry about,” Melissa shook her head.

“You shouldn’t waste your time worrying about me,” Grant sighed.

“Grant, I am so scared for you,” Melissa began. “Last night turned out alright, but that might not be the case next time, and, at the rate you’re going, there will be a next time. Do you know that it would break my heart if something happened to you? Your brother would never forgive himself for not being able to help you. Your mother would be inconsolable. Baby, we love you. We all adore you. And what about Leah? What would I tell Leah if Uncle Grant stopped coming around? Could I explain it to her? Would she understand?”

Grant shook his head, dismissively. “I’m not going anywhere, Mel. Nothing is going to happened to me. I am going to be here until Leah gets so tired of me, she tells me to get lost.”

“Sweetheart, it’s just that lately trouble seems to follow you around,” Melissa frowned.

“No, it doesn’t follow him anywhere,” David said as he walked back into the kitchen, interrupting what was meant to be a private conversation. “He hauls it around like a lucky charm.”

Melissa ignored her husband and focused only on Grant. “When Leah was in your arms, she giggled,” Melissa said, fighting back her tears. “My little girl laughed, and it was positively the most beautiful sound I have ever heard in my life. You bring out a side of her that no one else seems to be able to. So, Grant, please, I am begging you from the bottom of my heart…next time when you are getting ready to do something that could hurt you or land you in serious trouble…think about that little angel and how much she needs you.”

Grant slowly shifted his gaze to his brother. “Tell that to your husband who made me ride in the back of his squad car last night,” he gulped.

Melissa looked stunned. “David, you did what?”

“I just figured you should get used to the view,” David replied curtly. He walked down the hall toward the bedroom, and Melissa stormed after him, closing the door behind them.

“Why have you written him off?” she practically cried. “Is that the kind of attitude you’re going to have with our daughter because, if so, I need to know right now? I have made a vow to be Leah’s greatest advocate. I’ll do whatever it takes, and if you are going to be around with all your negative energy…”

David’s expression turned hard. “It’s exactly because of Leah that I’m so hard on Grant. Imagine all the people in the world who wish they had what he has. There is nothing stopping that kid. He can do anything he wants to do, be anything he wants to be…”

“Then you and your dad need to back off and let him decide!” Melissa yelled. “My goodness! He wrecked your dad’s car; he didn’t rob a bank; he didn’t kill anyone for crying out loud!”

“What about the fire?” David gulped. “An old man almost died because of hooligans like my brother.”

Melissa threw her hand into the air in disgust. “Grant might have been at the wrong place at the wrong time that night, but he says that he didn’t have anything to do with the fire at that gas station, and, unless someone wants to show me some evidence that proves otherwise, I am going to choose to believe him.”

“I hate this,” David sighed. “I hate that we fight over Leah and what’s best for her, but we’re not going to fight over my delinquent, kid brother.”

“Don’t call him that,” Melissa said coldly. “I mean it.”

“I’m sorry,” David nodded after a long moment.

“I’ve seen him with our daughter,” Melissa cried. “She challenges him in a way that no one else can, and, in return, he drops his guard and turns into the most doting, loving, proud uncle that you have ever seen in your life. I’ve watched Grant with our baby girl, and I’ve seen him break down walls that no one else has been able to break down. My beautiful, little angel’s mind is locked up behind big, ugly bars, and I feel so guilty that I don’t have the key to unlock her thoughts, her personality. But, somehow, Grant entered into Leah’s silent world, and he related to her on some level. She expected nothing out of him, and she got everything in return. She doesn’t see his faults; she just trusts him and loves him…unconditionally. Why can’t you and your dad try the same approach? Maybe there is a thing or two both of you could learn from Leah.”

David stood for a moment, moved by his wife’s words. “Melissa, you and I never see each other anymore. You live at therapists’ offices with Leah. Your mom and your sister have practically taken over your café. That café was your dream once upon a time. You’re running yourself ragged hauling Leah from specialist to specialist, searching for answers, for hope…maybe even false hope. It is taking a toll on our marriage, not to mention the financial burden it’s putting on us. We have to focus on that…our life, our marriage, our daughter. You’re not a miracle worker; you can’t save everyone, and Grant is not our responsibility.”

“You adore that kid,” Melissa shook her head. “You’re the one that has always told me that when you’re nineteen years older than your baby brother…it’s more like he’s your kid than your kid brother.”

“I do love him,” David nodded. “I’m just not as patient as you, Mel. I’m at the end of my rope, and I can’t worry about him anymore.”

“You give up too easily,” Melissa gulped. “I won’t ever give up on Leah, and I can’t give up on Grant either. We might not be the ones to help him, but I have to believe that there is someone out there who can.”

Joanna knocked on the door at her parent’s house, and she was visibly surprised when Grant answered at noon on a school day. “Shouldn’t you be at school?” she asked.

“Shouldn’t you be at work?” Grant replied.

“What are you up to?” Joanna asked insistently as she barged inside.

“Why are you interrogating me?” Grant shrugged.

“Where’s Mom?” Joanna looked around.

“Why do you need her?” Grant grumbled.

“Okay,” Joanna grimaced. “While I appreciate the Socratic method myself, this conversation is getting us nowhere.” She looked Grant over. “You look awful,” she added. “You would probably feel better if you got a shower and went to school.”

“Isn’t it pretty to think so?” Grant mused.

“How very Jake Barnes of you,” Joanna smiled as she pushed past her brother. “I’m glad you’re here actually.”

“Wish I could say the same,” Grant replied, then he grinned as he walked into the kitchen. “I’m about to have lunch. Join me?”

“Two questions,” Joanna shook her head. “Does Mom know that you’re home in the middle of the day? And why in the world are you having your mail sent to my P.O. Box?”

“Two answers,” Grant said as he reached for a box of cereal. “Mom went with Melissa to Leah’s doctor’s appointment, but she is aware that I’m very ill,” Grant paused to offer a half-hearted, fake cough, “and that is why I’m not at school. As for the mail I had sent to your address, I’m going to need you to hand that over because if I feel you know too much I might have to kill you.”

“Well, in that case,” Joanna rolled her eyes, “I hardly noticed the Harvard insignia.” She reached into her briefcase and handed Grant a package.

Grant stared down at the letter.

“You could get into Harvard in your sleep, so why are you looking at that letter as if you are waiting with bated breath to see if you’ve made the cut.” Joanna stopped to raise a curious eyebrow. “Is there something I need to know? What kind of mood were you in when you wrote your admissions essay?”

“It was genius if I do say so myself,” Grant snickered as he tossed the packet carelessly onto the kitchen table.

Joanna sat down at the table and began unwrapping a piece of candy she took from her pocket. “Well, genius, did you forget your address? Because I don’t intend to become your personal postal delivery service.”

Grant carried his bowl of Frosted Flakes to the table. “Well, Joey, as you know, at my primary residence, letters from any college other than the United States Military Academy are generally, no pun intended, weeded out before I ever see them because no self-respecting Cohen man would dream of bucking tradition and going civilian.”

“It’s Harvard!” Joanna exclaimed.

“I don’t think you get it, Joey,” Grant said with his mouth full.

“Again,” Joanna emphasized, “it’s Harvard!”

Grant nodded. “And that might mean something to a rational human being; perhaps you’re unaware that our father is certifiably nuts. It won’t matter that it’s Harvard. That means nothing to him. You might as well say Podunk Junior College; he hears no difference. The man is the most singularly-minded individual on the face of the planet. Hooah!”

Joanna rolled her eyes but couldn’t stifle a little giggle. “Hooah,” she smiled back as she playfully tousled Grant’s hair.

Grant sat in his senior English class, flipping through his folder as he listened to his teacher explaining the daily writing assignment. He pulled a piece of paper from the pocket of his folder and stared down at an e-mail that he had printed that morning but not yet read. He carefully tucked the letter back into the pocket of his folder, and his mind drifted back to the summer and back to a girl with long, curly, brown hair and a pure southern accent that, though he had teased her about it, he couldn’t get enough of.

Basketball camp had lasted only two weeks, but Grant feared that the questions of what could have been would never leave him. He had spent his days playing basketball and his evenings alone with a girl who seemed to have entered his world for the sole purpose of reminding him that it’s never a good idea to get close to anyone because you’ll eventually have to leave them. Distance or death eventually steal the people you love, so, though he had spent the best two weeks of his life with the most amazing girl he’d probably ever meet, he was determined to distance himself from her and her memory. She was not making that easy. She had sent no fewer than a dozen e-mails, but he had not responded because he would not, could not let his guard down any more than he already had. She had been a beautiful moment in time, but, like so many others things in his life, she was gone now.

It was Grant’s senior year of high school, and, at the end of the year, he would be free, free to write his own destiny and blaze his own path, and he looked forward to the possibilities that the future held for him. Sometimes he imagined college; in some of his visions he was wearing a Tar Heels basketball jersey at the University of North Carolina. Other times he was sitting in a classroom at Harvard Law watching for some woman who was a little more Reese Witherspoon and a little less Elle Woods to walk in. Other times, despite his best efforts to curse his subconscious, he pictured himself at West Point, wearing the cadet uniform and filing into formation. Among military men, there had always been a certain amount of clout that came along with his last name. For David, his last name had meant a foot in the door. For Ike, it represented history, pride and long-standing tradition. For Grant, it was more like a birthright that he would have happily sold to the highest bidder. In the Army everything operated by pecking-order. He, because of who his father was, was treated with tremendous respect by those his father outranked. He often wondered what all of those people would think if he turned out to be nothing like his father at all. He couldn’t imagine entering West Point with a name like Grant Cohen. The name alone carried expectations! Many men entered West Point, but how many of them were forced to do so carrying the names of two of the academy’s most revered graduates? Sometimes Grant thought about taking Pops’ money and buying a house, maybe in Boston or maybe in North Carolina, and living in the same place for the rest of his life. Other times he wondered what it might be like to wander around with nothing but his money, his backpack and his passport.

Grant took a small stack of paper from his folder and, shaking off all thoughts of the summer and all the unanswered questions about his future, began working on his assignment. Grant found the process of actually conversing with most people to be a painful undertaking, but he had a passion for the written word. He not only loved to read, but he found that he enjoyed expressing himself in his daily journal entries.

“When I was a kid, I played war,” he wrote that day. “Like most other five-year-old boys I blew away the enemy with my imaginary machine gun and, trying to make my voice as deep and intimidating as I could make it, shouted coldly for them to die. I called them names… racist names. I shouted phrases at my imaginary victims that I had heard in movies. After all, they were the enemy… the target… the bad guys. It wasn’t until I was a little older that I truly came to understand that those whom I knew only by the name enemy were actually boys from other nations who had been asked to do for their country precisely what American boys were asked to do for our country. Sure, their ideals might have been different. Their beliefs, moral code, politics and motivation may have conflicted with ours. As misguided and convoluted as their world view might have been at times, I came to understand that those I simply called the enemy were really men just like my father… they had mothers, wives and children. Somewhere, thousands of miles away, I knew there was a little boy like me whose daddy had led his troops into war… a little boy with darker skin, darker hair, who practiced different customs and spoke a different language, yet asked the very same questions I was asking… primarily when and if his daddy was ever coming home.

I was hiding under my father’s desk when I heard a young man, merely a few years older than I am now, in tears as he recalled looking into the dying eyes of the man he’d killed. I had been around military men all my life. I had heard my father’s stories of war, but, as I came to realize that day, there were aspects of my father’s job, of his life, that I knew nothing about.

My dad was the toughest man I knew… the sort of guy who could cut his arm half off with a chain saw and not flinch… pull splinters the size of a two-by-four from his foot without so much as a wince… doctor his own wound with a pocket knife because he didn’t want to bother with the hospital.

I remember crawling out from under my dad’s desk that night and stupidly asking him how many men he had killed. The way he looked at me that day made me believe that he might be about to add one more to his sum total. He told me that no one had ever dared ask him that question…not his father, not my mother, not my older siblings. He pointed a stern finger in my direction, that, at that point in my life, I would have sworn could have snapped me in half, and he told me with utmost sincerity that he never talked about war. I was confused; of course he talked about war… that was all he talked about… history, politics, national security, rank, strategy, tactics, guns, planes, bombs… simply put… war.

He told me that if I wanted to understand war, I needed to talk to veterans with no legs, no arms, faces burned beyond recognition. He told me about the men who lay traumatized and comatose because they couldn’t forget what they’d seen.

‘Then why do you fight; why do you train other men to fight?’ I shrugged, not because I couldn’t come up with an answer on my own, but because I wanted to hear his.

He stared me in the eyes, and, with tight-lipped conviction, he quoted former president Ronald Reagan: ‘Freedom is a fragile thing and is never more than one generation away from extinction. It is not ours by inheritance; it must be fought for and defended constantly by each generation, for it comes only once to a people. Those who have known freedom, and then lost it, have never known it again.’

I had seen the men who believed so wholeheartedly in the foundation our great nation was built on that they were willing to lay their lives down in order to preserve it. I admired those men, willing to die for me and millions of kids like me, so that we would never know a world where we didn’t have the right to say, do and believe as we so desired.

I have since grown up and learned to appreciate those men even more. I’ve heard all the stories of war vets turned abusive alcoholics, grown men afraid of their own shadows. I’ve read all the books: Mailer, Heller, Tim O’Brien. War is hell. I’ve come to understand that the men who come home and are able to lead productive, healthy lives, the only true survivors of war, leave what they saw on the battlefield buried in a place they never revisit.

Obviously, I have never joined the military; I’ve never been to war, but I’ve spent nearly eighteen years around men who have. I understand war as much as someone who has never fought one possibly can; I understand why heroes like my father fight. I hate war, but I know enough to know it’s necessary, and I love the warriors who are willing to fight for me. Anyone who knows anything about the military knows that there is a clear distinction in the Army between enlisted men and officers. The thing I admire most about my father is that, though his rank is important to him, he proudly calls himself a soldier. Throughout my life I’ve asked lots of questions, trying to understand the psyche of a soldier… why they fought… how they fought. If I have learned one life-lesson in the lifetime I have spent as the son of a four-star general, it is that despite the differences among us, we are all men, family, and, when it comes down to it, survival in the most literal sense depends on knowing that you can count on the man standing on your left and on your right: ‘war is hell, but that’s not the half of it, because war is also mystery and terror and adventure and courage and discovery and holiness and pity and despair and longing and love. War is nasty; war is fun. War is thrilling; war is drudgery. War makes you a man; war makes you dead’ (O’Brien). In war, as in life, all we have is each other and ‘from this day to the ending of the world but we in it shall be remembered, we few, we happy few, we band of brothers’ (Shakespeare).

This brief reflection of war and the heroes who fight them begs the question, what happens when you can’t count on your hero anymore? What happens when the very person you trusted to lead the way turns out to be fraternizing behind enemy lines? What happens when that hero breaks the very code he taught you? Is it possible that, in an instant, you can lose all respect for the person you respected most in the world? Is that fair, and does it matter if it’s not?”