JORDAN
We huddled into one of the giant airplane hangars, seated on metal folding chairs, staring up at a projection screen that showed a video with pictures of Joker’s life. Tom Petty’s “Learning to Fly” played in the background. I’d never cried so much in my entire life.
There were images of Joker when he was little—clearly his airplane fascination had started young because some showed him wearing pajamas decorated with red and blue biplanes, others with a slightly older, but still adorable Joker, running around his parents’ backyard with his arms out like he was flying. Next came the high school years, a boy in a basketball uniform, wearing a tuxedo at prom. Pictures of Joker at the Air Force Academy, going through pilot training, surrounded by friends who had come now for the memorial service. And then came Dani.
They looked so happy in every single one of their photos. So in love. They looked like the world lay before them, theirs for the taking. We watched as their wedding flashed by, interspersed with photos of Joker landing, arms outstretched for Dani. Some were clearly after deployments if the sand-colored flight suit was any indication, others from TDYs, trips like his last one to Alaska. It almost seemed to highlight the one homecoming that was missing.
There were pictures of him as he took over command of the Wild Aces, picture after picture of him surrounded by Noah, Thor, and Easy. It was clear that the four had been even closer than perhaps I’d realized. My heart clenched at the picture of all of them in Vegas, me on the fringes of the photo, my body tucked against Noah’s, a smile on my face. It felt like a lifetime ago.
The last image flickered on the screen, a shot of Joker from behind, walking out to a waiting F-16, the sun setting behind him, his helmet bag thrown over his shoulder. It froze there, the image of Joker heading to the sky for one last flight settling over the crowd. And then it disappeared, and it was as though the life had been sucked out of the room.
Noah’s hand clutched mine, our fingers twined together, giving each other strength. We sat near the front, two rows away from Dani and her family, in a sea of blue, the squadron wearing their service dress, family members sprinkled throughout.
I hadn’t seen Easy.
The video ended and the wing commander rose, heading toward the makeshift podium that had been set up. I’d never met him, but I’d heard enough talk from the guys to know he wasn’t well liked. Noah had described him as a “careerist asshole,” which I figured was his way of saying that the guy was more concerned with getting ahead than with his people. To hear him speak now, Joker had been his brother, soul mate, and best friend all rolled into one. I caught a few shuffles and barely muffled snorts from the guys, giving the impression that Joker had shared Noah’s opinion.
And then he was finished, his speech, which had read like an emotional Mad Libs—insert name here—already forgotten.
There were people here who’d known Joker, who’d loved him, people who felt his loss like an ache in their chest. But that loss almost felt overwhelmed by the other side of this—the part of his death that was more about what he’d done than who he was. Joker had become a clip on the evening news, a post on social media with a picture of the American flag and a comment about how he’d died a hero. And he was a hero. But he was also a man. A friend, a son, a husband. And somewhere in the ceremony of all this, it seemed like that essence of him was overshadowed by his job. I knew people meant well, knew they were proud, but it was strange to see him as a sound bite or a post on social media, to hear others talk about him as though they knew him. To claim his loss as their own. It was the strange dichotomy of being in a world where your life was private and yet it wasn’t, really. In a way it felt like his death, like his life, was the military’s, too.
And somewhere in all of that, mentioned as a line in articles—he is survived by his wife—was Dani. As if this was something she could survive. As if losing the person you loved the most, the person your entire life revolved around, was something you survived.
And for the first time since we’d gotten the news, I realized I was angry. So fucking angry. It bubbled up inside me like a scream pushing to escape my lungs as I sat there surrounded by service members and their families, knowing we’d do this again.
My anger wasn’t rational. There wasn’t a bad guy here, a villain I could blame or direct my rage at. But it was still here, choking me. It was an accident. A fucking accident. Seconds. Seconds that made the difference between life and death. Seconds that made the difference between lying in bed listening to the sound of your man breathing, the rhythmic song lulling you to sleep, and reaching across an empty bed, the distance feeling like a mile, the silence deafening, stretching on and on into years.
There weren’t any words that could make this okay. Nothing could make this okay. And I knew that whatever Dani clung to now, whatever got her through this horrible day, was wrung from the depths of her soul.
How many times throughout the course of my relationship with Noah would this scene repeat itself? How many times would I sit here, my ass cold against the metal, trying to comprehend the incomprehensible? I knew someone had to do to it. Knew that freedom came at a price and that all these men and women surrounding me paid it. Their families paid it. Their children paid it. And the fear that I would pay it, too, that one day I would sit in the seat Dani sat in, was nearly too much to bear. I felt selfish for thinking it. Like the worst person in the world for the part of me that clutched Noah’s hand a little tighter, grateful for the warmth of his palm in mine. I wanted to wrap him up in a protective bubble. Wanted to shield him from harm. I didn’t care if he was a badass; he was my badass. Had become my world. And the idea of losing that . . .
I couldn’t.
I gripped his hand more tightly, holding on to Noah with everything I had, as though the connection between us would keep him safe as waves of protectiveness crashed over me like I’d never experienced before.
And then the room got so quiet you could have heard a pin drop, as we all watched Dani rise from her seat and walk to the front of the room.
Noah had told me that it was typical for the widow to speak last, but they’d wanted to spare her the emotion of listening to the squadron tell stories about her husband and then having to stand in front of over a thousand people and eulogize him. So she would go first and everyone else would follow her lead.
She walked up to the podium, the wing commander at her side, which seemed more for protocol and pretense than anything else considering the space between their bodies.
She’d asked me to find her a dress and I’d pulled some strings through the store to get one sent here so she wouldn’t have to deal with buying one herself.
She didn’t look like she belonged here in this airplane hangar. She looked like an auburn Audrey Hepburn or Grace Kelly, like a throwback to another time and place. This, too, was her way of honoring Joker. Even in her grief, she carried herself with poise, and I couldn’t help but think that he was beaming down on her with pride.
Another lump grew in my throat, joining the three thousand, four hundred, and twenty-two that were already lodged there.
I squeezed Noah’s hand a little tighter.
Dani stopped at the podium, her hands on either side of the frame. She didn’t speak for a moment, staring out at the crowd. Her eyes were covered by large black sunglasses, her hair pulled back in a severe bun that made her look even more fragile.
Another lump.
She took a deep breath as though steadying herself and then her voice rang out over the microphone.
“Thank you for coming today to celebrate Michael’s life.” Her voice cracked over the words. “Michael was a wonderful husband. He was my best friend. And more than anything, he was a fighter pilot. He loved flying, loved serving with all of you.” Her gaze ran over the crowd. “As hard as this is, as much as I miss him, he wouldn’t want me to cry up here. He wouldn’t want us all to gather in grief, but to celebrate the tremendous life he led.”
She swallowed, her voice trembling. “He knew the danger every time he flew, knew the price he could pay, but he loved to fly. And anyone who knew him knows that he went out the way he would have wanted to, flying the plane he loved, doing the job he was born to do. Defending the country he loved.”
She paused and the silence stretched on, her hands gripping the edge of the podium as she struggled to continue.
“Michael—” His name came out as a choked sob.
We’d asked her if she wanted anyone to go up with her, but she’d said that it was something she needed to do on her own. We should have insisted, should have realized that no matter how badly she’d wanted to do this on her own, it was too much.
Noah let out an oath beside me.
The wing commander stood off to the side, and even though I doubted he would have done much to comfort Dani, at least it was something. I silently willed him to go stand next to her, to help her get through this, but he didn’t fucking move. The silence continued and I waited for her family, for someone, to go help her, and then Dani’s gaze jerked to the side, and I caught a flash of blue walking toward the podium.
Easy, wearing his navy blue service dress, his body tense as though poised for flight, strode to the front, his gaze on Dani the entire time. And then Noah’s hand left mine and he stood, walking to the edge of our row, up to the podium. Thor followed.
Easy reached Dani first, his arm going around her waist, looking like he was propping her up. Noah stood next to Easy, Thor on the other side of Dani.
They flanked her, the three men who’d been there for the last moments of Joker’s life. Three of his closest friends. They surrounded her like sentries, giving her their protection and support.
“Michael was the love of my life,” Dani continued, her voice stronger now. “And I can’t imagine my life without him. But I know he is watching all of us, looking down on us from his place in the sky.” Her voice warbled, the tears there unmistakable. “He’s home now.”
There wasn’t a dry eye in the hangar.
Dani stepped away from the podium, her arm tucked into Easy’s, surrounded by pilots. They walked her to her seat, and then Noah was beside me once again, his hand in mine.
The rest of the service went by in a flood of stories about Joker. Most of the squadron got up and spoke about him, painting a picture of a leader who had been both friend and mentor, who had cared about his people and put them first, even when it meant he had to stick his neck out for them.
When it was Noah’s turn, he spoke of the friend he’d lost, and I realized just how difficult this must be for him, and how he fought to keep it together for everyone around him.
I’d never loved him more.