18

When Paige arrived at Kristen Anderson’s house forty-five minutes later, the driveway, the cul-de-sac, and the street leading up to the cul-de-sac were all lined with cars. Paige had expected a few extended family members and friends. But this looked like half of Virginia Beach had crammed themselves into the Anderson house. Paige immediately felt overwhelmed and had an urge to go back to her condo, where she could mourn in peace. But she forced herself to park and walk past all the other vehicles up to the Andersons’ front door.

She was let in by a man she did not know, who introduced himself. The place was jammed with other young women and kids and men whom Paige could tell were SEALs. She was struck by how young the women looked. They were all pretty much Kristen’s age—late twenties and early thirties—way too young to be widows. She didn’t know if all of the other team members’ spouses were here or whether the same type of thing was happening in other homes all over Virginia Beach.

She made her way to Kristen, and the two women hugged for a long time. Even without words, it was the first time Paige found any solace. She allowed herself to weep quietly on Kristen’s shoulder and she felt the sobs shaking Kristen’s body as well.

“Troy loved Q,” Kristen whispered. “They both would have died for each other.”

The two women separated and tried to wipe away their tears. Kristen introduced Paige to the others as “Patrick’s girlfriend,” and Paige learned that the widows of two other men who had died that night were also in the house. Most of the men were drinking in the kitchen, and the women were hanging out in the living room. The air was heavy with a mixture of unspoken sorrow, resolve, and a game attempt to put on a brave face. These were SEALs and the families of SEALs. They could not flinch even in the face of death.

Paige overheard the men telling stories about their buddies, the combat missions and the pranks, the fallen men already being lionized into legendary status. Some of the SEALs were playing with the kids, especially the boys, doing everything they could to keep them distracted. The women were assuring Kristen and the other widows that they would never be left alone, that the team members would be there for Kristen’s sons, that if she ever needed anything done around the house, all she had to do was ask.

For her part, Paige mostly listened, sipping quietly on a Coke. She had never experienced a community like this—so close, so free with one another, bonds that came from facing danger together. It was something beyond loyalty, the threads of individual lives woven together into a tapestry even tighter than family blood.

Yet Paige felt like she was on the outside looking in. Everyone was kind to her and quick with a story about Patrick, but she knew instinctively that she wasn’t really part of this community. She was a girlfriend—not even a fiancée and certainly not a wife. Without anyone saying a word, or even hinting at it, there was a sense in the room that she would be able to move on and find another man. But the three widows in the house would forever be part of this community, gold-star families who would be linked to the SEALs for life.

The house quieted dramatically at eleven o’clock, when the president began her speech. Men leaned against the walls and doorjambs, sipping their beers, the living room crowded. A few of the moms took the kids into the back bedrooms. Paige found a place next to Kristen, sitting on the floor.

President Hamilton was grim-faced and to the point. She sat behind her desk in the Oval Office, the American flag and president’s flag flanking her. She told the nation that her heart was heavy with the news she had to bear.

She explained that American journalist Cameron Holloman and an innocent member of the Saudi royal family had been falsely accused of espionage in Yemen. They had been arrested by Houthi rebels and sentenced for execution without even a hearing, much less a full-blown trial.

“It was,” the president said, “an intentional and blatant violation of international law and a direct insult to American and Saudi sovereignty.” The president explained that diplomatic channels had failed and that, as a last resort, she had authorized a Special Forces team to free the innocent prisoners.

“Unfortunately,” she said, her eyes unblinking as she stared at the camera, “the mission did not succeed. Resistance was heavy. Even though our brave men fought with the courage and skill of the best forces in the world, they were eventually overcome by resistance that outnumbered them at least ten to one. We lost twenty of our bravest warriors in the conflict, men who loved their country and believed in our mission of freedom. It is estimated that more than a hundred and fifty Houthi rebels were killed in the firefight.”

The president paused, and it seemed she was struggling to keep her composure. Her lip trembled ever so slightly before she began again. Nobody in the Anderson living room moved. The only sound was the muted noise of the children in the bedrooms.

“Our thoughts and prayers are with the families of the brave men who gave their lives in an attempt to save others. I take full responsibility for this action. The decision to send in this team and protect the life of a fellow American was mine and mine alone. Tonight I am demanding that the Houthis call off the scheduled executions and return both Cameron Holloman and Abdullah Fahd bin Abdulaziz to their home countries. I am also demanding that the Houthis return the remains of our service members so that we might properly mourn them and provide a measure of closure for the families.”

“Screw that,” one of the SEALs said. “They should never have been left.”

Paige watched as the man walked back into the kitchen with his beer, trailed by a few of his buddies, mumbling curses at the president. There had been rumors circulating earlier that the president had called off a large force of SEALs and Delta Force members sent to extract the bodies and finish off the remaining rebels. None of the men and women gathered that night had made any effort to hide their disdain for the commander in chief.

The air was tense as the president continued. She said the nation would mourn but that America would also exact justice. “We cannot shrink back. The lives of these men demand more. America, by the grace of God, does not possess a spirit of fear. Ours is a spirit of justice, of freedom, and of a resolute mind. We will not rest until justice is served.”

Though she felt the resentment in the room, Paige could not be mad at the woman. The president had taken full responsibility and then articulated values that Paige embraced. Sure, the president was older and more liberal than Paige. But like Paige, the president had started her career in law enforcement. She understood the pain of victims and the righteous pursuit of justice. Paige trusted her. At the right time, in the right way, she would hold the Houthis accountable.

After the president finished, an awkward silence settled over the room. Eventually, in fits and starts, conversations broke out. There was a lot of speculation about whether the Houthis would go forward with the planned executions and, if so, what America’s response would be. Not surprisingly, there was a consensus among the men that the response should be swift, forceful, and heavily dependent on the Special Forces.

Less than thirty minutes later, Paige decided it was time to leave. She hugged the Anderson boys, her heart wrenched by the thought that they would never again wrestle with their daddy. She embraced Kristen one last time in the front hallway. After the hug, she tried to think of words to express the emotions bubbling up inside her. But there was nothing she could say.

Instead, she thanked Kristen for including her.

“Patrick loved you,” Kristen said. “That makes you family.”