Family Ties

”

“I know. You actually know how to dress.” She gazed at our reflection in the small mirror again. She was about to say something else when someone rapped on the door.

“Uh-oh,” I said. “We’re late.”

Christy snapped her compact shut and shoved it into her purse. I opened the door and grimaced at my father’s expression.

“Sorry,” I told him. “We should’ve gotten an earlier start.”

“Nonsense,” Christy said as she stepped in front of me. “It was my fault.

My hair took forever to dry.” It hadn’t and she knew it.

“Doesn’t matter,” Dad said. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

We hustled to the car, where Dad climbed into the front passenger seat next to Mom. Susan smiled at us from the driver’s seat as Christy slid to the middle of the back seat next to Erin. I followed and folded my jacket neatly on my lap as I pulled the door closed.

The car’s tires actually kicked up sand when Susan did just that.

“By the way, Dad,” I said over the seat once we crested the ridge, “this is my girlfriend, Christy. Christy, this is my dad, David. I don’t think I introduced you earlier.”

“You didn’t,” Mom said.

Christy actually cut her off with a gesture. She wasn’t rude about it, but Erin got the message.

“Nice to meet you, Christy,” my dad said over the seat. “Sorry to rush you this morning, but…”

“My fault,” I repeated.

“Nice to meet you too, David. My dad says he thinks he knows you. I’m supposed to ask you a bunch of questions about Vietnam. What squadron, what ship, what year? That sort of thing.”

“We don’t talk about Vietnam,” my mom said.

Erin and I looked at each other. We’d never heard her use that tone before.

“I can’t remember that far back,” my dad joked to lighten the mood.

“It was a long time ago for all of us,” Susan said.

“Right,” Mom agreed. She and Susan shared a look.

Erin and I did the same. Again.

“Let’s change the subject,” Mom said.

“No problem,” I said. “So, Dad… tell me about the new plane.”

“Ah, right. It’s a sweet little ’72 Beech Baron. One of the guys at work…”

We buried Master Gunnery Sergeant Jeremiah John Kershaw with full military honors in the local cemetery on his family plot, alongside his parents and a baby sister. The day was crisp and achingly beautiful, with feathery cirrus clouds under the high blue vault of the heavens. The air rang with the sound of gunfire as the Marine Corps rifle squad fired three volleys and then the bugler played “Taps.”

I didn’t know if Christy was crying for her brother or Gunny, but it didn’t really matter. I put my arm around her and barely held back my own tears, although I would’ve been in good company if I hadn’t. Afterward the honor

guard folded the American flag with military precision and presented it to Gunny’s widow on behalf of a grateful nation.

We lingered at the gravesite and talked about the service. Then we drove to the local VFW, where the ladies of Lenore’s church served lunch. I felt embarrassed that I knew so little of Gunny’s life, although I heard plenty of stories over the next couple of hours. He was a remarkable man, a real character, and I wasn’t likely to meet anyone like him again.

We left the luncheon in a thoughtful but upbeat mood. We’d said goodbye to our friend, but we knew he wouldn’t want us to mourn forever.

Still, I couldn’t help but think about his loss and what it would mean to Susan. Gunny had been her friend as well as the camp’s unofficial major-domo.

Susan dropped us off at our rooms. She and Mom talked for a few minutes before she drove down the road to her own house. We had a big farewell dinner planned, but the afternoon was ours, so Christy and I changed into everyday clothes. I offered to give her a tour of the main camp, and Erin tagged along.

“Is it weird to have guys staring at you?” Christy asked her.

“Not really. Besides, they stare at you more in the real world. I mean, you know how guys talk to your boobs. And you’re like, ‘Up here! My eyes are up here.’”

“Okay, then whenever you bend over, and every guy stares at your butt.”

“It also helps that only families or couples are allowed,” Erin continued.

“No single men. Paul’s kind of an exception, but he couldn’t visit by himself if it weren’t for Susan.” She immediately realized she might have said too much, but she didn’t lose her cool. “You know,” she added, “since we’ve been coming here so long.”

“So it isn’t because your mom and Susan are… you know?”

Erin’s eyebrows rose in surprise.

“I told her,” I said, “but she also figured it out on her own as soon as she saw them together. She has this knack for reading people. It’s… uncanny.”

“Oh, okay,” Erin said. “So… yeah. Paul’s an exception ’cause of Mom and Susan.