My father squeezed my injured arm while my sister called me jealous in front of his guests. “Don’t spoil this for her. I’ll have security drag you out,” he said. I stayed where I was. Her husband hadn’t seen the damaged watch on my jacket yet, but the ceremony would make him turn.
Another complaint about my behavior could trail back to my command, and Dad knew that.
His fingers pressed through the sleeve exactly where the fabric already hurt.
“You’re hurting me.”
“Then stop making this difficult.”
He loosened his grip without taking his hand away, as though I might bolt toward the platform.
My sister had started it while people were still finding their seats.
“Must you keep gawking over at Nate?”
Aisha turned toward the guests beside us before she finished, making sure they knew who she meant.
Mom pulled her lips inward and studied her program.
That hurt worse.
She hadn’t asked what I’d done, or whether I’d done anything at all.
She’d already supplied the embarrassed face that told everyone my sister had a reason.
A man nearby stopped searching for his seat number.
I kept facing forward.
Past Aisha’s silver pendant, Nate stood with the command pennant in his hands.
My brother-in-law was finishing his command assignment that afternoon.
I’d come to Portsmouth because he would be here, and because this time he couldn’t end our conversation by hanging up.
Aisha moved into my line of sight.
“Stacy. People can SEE you.”
Her gold cuff caught against my sleeve when she leaned closer.
I pulled my arm clear of Dad and kept it beside me.
“He’s trying to enjoy his day,” she said.
I hadn’t spoken to Nate yet.
I hadn’t waved or called across the chairs.
Still, guests were looking between us now, waiting for the troublesome sister to do whatever they’d been warned about.
Aisha checked their faces.
Then she dropped her tone so the row had to lean in.
“You can wear the uniform. It doesn’t change who he wanted.”
Mom folded her program along the wrong crease.
She kept pressing it.
For eight years, Nate had explained me to my own family whenever I wasn’t there.
An injury became confusion.
An objection became another bad spell.
If I remembered something he didn’t want discussed, he told them I needed rest.
They repeated it until I couldn’t finish a sentence without somebody asking whether I’d slept.
Aisha bent toward my ear.
“He married ME.”
I shifted enough to keep her cuff from scraping my jacket again.
“You know that, don’t you?”
I knew where her husband stood, who was beside him, and how soon the ceremony would bring him around.
Everything else could wait.
She wanted an answer.
Dad still held his hand near my elbow.
I could feel where he’d squeezed, even after his fingers were gone.
The watch sat against my jacket above that ache.
Its strap had curled from heat, and the face had a cloudy patch nobody could polish away.
I’d secured it before leaving my room.
I’d checked the fastening again before I got out of the car.
Aisha hadn’t given it a second look.
To her, anything attached to my dress jacket belonged to the same pile of things she didn’t want explained.
Nate would look longer.
I kept my hand away.
Across from us, four senior officers waited with a visiting senator.
Scores of guests had found their places, and the musicians had lowered their instruments.
Every time somebody approached Nate, he gave them his full attention.
Dad followed those greetings with his chin raised.
“That’s how you conduct yourself,” he said.
I looked at his fingers.
He tucked them into his palm.
My parents had told people about Nate’s command before they told them about their own daughter’s service.
Mom could remember his next assignment.
She still called mine “wherever they’ve put you.”
That afternoon she’d dressed for photographs with him.
She’d asked Aisha which color would look best beside his uniform, then called me to discuss my behavior.
“Please come without an argument ready,” she’d said.
“I haven’t started an argument.”
“I’m asking you to stand behind Aisha today.”
I’d held the phone away from my mouth until I could answer without giving her another reason.
“What do you think I’m going to do?”
“Don’t make me spell it out.”
She’d said it like we both knew.
I knew what she’d been told.
Dad had met me beside the guest seating the moment I got there, before I could decide where to go.
He’d checked my jacket rather than my face.
“Your mother’s worried.”
“About what?”
“Don’t start.”
He’d pointed toward the security personnel, then back toward the family seats.
The warning came before hello.
Now he stood close enough to block me if I stepped forward, although there was nowhere I needed to go.
Not yet.
Aisha straightened his tie with a small tug.
“She’ll be fine, Dad.”
She answered for me so easily.
I’d once spent entire calls trying to get Mom to repeat my words back instead of Nate’s version.
I’d asked Dad to come with me when someone explained my injuries.
He’d said there was no point upsetting himself over something already done.
After that, I stopped asking.
They got the short answers they preferred.
Yes, I was working.
Yes, I had somewhere to stay.
No, I didn’t need Aisha to arrange anything.
That last answer always annoyed her.
She liked offering help where somebody else could hear it, especially help I’d already refused.
“Are you staying somewhere suitable?” she asked now.
I kept my attention beyond her shoulder.
“We could’ve sorted that out for you.”
“I’m sorted.”
“There’s no need to be PROUD.”
Mom touched my sleeve, just above the place Dad had gripped.
I moved it away before she could press.
Her hand remained between us.
“Don’t do this here,” she said.
I hadn’t asked her to choose anything that afternoon.
She chose anyway.
Aisha glanced across my ribbons, then checked whether Nate was looking.
He was speaking to an officer beside him.
“All that on your chest,” she said, “and you still came here hoping he’d notice.”
Dad looked toward the nearby seats.
“Aisha.”
But he said her name gently, almost as a reminder to lower the volume.
She didn’t stop.
“Look at him. He’s got an actual command. People came for HIM.”
The word carried farther than the rest.
My mother pressed the folded program against her stomach.
I remembered how carefully she’d checked the printed spelling of Nate’s name when she first sat down.
She’d run a fingernail beneath it.
Mine she’d barely said since I arrived.
“Those ribbons don’t put you beside him,” Aisha said.
“They belong where they are,” I said.
She stared at my jacket again, irritated that I’d answered the part she hadn’t meant.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I heard you.”
Dad reached toward my arm.
“KEEP YOUR HANDS OFF ME,” I said.
His hand stopped short.
The nearest guest turned completely around.
Dad leaned in, his mouth open, but the microphone came on before he could answer.
Tedesco stepped forward.
“Please stand as the senior officers take the platform.”
Aisha rose with her mouth still shaped around whatever she’d planned to say.
I stood beside her.
Mom reached up toward me, her chin trembling now, and Dad leaned close as though he could still get a warning in.
“Stacy. Please,” Mom said.
I faced the officers and raised my hand in salute when the moment called for it.
Dad’s fingers hovered near my shoulder.
I kept my elbow clear.
Nate turned with the others.
He found Aisha almost immediately and gave her the expression she’d been waiting for all afternoon.
Her shoulders settled.
A second later, he looked past her.
It reached my face, dropped to my jacket, and stopped.
Right THERE.
His mouth lost its shape before he managed to close it.
I lowered my salute with the others.
The watch stayed in view.
Nate’s thumb slipped against the pennant staff, and he caught it with his other hand.
His gaze went from the curled strap to my face.
Then straight BACK.
Tedesco lifted the microphone for the handover.
Nate had gone pale, and he was still staring at the watch.
The empty chair
Nate knew the watch.
He moved his mouth without making a sound.
“Put it away.”
I put my hand on the back of the chair instead. He could see the difference.
When we were told to sit, Mom lifted Aisha’s handbag from the ground and placed it on my seat. There were four family chairs. Apparently three people and a handbag qualified.
I picked it up.
“Give that here,” Aisha said.
I handed it over and sat. My arm hurt enough that lowering myself took both knees and more care than I wanted anyone to see.
Nate turned back toward the microphone.
He thanked the people beside him. The words came in the right order, but he kept looking toward our row between sentences.
Dad bent toward me.
“What have you done?”
“Sat down.”
“Don’t be clever.”
I wasn’t feeling particularly clever. I’d fastened an old watch to my jacket because every other way of putting it in front of this man had failed.
Now he couldn’t pretend he hadn’t seen it.
Aisha held her bag against her knees.
“Whatever that is, take it off.”
I faced the platform.
Nate spoke about the support of his family. Aisha straightened. Mom smoothed her program. Dad put his shoulders back.
I kept my injured arm against my side.
Nate’s eyes came down to our row again, and Aisha lifted her chin to receive another look meant for her.
He was looking at the watch.
Dad leaned across the space between us.
“You’ll give that to me before he comes down.”
The folded program
I slid the program from under my thigh and laid it on my knees.
Dad had written something inside his. I’d seen the handwriting when he opened it: the beginning of a few words he planned to say when the family photographs were done.
He’d practiced the first line on Mom while we were standing beside the chairs.
“The son I never had.”
I was forty-three. I’d survived a combat injury, returned to service, and driven myself there. Dad was still shopping for a child he could introduce without qualifications.
“You’re not taking anything from my jacket,” I said.
“Then stop wearing it like a challenge.”
Mom reached across him.
“Ron. Let her hear the speeches.”
She could make postponing a fight sound like taking my side. I’d lived on portions of that for years.
Eight years earlier, in the hospital, she’d held a telephone against my good ear because I couldn’t manage it myself. Nate was on the other end. Before I could finish a sentence, she took the phone back.
“She’s getting upset,” she said.
I hadn’t been upset until then.
That afternoon on the pier, she used the same expression. Mouth drawn in. Eyebrows up. Ready to report my condition to somebody who wasn’t me.
I pressed the program flat.
Tedesco stood near the platform steps. He’d sent my invitation after I asked whether I could attend. I’d also asked for five minutes with him afterward, if he could spare them.
He’d said he could.
He knew the watch. While I was in the hospital, he’d taken it to a jeweler and brought it back. The front couldn’t be repaired. The replacement back still looked almost new.
I’d told him that morning I might need help undoing the fastening.
My right hand could manage buttons if nobody hurried me. A small pin at that angle was another matter. Pride hadn’t restored the reach in my shoulder. I’d tested that theory thoroughly.
Mom tipped her program toward mine.
“Do you see where they finish?”
“I can read, Mom.”
“We’re doing the photographs straight afterward. Your father wants one with Nate.”
“I heard.”
“And one with both of them.”
“Yes.”
She ran a finger down the page, although there was nothing printed there about photographs.
I waited for the version that included me.
She closed the program.
“Please don’t put him in an awkward position.”
Aisha’s handbag
The handover ended, and people stood around their chairs while Nate spoke to the officers.
I stayed seated for a moment. My shoulder needed it. Dad took that as progress.
“Good,” he said. “Just stay here.”
He headed toward the platform with his program in his hand.
Mom remained beside me. Aisha stood in the aisle, her bag tucked under one arm, ready to move as soon as Nate finished.
“Mom,” I said. “Sit down a minute.”
“We’ll lose him.”
“He isn’t a bus.”
She looked at Aisha before she sat.
I wanted to take her hand. That was the embarrassing part. After everything she’d done since I arrived, I still wanted her hand.
Instead, I held my program between both palms.
“When he comes over, let me finish speaking.”
“Stacy.”
“That’s all I’m asking.”
“We know what you think happened.”
“You know what he says I think happened.”
Aisha turned.
“Could we have one afternoon?”
“We’ve had eight years of afternoons,” I said.
She stepped between the chairs and stood in front of me.
“Nate has been patient. Most men wouldn’t be.”
I looked up at her.
“Patient about what?”
She glanced toward Mom.
There it was again. The little exchange over my head. They could have done it at a hospital bed, or over a naughty dog.
“About the calls,” Aisha said. “About you refusing to move forward.”
“I asked to speak to him with you there.”
“Because you wanted to upset me.”
“I asked you to listen.”
“And now you’re wearing something of his.”
Her eyes stopped on the watch.
Until then she’d treated it as another piece of my uniform. Now she was close enough to see it properly.
“Is that Nate’s?”
Mom turned toward my jacket.
I held still.
“Ask him.”
Aisha’s mouth opened, then closed.
“He told me you wouldn’t return it.”
“He told you that?”
“Don’t do that thing where you repeat everything like I’m stupid.”
I nearly said she was doing the heavy lifting herself.
Mom touched my knee.
“Give it back, Stacy. Whatever point you’re making, give it back.”
“I came to speak to him about it.”
“Then you’ve spoken enough.”
“He hasn’t said a word to me.”
Aisha put her bag on my lap.
I stared at it.
“Hold that,” she said. “I’m getting Dad.”
I lifted the bag with my good hand and set it on her chair. She turned back at the sound of the clasp against the seat.
“Honestly.”
She picked it up and walked toward our father.
Mom’s hand stayed on my knee.
“Just let me put it in my bag. We can give it to him quietly.”
“No.”
Her fingers pulled away.
“You always make me ask twice.”
She stood and followed Aisha. Both of them left their programs behind, as if I were there to mind the chairs.
Across the aisle, Dad stopped smiling.
Aisha pointed straight at my jacket.
My mother’s signature
A few minutes later, Dad came back without Nate.
He put one hand on the chair beside me, careful this time to keep it off my arm.
“Your sister says you’re refusing to return his property.”
“I’ll speak to him when he’s finished.”
“You’ll speak to me now.”
Guests were passing behind him. He shifted closer until his legs blocked the gap between my chair and the next one.
I stood.
He stepped back, though not far.
Mom came up beside him. Aisha stayed where she could see Nate.
“There’s no need for a scene,” Mom said.
“Then stop surrounding me.”
Dad opened his program and shut it again. His little speech was waiting inside. He had an audience booked for his pride, and I was delaying the performance.
“You don’t understand how this looks,” he said.
“I understand exactly how it looks.”
“Then think about your position. Another concern from this family won’t be dismissed.”
My stomach pulled in.
The previous complaint hadn’t ended my service. It had put me in a room explaining family telephone calls to someone I worked for. I could still remember the chair, and how badly I wanted to be anywhere else.
I’d been told a relative was concerned about my behavior toward Nate.
I’d assumed Dad had sent it. He’d done all the threatening afterward.
Mom pressed her program against her chest.
“Nobody wanted that to happen,” she said.
“Who sent it?”
“That’s over.”
“Who sent it, Mom?”
Dad looked at her.
She looked down.
I waited.
Aisha came back before Mom answered.
“Nate didn’t make you call him. He didn’t make you leave messages.”
“Who sent it?”
“Mom did,” Aisha said. “Because she was worried sick.”
Mom reached for my hand.
I moved it behind my back.
She stopped.
“I was frightened for you.”
“You told them I was pursuing him.”
“I said you couldn’t let things go.”
“You used that word. Pursuing.”
Her eyes filled.
“Nate helped me put it properly.”
There had been a sentence in the complaint about how I kept talking about a future with him. I’d denied saying it. I’d offered to show the messages I’d sent, all asking for the same conversation with my sister present.
My mother had signed that sentence.
“Did you ever hear me say I wanted him?”
“Stacy, please.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
Dad put his hand on her shoulder.
“Enough. Look what you’re doing to your mother.”
I had to turn away from them for a moment.
A row of chairs stood behind me. I put my good hand on one. The seat had a damp ring from somebody’s drink.
For eight years, I’d called Mom after the worst appointments. I’d kept trying to describe the pain in words that wouldn’t frighten her. She’d asked whether I was sleeping, whether I was eating, whether I was speaking to someone.
Then she’d written to my command with a story she’d never heard me tell.
I turned back.
“You helped him.”
“I thought you needed help.”
“You could have asked me.”
“We did ask you,” Dad said.
“No. You asked him about me.”
Mom began to cry. Dad pulled her against his side, and Aisha took her other hand.
I stood two feet away from the three of them.
Nobody asked me anything.
Nate finished speaking to the officers. Aisha raised her hand.
“Here,” she said. “We’re over here.”
He came down the steps with the expression he used when he had to settle something beneath his dignity.
Mom wiped her face before he reached us.
The platform steps
Nate stopped beside Aisha and put his hand against her back.
“What happened?”
Dad answered.
“She’s brought your watch. We were trying to handle it before you had to.”
Nate looked at me.
“You shouldn’t have worn that here.”
“I asked you to meet me.”
“This is hardly the time.”
“You chose not to answer.”
Aisha moved closer to him.
“She’s been like this since she arrived.”
He rubbed his thumb along the seam of his trousers. His other hand stayed on Aisha’s back.
“Stacy, let’s not do this in front of everybody.”
I’d heard that sentence over the telephone, too. In front of everybody meant Aisha. Or Mom. Or Dad.
There was always somebody whose presence made speaking impossible.
“All right,” I said. “We’ll stand over there. All five of us.”
I pointed to the space beside the platform steps, clear of the main aisle but still in view.
Nate looked that way.
Tedesco was there, putting down the microphone.
“We have photographs,” Nate said.
“They can wait five minutes.”
Dad shook his head.
“No. You don’t get to hold the afternoon hostage.”
Nate lowered his voice.
“I can ask someone to escort you out. I’d rather not. You know how difficult that could become.”
My arm throbbed beneath the jacket. I wanted to get into my car, close the door, and put my forehead against the steering wheel until nobody could ask me to be reasonable.
I’d done that after family visits before.
Aisha lifted her chin.
“Give him the watch and go.”
Nate held out his hand.
That hand made the whole thing look settled.
Dad’s program opened against his chest. Mom stood beside him with tears still on her face. They were ready for me to be the reason the photograph couldn’t happen.
I reached toward the fastening.
My shoulder stopped me.
The pin sat at an angle I couldn’t reach without pulling the jacket across the injured place. I tried again with my other hand.
Aisha made a small sound through her nose.
“Oh, Stacy.”
I dropped my hand.
That almost did it.
Not the threat. Not even Nate’s open palm.
My sister making that sound while I struggled with a pin.
Mom stepped toward me.
“I’ll get it.”
I backed away.
She stopped so suddenly that Dad caught her elbow.
“You’ve made your point,” he said. “Leave the watch and leave us alone.”
There it was. All the way out in the open.
I could go home without them again. They’d get their photograph. Nate would keep telling the story he preferred, and Mom would keep signing her name beneath it.
I looked toward the steps.
“Tedesco.”
He turned.
“Would you help me with the fastening now?”
Nate’s hand dropped.
“There’s no need to involve him.”
Tedesco came over.
I pointed to the pin.
“My shoulder won’t give me the angle.”
“Which way does it open?”
“Toward the strap.”
He stood where he could reach without touching my arm. I held the jacket away from my chest with my good hand.
Dad folded his program.
“This is a family matter.”
Tedesco paused.
I looked at him.
“Please finish.”
The pin came free.
Nate reached for the watch.
“Thank you. I’ll take it.”
I put my palm beneath Tedesco’s hand.
He gave it to me.
Then I held it out to Mom, face down.
“Read the back.”
The replacement back
Mom didn’t take it at first.
The watch lay across my palm, with the curled strap hanging over my fingers. She bent her head.
Nate stepped closer.
“That was a long time ago.”
Mom took the watch.
Aisha leaned toward her.
“What does it say?”
Mom rubbed her thumb over the back, though there was nothing on it to wipe away.
“Read it,” I said.
She brought it closer to her face.
“‘Stacy. For my life. Nate.'”
Dad looked from her hand to Nate.
Nobody moved.
Aisha took the watch from Mom and read it herself.
“You gave her this?”
Nate put his hand out again.
“It was personal.”
Tedesco stayed beside me.
“Those were your words,” he said. “You asked me to have them put on the replacement back.”
Nate’s hand closed.
Dad turned toward Tedesco.
“You did that?”
“I took it to the jeweler. Then I took it to Stacy.”
Nate glanced toward the officers behind us.
“We don’t need to discuss the incident here.”
I kept my eyes on him.
“You told them I took it.”
“I said you kept it.”
“You gave it to me.”
“Yes. I gave it to you.”
Aisha lowered the watch.
“Why?”
He looked at me as though I could still be persuaded to spare him.
I said nothing.
Tedesco shifted half a step away. He’d done what I’d asked. The watch was off my jacket, and Nate couldn’t say I’d invented the words on its back.
Aisha held it between them.
“Why did you give it to her?”
Nate drew his hand over his mouth.
“She helped me get out.”
“Out of what?”
He swallowed.
“The vehicle.”
“After it was hit,” I said.
Aisha looked at my arm.
Nate turned toward the platform.
“Everyone knows there was an incident.”
Dad stepped into his path.
“I don’t.”
Nate stopped.
“She came back for me.”
Mom covered her mouth.
I kept my hand at my side. The sleeve hurt. It had hurt all afternoon. Nobody had needed to be told a second time except the people standing in front of me.
Aisha held the watch out toward Nate.
“Then why did you tell me she wanted you?”
The family photograph
Nate didn’t take the watch.
“You’re putting two different things together.”
Aisha kept her hand extended.
“You told me she wouldn’t accept that we’d got married.”
“I told you she kept calling.”
“You told me she wanted you.”
People had stopped moving near the steps. One of the officers Nate had greeted earlier stood a few feet behind Dad. The man who’d turned around during the argument was there, too.
Nate looked at them.
“Can we please have this conversation somewhere else?”
“No,” Aisha said.
He turned back to her.
“I didn’t want you upset. She was calling about things neither of us could change. I was trying to get on with my life.”
I almost corrected the word calling. Most of my attempts had been messages because he wouldn’t pick up.
I let him keep talking.
“She’d been through a great deal. There were things she took differently afterward.”
Dad’s head came up.
“What things?”
Nate spread his hands.
“Ron, you’ve seen how she gets.”
Dad looked at my arm.
Then he looked at his own hand.
Mom stepped away from him.
“Did she ever ask you to leave Aisha?”
“Jacqueline, that’s not what I said.”
“Did she?”
“No.”
Aisha’s hand fell to her side. The watch strap brushed her skirt.
“Did she tell you she loved you?”
Nate looked down.
“No.”
The word reached the people behind us.
Aisha began to cry. She wiped her face hard, angry at the tears for arriving where everyone could see them.
“Then what was I supposed to think?”
He reached for her.
She moved out of reach.
“I told her she couldn’t wear a uniform and make you want her. I said that here. In front of people.”
“I never asked you to say that.”
“No. You just let me.”
Mom turned toward me.
“The letter.”
I couldn’t answer her.
She pressed the program to her mouth, then pulled it away.
“You helped me write that letter,” she said to Nate. “You said I had to use clear words.”
“You were worried.”
“I asked you whether she’d said those things.”
Nate looked toward the officer behind Dad.
“This has become something it never needed to be.”
Dad opened his program.
For a moment I thought he was going to read his speech. My father had never been good at changing course once he’d put on a tie.
He looked at the writing inside.
Then he folded it shut.
“You let me put my hands on her.”
“I didn’t see that.”
“You saw enough.”
Dad’s voice carried. Nate drew closer to him.
“Ron. People are listening.”
“I know.”
That stopped him.
Dad turned toward the man behind us.
“I told you my daughter was causing trouble. She wasn’t.”
The man gave a small nod.
Dad faced Nate again.
“Your turn.”
Nate pulled at one cuff.
“This is my handover. I’ve got officers waiting. I have given years to this command, and I’m not going to have all of that reduced to a family disagreement beside a row of chairs.”
He looked at me.
“You know what goes into a day like this.”
“Yes.”
“Then help me out here.”
I held his eyes.
“I did.”
He took a step back.
Aisha put the watch in his hand.
“Tell them.”
“I’ve answered your questions.”
“Tell the people I said it in front of.”
He looked toward the guests. The officer behind Dad hadn’t left.
Nate cleared his throat.
“Stacy didn’t pursue me.”
Aisha stood beside him without touching him.
He tried again, louder.
“My sister-in-law never asked me to leave my wife. She brought me out after our vehicle was hit. I gave her the watch to thank her.”
The man behind Dad looked at me.
Nate kept his eyes on the ground.
“The things I said to the family weren’t true.”
Nobody clapped. Nobody offered him a kind way to finish.
He held the watch in both hands.
Mom sat down on the nearest chair and cried into the program. Dad remained where he was.
Aisha took off her husband’s hand when he put it on her shoulder.
“We still need the photograph,” Nate said.
She stared at him.
He looked at Dad.
“Ron?”
Dad put the folded program in his pocket.
“No.”
“After everything, you’re going to walk away over this?”
Dad moved beside me.
Nate looked toward Mom. She shook her head without getting up.
Four family places. None beside him now.
Aisha took her bag from the chair.
“I’m going back with Mom and Dad.”
“We can talk in the car.”
“I’m not getting in your car.”
He said her name.
She kept walking until she stood beside Mom.
Nate turned to me.
“Was this what you came for?”
I looked at the watch in his hand.
“My name back.”
The good arm
We stayed beside the chairs while the guests began moving again.
Nate went toward the platform alone. Someone spoke to him, and he answered. His command had ended as scheduled. Nobody stripped anything from his jacket.
But Dad’s speech stayed in his pocket.
Aisha didn’t return to Nate’s side for a photograph.
And when the man who’d heard her accuse me came over, she faced him.
“What I said about my sister was wrong,” she said. “I’m sorry you heard it.”
He looked at me, then at her.
“Understood.”
She didn’t dress it up. I gave her that much.
Mom stood and came toward me.
“I’ll withdraw what I sent.”
“You’ll say what was false.”
She nodded.
“And you’ll send me the same words.”
“I will.”
“No more calls to explain me.”
She pressed her lips together.
“No.”
I wanted to believe her immediately. My body had that foolish habit with my mother. One soft word, and it started packing for home.
I kept my hands at my sides.
Dad came up behind her.
“I hurt your arm.”
“Yes.”
He looked at the sleeve.
“I knew it was the bad one.”
That cost him something to say. It didn’t make my shoulder hurt less.
“Don’t touch me again unless I say you can.”
“I won’t.”
He reached toward his pocket, then stopped. The program stayed there with his speech inside.
“You should have told us sooner.”
I looked at him.
“I did.”
He lowered his head.
Tedesco waited a few steps away. I went over to him.
“Thank you for the pin.”
He held it out, closed.
“Do you need it back on the jacket?”
“No.”
I put it in my pocket.
The watch was gone. Nate had carried it away with him, both sides of it. He could put it in a drawer, but he’d read the back every time he picked it up.
Tedesco looked toward my family.
“Do you want company to the car?”
I started to say yes.
Mom stepped forward, then stopped at a distance.
“May I walk with you?”
I looked at her shoes. She’d bought them for the photographs. One heel had left a mark where she’d stood on the edge of her program.
“We’re not going to discuss Nate.”
“All right.”
“And don’t tell me Aisha’s upset.”
Mom nodded.
Tedesco waited for my answer.
“I’m all right,” I said. “Thank you.”
He held the gap between the chairs open for me.
Mom followed without taking my elbow.
At the end of the row, she caught up. I slowed enough for her to walk beside me.
“I should have asked about your arm,” she said.
“Before Dad squeezed it would’ve been good.”
Her face folded. Then, against her mouth, one small breath of a laugh escaped.
“Yes.”
We walked past the place where Dad had met me with his warning.
She kept her hands together in front of her.
I stopped.
She stopped, too.
“Mom.”
“Yes?”
I offered her my good arm.
She looked at it before she touched me.
“This side?”
“That’s the one.”
She put her hand through the crook of my elbow, and we walked off the pier together.
If this one stayed with you, send it to someone whose side of the story still deserves to be heard.
Family loyalties can unravel in the most public ways – see what happens when a mother crosses a line with her former daughter-in-law and when a brother turns a wedding into a painful confrontation. And for another story of a father playing favorites, read how one sister claimed the money meant for her brother.
