Chapter 6 - Ethan Gave Up The Seat Beside My Father
The gala ended without us.
Apparently the Marine Corps survived.
When we returned to the ballroom, half the tables were already empty.
My champagne glass had been cleared.
The torn invitation remained.
So did the stain on the tablecloth.
Ethan looked at his seat beside Dad.
Then moved his chair.
Not theatrically.
He carried it to the other side of the table.
Margaret frowned.
“What are you doing?”
“Fixing the seating chart.”
Daniel almost smiled.
Ethan sat beside me.
I looked at him.
“This doesn’t fix six years.”
“I know.”
“Good.”
He nodded.
Then:
“I told people you ruined Dad.”
“Yes.”
“I can correct that.”
“Not with a heroic version.”
He frowned.
“What?”
“Don’t replace Rachel destroyed Dad with Rachel saved everybody.”
Reed looked amused.
Ethan understood.
“What do I say?”
“The truth you actually know.”
“That Dad changed a timeline.”
Daniel looked uncomfortable.
Good.
“That the incident itself had multiple failures.”
“Yes.”
“That you made a decision outside authority that helped.”
“Yes.”
“That Reed made one outside authority that created part of the problem.”
Reed sighed.
“Yes.”
Ethan looked at Dad.
“And Dad’s withdrawal order was reasonable.”
“Yes.”
He nodded.
“That’s harder to tell.”
“Exactly.”
He smiled slightly.
Then looked at my uniform.
“You keeping the name?”
I knew what he meant.
Dad’s opening sentence.
Take our name off that uniform.
Daniel stiffened.
I looked at the KANE nameplate.
“My name too.”
Daniel closed his eyes briefly.
When he opened them:
“Yes.”
No apology wrapped around it.
Just surrendering ownership.
That mattered more.
Reed was called away by another general.
Before he left, I stopped him.
“Marcus.”
He turned.
“You don’t get to make tonight your redemption either.”
His expression tightened.
“I know.”
“No.”
I nodded toward the second medal.
“You waited six years.”
“Yes.”
“Why tonight?”
He looked at Daniel.
Then me.
“Because the commendation was finally cleared for presentation.”
“That gave you permission.”
“Yes.”
“What made you decide to use it?”
He thought.
“My wife.”
Of course.
“What did she say?”
“That carrying Daniel’s medal around was beginning to look less like loyalty and more like hiding.”
Good woman.
“Was she right?”
“Yes.”
“And if Dad hadn’t humiliated me?”
Reed looked toward the table.
“I intended to give it to him after dinner.”
“Privately.”
“Yes.”
“Still hiding.”
His jaw tightened.
“Yes.”
I nodded.
“Next time be brave before somebody throws something into champagne.”
He almost smiled.
“Understood.”
Then he left.
Dad watched him cross the ballroom.
“Still arrogant.”
I looked at my father.
“Genetic competition?”
He gave me the first almost-smile I had seen from him in six years.
It disappeared quickly.
Fine.
Margaret picked up my torn invitation.
“Can this be replaced?”
“No idea.”
“I’ll ask.”
“Why?”
She looked at me.
“Because I tore it.”
“You don’t need to fix the card.”
“Yes, I do.”
“No.”
She frowned.
I pointed toward her.
“Talk to me instead.”
That stopped her.
Good.
She sat.
“What do you want to know?”
That question was dangerous.
I chose one.
“Why did you never visit?”
She looked surprised.
After the estrangement, I had lived two states away for nearly three years before my next overseas assignment.
Mom knew the address.
Never came.
“I thought you didn’t want me.”
“Did I say that?”
“No.”
“Did you ask?”
“No.”
There it was again.
She looked ashamed.
“I wanted you to invite me.”
“I wanted you to come anyway.”
We both laughed once.
Painfully.
Family disease.
Waiting for someone else to prove love by guessing correctly.
Margaret reached across the table.
She did not take my hand.
She left hers there.
Choice.
I put mine beside it.
Not touching.
Not yet.
Daniel looked at his medal.
Then finally picked it up.
He turned it over.
Broken compass.
Same as mine.
His thumb traced the engraving.
“Marcus tried to give me this in my driveway.”
“I know.”
“I told him to get off my property.”
“Sounds like you.”
“He came back four months later.”
“Persistent.”
“I threatened to call security.”
“You were retired.”
“I could still call security.”
Ethan laughed.
Dad did too.
Briefly.
Then he became serious.
“I don’t know if I can take it.”
I looked at him.
“Then don’t.”
He seemed surprised.
“You think I should.”
“No.”
“What do you think?”
“I think you should stop making every decision about the medal answer a question about whether you were a good commander.”
He looked down.
“What question should it answer?”
“Do you want it?”
He stared at the metal.
For once, Daniel Kane had no doctrine.
No family rule.
No command logic.
“I don’t know.”
“Okay.”
That was where we left it.
Not in his pocket.
Not in Reed’s.
On the table between us.
May you like
Unclaimed.
Honest.
