Chapter 3 - THE DAUGHTER WHO LEFT
My older brother Daniel lived thirty minutes from my parents.
He had been with Dad almost every day.
At least that was what I had been told.
After the funeral notice went out, Daniel called me.
“You’re coming?”
“Yes.”
There was a pause.
“Mom doesn’t want you in uniform.”
I stared across my quarters.
“Why?”
“You know why.”
“No, Daniel. I don’t.”
“She thinks it’s disrespectful.”
“To Dad?”
“To everyone.”
I almost laughed.
Dad had served twenty-two years.
My earliest memory was tracing the gold stripe on his sleeve with one finger.
He had been the reason I entered the Navy.
“Dad would have wanted me in uniform.”
Daniel became quiet.
Then he said something strange.
“I wouldn’t be so sure about what Dad wanted.”
“What does that mean?”
“Just come home.”
I flew to Portland the next morning.
Helen did not pick me up from the airport.
Neither did Daniel.
Walter Briggs did.
He stood beside an old dark-blue Ford wearing a wool coat and holding a cardboard coffee tray.
He gave me one cup.
“No sugar. Same as your father.”
I looked at him.
“You remember?”
“Tom talked about you constantly.”
That hurt.
Because according to my mother, Dad had barely mentioned me during his illness.
Walter drove in silence for almost fifteen minutes.
Then I asked:
“Was he angry with me?”
Walter kept his eyes on the road.
“Who told you he was?”
“My mother.”
He said nothing.
“Walter.”
He tightened his hands around the wheel.
“There are some things your father wanted said in a certain order.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means today isn’t the day.”
I stared at him.
“My father is dead.”
“I know.”
“I don’t care about the right order.”
“He did.”
That ended the conversation.
But before we reached the house, Walter said one more thing.
“Rebecca.”
“Yes?”
“Your father never stopped being proud of you.”
May you like
I looked out the window.
Because if I looked at him, I knew I would fall apart.
