Chapter 9 - The Final Salute
The moving truck was parked half on the curb of the Chestnut Hills house on a gray Tuesday morning.
I stayed in my car parked across the street, watching through the tinted windshield as my father—looking older, smaller, and defeated—carried a cardboard box out to a rented van. His shoulders were permanently stooped, the proud patriarch posture completely gone.
Beside him, Jason was struggling to lift a cheap plastic dresser, cursing under his breath as one of the drawers slid open and spilled old clothes across the wet asphalt.
Neither of them looked my way. They didn't know I was there. They didn't need to.
As I shifted into drive, my phone buzzed in the console. It wasn't an unknown number or a missed call from the past. It was a secure ping from my battalion commander: Deployment orders confirmed for the spring humanitarian relief task force. Lead coordinator position is yours, Abby.
I looked down at the steering wheel, then glanced in the rearview mirror at the backseat, where Emma was humming a little tune while coloring her book.
May you like
“Mom?” she asked, looking up. “Where are we going now?”
“Nowhere, bug,” I smiled, stepping gently on the gas pedal and pulling away from the curb, leaving the ghosts of my past behind in the rearview mirror. “We’re already where we’re supposed to be.”
