Chapter Seven
CHAPTER SEVEN
Lincoln/ Seven Years Ago
I stare at the letter my mother passed me as soon as I walked into their house for Saturday brunch, rereading it three different times to make sure I’m not hallucinating.
“I got in,” I murmur, shaking my head in disbelief at the academy invitation. Slowly, I peel my eyes away from the letter to where my parents are waiting with eager expressions across the kitchen.
My mother’s blue eyes brighten as she clasps her hands together, and pride illuminates my father’s familiar face that he all but cloned when they had me. He says, “We knew you would, son. When do you leave?”
Scanning the paper, I blow out a breath. The next academy is soon. “Three weeks.”
Less than a month to get my affairs in order, including putting in my notice for work. Maybe they’ll let me take leave just in case the academy doesn’t work out. Not everybody makes it through. I work with a couple of people who barely got past the first month of the grueling physical training the instructors put them through. Then again, they weren’t in the military, being punched in the gut and run ragged for doing dumb shit the way I was for four years.
Mom walks over and wraps her lean arms around me. “I’m so happy for you, Lincoln. You’ve always wanted this.”
I wrap an arm around her back, encasing the small woman who put up with my shit despite probably wanting to put me up for adoption a time or two.
Dad joins us, patting my shoulder with a smile that matches Mom’s. “Let’s skip brunch and go somewhere to celebrate.”
“Celebrate what?” my little sister asks, walking into the room, staring at her phone. The dark-haired, blue-eyed girl is a perfect mixture of our mother and father, unlike me, who looks like my father’s brown-haired, brown-eyed doppelg?nger. Mom used to say we looked like the decedents of Humphrey Bogart, but I think that’s just because her favorite movie is Casablanca .
Dad and I have the same masculine, gruff features, whereas Hannah has the softness of my mother, which makes Dad nervous about her getting older. He says I’ll have to instill the fear of God into the teenage boys she goes to school with down the line, but I think he’s more than capable of doing that himself. His gun case is on full display in the living room, and he’s already told her he’s not afraid to use them on pimply-faced preteens.
“Your brother got accepted into the police academy,” our mother chimes.
Hannah finishes texting somebody on the flip phone she convinced Dad to buy her before sliding it into her pocket. “Cool. Does that mean I can have your apartment while you’re gone?”
I snort at the eleven-year-old. “No chance, pipsqueak.”
“But you won’t even be there!” she points out, getting a soft chuckle from our dad and a disapproving sigh from our mother.
I’ll be staying on campus for the next thirty weeks, sharing a room and bathroom with God only knows how many people. Just like the military. I can’t say I’m looking forward to it, but I know the end game will be worth it because this is what I’ve always wanted.
“I need somewhere to come back to on weekends, Hannah Banana,” I answer with a shrug, reaching over and messing up her hair until she bats my hand away. “And I’ll only be gone a few months, not years. What’s an eleven-year-old going to do with a whole apartment? You can’t even cook your own dinner.”
“I’m almost twelve,” she grumbles, fixing the hair I made out of place. “And I can make macaroni and cheese…in the microwave.”
I hold up my hands. “I stand corrected. I should have a spare key made for you, stat.”
The sarcasm isn’t lost on her as she glares at me, which only fuels my amusement. At eleven— almost twelve —she acts more like a teenager than she does her age. God help my parents when she really is full of hormonal angst at fifteen the way I was. If they thought I was a handful, I have a feeling the girl who barely comes up to my chest is going to give them a run for their money.
“What about the steakhouse?” Dad suggests, grabbing his wallet from the counter.
Hannah whines, “I don’t like the steakhouse. And I promised Rosie that I would become a vegetarian with her.”
My parents and I look at the sixth grader in stunned silence. How the hell does she even know what a vegetarian is? And why would two eleven-year-olds even want to eat that way all of a sudden?
“Han, your favorite food is chicken nuggets,” I remind her, dumbfounded. “Your two main food groups in life are macaroni and cheese and chicken. I don’t think you’d survive on anything else.”
Mom pinches the bridge of her nose. “I knew I shouldn’t have let her go on that field trip. They went to a farm last week, and she fell in love with the animals.”
Dad laughs, nudging Hannah. “Tell them about the cow.”
Mom shoots him a scolding look before turning to me and putting a hand on Hannah’s shoulder. “She asked the tour guide what one of the cow’s names was, and he said it was—” She covers my sister’s ears and spells out, “L-U-N-C-H.”
Hannah still hears her, moving Mom’s hand away from her. “It was Lunch , Lincoln! I didn’t get it until Bobby told me they were going to eat her . She was all alone in a tiny pen waiting to be taken away to be made into cheeseburgers. ”
Dad’s eyes water, trying not to laugh, which doesn’t make keeping a straight face easy. Clearing my throat, I ignore my father’s reddening face and say, “That, uh, that’s rough. But you do realize hamburger and chicken are two different animals, right?”
“Duh.” She crosses her arms. “Me and Rosie agreed to never eat meat again in honor of our friend.”
Their friend. I can’t with this kid. She’s always had such a kind heart.
“I give it a week,” I murmur to Dad under my breath.
He grins. “I give it a day.”
Mom shoots us a look. “Behave you two,” she chides, turning to my sister. “The steakhouse is your brother’s favorite, and we want to celebrate his achievement. I’m sure they’ll have other options that aren’t meat. Last time we went, they had macaroni and cheese and salads.”
Hannah makes a face. “I don’t like salad. Dad says that’s rabbit food.”
Dad shrugs when Mom shoots him a look. “It is.”
Hannah relents to the idea with a sour expression pinching her nose. “Fine, but when Lincoln becomes a real cop, he better make lots of money so he can spend it on me.”
“Hannah!” Mom scolds.
I snicker. “A real cop,” I repeat to myself. Why does that make me think of a certain brunette who’s been in the back of my mind since I woke up alone two days ago? I flick Hannah’s nose. “ If I make it through the academy, I’ll be sure to buy you something nice with my first check.”
“You will make it, baby boy,” Mom reassures, patting my chest as she reaches for her purse hanging off the chair. “Now, let’s stop with the theatrics and go get something to eat.”
Dad and I are the last ones out the door, his hand on my shoulder as he says, “You’ve become quite the young man. I’m proud of you, Lincoln.”
Swallowing, I smile at the person I’ve looked up to for years. I haven’t made life easy on him and Mom. I liked to party with my friends, stay out all night and drink, and got suspended from school one too many times until I was on the brink of expulsion. There were times I’m sure they wanted to ship me off to become somebody else’s problem and were more than shocked when I decided to join the military at eighteen to get my life in order. But they supported me every step of the way, sending me packages from home and letters and calling me any chance they were allowed to.
Hearing him say he’s proud swells the organ in my chest more than I’ll ever admit. Neither one of us is sappy, so I don’t get mushy on him. “I appreciate that, Pops.”
The entire ride to the steakhouse, I peer out the passenger window as the girls talk in the back seat and find myself thinking about Georgia Del Rossi.
What kind of man does she think I am?
And, more importantly, why do I care?