25
Rowan
The Burden
Rowan stared at his phone. His brothers were his responsibility. They always had been. He needed to go get Forest right now. But Vivian…
No. Family first. He would deal with his own emergency second.
He walked back out to the foyer, but hesitated at the entrance to the ballroom. He was supposed to help Forest, but Vivian was in there.
Mark popped out and glared at him.
“Rowan,” hissed Mark, grabbing him by the arm, “what did you do?”
Rowan looked blankly at Mark. Mark shook his head and pulled Rowan through the doors into the ballroom, then pushed him toward a table.
It was like he couldn’t form proper thoughts. It had been like this the first time he’d been in combat. None of his thoughts led to anything. They just smashed, incomplete, into the image of Vivian’s anguished face as she left.
“Vivian just walked right by us without saying a word. Did you do something stupid?”
“Yes,” said Rowan. Incredibly, epically, earth-shatteringly stupid.
Mark looked like he had thoughts on the subject, but waiters were placing dinner plates on the table, and the number of listening ears seemed to have quadrupled.
Dinner might have looked appetizing under other circumstances, but Rowan pushed it away.
He needed to talk to Vivian. He could see her at the front table, sitting with rigid precision and not eating either.
He tensed, debating throwing caution to the wind and going up there, when his phone vibrated in his hand, and Rowan saw a jumbled message from Forest. Forest’s panic was clear from the number of typos.
His heart wrenched. Rowan wanted to fix things for his baby brother, but he needed Forest to calm down and think.
The phone would be faster than driving over there. He composed a quick reply.
Do NOT go to Canada. Text Grant Ichikawa. He is your lawyer. He’s familiar with Olly’s citizenship, and you’re already a client.
Why had he said that to her? The expression on her face... Vivian wasn’t a fling. He’d been lying to himself to even pretend otherwise. She was fucking everything, and he’d all but told her she was irrelevant. If someone else had made her look that hurt, he would have punched them.
He could see Forest replying, but then the bouncing dots stopped.
Rowan took a deep breath, trying to get his body under control.
He was having an adrenaline reaction, but that didn’t make it better.
He was too hot, his skin was clammy, and he felt like puking.
He needed to do something. He needed to help Forest, but right now, all he wanted to do was find Vivian.
I think I’m having a heart attack. My fingers are tingling.
Rowan felt like replying that he felt the same, but didn’t.
You’re probably having a panic attack. Sit down. Breathe.
Rowan tried to take his own advice. He could feel the rest of the team giving him side-eye. He needed to keep it together, but he felt like he’d downed three Monsters in a row. What seemed like hours later, the lights dimmed, and Father Fred took the stage.
“Good evening!” Father Fred exclaimed, beaming at the crowd.
“You have no idea what a delight it is to see so many new faces. The Victory Mission is celebrating ten years of service, and I always love seeing the faces that have become like family to me. It also elates me to see new friends in this hall.”
I texted Grant. He says they can’t show up and take him since I have legal custody and I already have the citizenship taken care of. He says Olly isn’t going anywhere without a court order, and he will look at the papers on Monday.
Rowan breathed a sigh of relief. There was a wave of laughter from the audience, and Rowan realized he’d missed a portion of the speech.
Chloe also says I’m having a panic attack and that I have to go meditate now to stimulate my Vagus nerve.
Rowan felt an unexpected wave of gratitude toward the purple-haired nanny. Thank God Forest had someone in his corner who could talk some sense into him.
Listen to Chloe.
Like Rowan should have listened to Vivian.
He looked back at the priest and tried to assess if he could get Vivian away from the table without being noticed, but with a sinking heart he realized she wasn’t at the front table anymore.
The large screen at the back of the stage faded into an old photo showing four vets, each representing a branch of the military.
“For those who don’t know me, I’m Father Fred Murkowski, one of the founding members of the Victory Mission and current Executive Director.
I started out as an Army Chaplain with nothing but a divinity degree and a willing spirit to go with the job.
After I got out, I entered the priesthood.
However, I discovered along the way that a little piece of my heart still wears Army green, so with the Archbishop’s blessing, I continued to look for ways to serve my fellow veterans.
And as I was looking for that place where I could be of the most service, I ran into a Marine I’d met while I was enlisted—Vincent Kaye.
He told me to come along to meet up with some other friends who liked to help out at some group meetings. That’s where it started.
Twelve years ago, there were four of us—me, Chris, Ann, and Vince. We were sitting around Vince’s kitchen table, his daughter Vivian was... I’m not entirely sure.” Father Fred looked toward the side of the stage. “I think you were making Wonder Woman and G.I. Joe defeat the Barbie hordes?”
Rowan froze as the crowd chuckled. From the side of the stage, Vivian nodded.
“But while she was conquering the universe, we were mourning the loss of another friend to suicide. We were hosting a weekly meeting space. We were tagging in with AA meetings. We were doing all the work, but it didn’t feel like enough.
We weren’t making the impact we knew we needed to.
And then Vince said the magic words. This is a mission.
We cannot stop, but I don’t know how to go forward.
And I think it was Ann—although she swears it was me—but someone said it, we need to ask for help.
It took us another two years of talking to non-profits, of talking to other vets, of a lot of shut doors in our faces, but when we finally founded the Victory Mission it was one of the proudest days of my life.
There are only three of us now. We lost Vince to cancer eight years ago.
However, we have been fortunate that his daughter Vivian picked up where Vince left off.
I know that most of you know her. She has been with Victory Mission since the beginning and remembers more about the organization than I do.
She has volunteered, organized, helped us grow, and sometimes poked us into action when we needed it.
Please welcome Vivian Kaye to the stage.
She is going to share a little about our mission and Vince’s vision. ”
“Oh, Jesus,” swore Rowan under his breath, as there was a wave of applause from the audience. Rowan realized with searing clarity how off his statement to Vivian had been. She knew nothing about adult responsibilities? What the hell had he been thinking?
Mark looked at him sharply.
“What?” Mark hissed.
“I am an asshole,” Rowan hissed back.
She’d never volunteered information on her father, and he hadn’t wanted to pry.
He’d been trying to keep his distance because he didn’t need to invest in a fling.
He’d periodically wondered about her mastery of military jargon and talented use of profanity, but he’d never stopped to question it.
He hadn’t investigated why she fit so well into his life because he’d been afraid he’d find all the ways she didn’t fit.
“Yeah?” agreed Mark.
Rowan shook his head in frustration. Vivian stood at the podium, looking regal and composed. The dress, which had left him speechless before everything had gone sideways, matched the dramatic red paper poppies on the dais.
“My father, Captain Vincent Kaye of the United States Marine Corps,” she paused to let the deafening hoo-rah from the audience die down, “lost men in combat, and that wounded him, but it killed him to lose friends Stateside after his retirement. This,” she pointed to the screen which changed to a group of statistic, “is the population of the United States. The percentage of deaths by suicide is 1.7%. That doesn’t sound like a lot, does it?
But that number means that each year, approximately fifty-thousand people die by suicide.
It is the eleventh-highest cause of death in our country.
But here is what those numbers don’t show.
” The slide changed to a bar graph. “Veterans are about eight percent of the overall population, but they account for nearly fourteen percent of the suicides. Veterans are one and a half times more likely to commit suicide. If you’re a female veteran, you are two and a half times more likely to commit suicide than a civilian. ”
The room was deathly quiet.
“When I was little, I didn’t know why Dad spent so much time with his phone beside him.
He was a volunteer on a suicide hotline.
I didn’t know why we spent Saturday mornings with Chappie, Aunt Ann, and Uncle Chris.
We went to support at meetings. One time, I got mad because I wanted to go to a birthday party, and he said, nope, we have to show up.
And I said, Dad, those people don’t care.
And he said, but I do. You don’t have to be the biggest or the strongest to help someone lift a burden, but you have to show up. ”
The slide behind Vivian changed again, and Rowan shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He should have asked. He should have wanted to know everything about Vivian. He should have wanted to know why she cared about veterans.
“This is the number of veterans served by the Victory Mission in the last ten years. And this,” she pointed at the screen as a new number appeared, “this is our suicide rate. That’s point five percent.
We are so far below the civilian population suicide rate that people now call us to ask how they can copy us.
This is the number that Dad would be the most proud of.
Eight years ago, when I lost him to cancer, I went through the usual things—funeral, grieving, all the rituals.
But those of you who have lost someone, you know that eventually, everyone goes home, and you are all by yourself.
I thought I was doing OK. Not great. What nineteen-year-old does great on their own?
But I was making it. And then his birthday rolled around and...
” Her voice cracked, and she looked off for a moment, blinking.
“It was not a good day for me. Then I got the mail, and inside was a postcard. It wasn’t much.
Just a note to say Dad and I were remembered.
Then Chappie called. Then Aunt Ann. And Uncle Chris stopped by with a burger to make sure I got dinner.
They weren’t big gestures. They were just people showing up to help lift the burden a tiny bit.
Dad once said that his military family never let him down.
Well, that kindness has been extended to me as well, and I have done my best to carry his legacy forward.
Dad would be so proud of this number.” She pointed at the screen again.
Rowan wanted to put his face into his hands.
He wanted to wrap his arms around her. What the fuck was wrong with him?
Why had he said that shit? She’d tried to tell him what she was doing with the Victory Mission and the gala, and all he’d heard was that she was throwing a party.
It was a cute thing for a twenty-something to do.
When did Vivian ever do anything cute or half-assed?
“Although I’m pretty sure Dad would also demand to know why it isn’t zero. Because if it’s not zero, then we haven’t achieved total victory. And I’m told that in the entire history of the universe the Marines have never lost.”
There was another echoing hoo-rah and then a wave of laughter. Tyrique and Teddy pounded on the table with enthusiasm.
“Marines regroup and redefine the mission. One life lost to suicide is too many. Zero is the only acceptable outcome. And I know the Victory Mission could do more, if we had more. So, if you would like to join me in helping to carry the burden, please consider putting something in the envelopes on your table. If that’s not an option, please consider donating your time to volunteer with us.
Even if you don’t feel confident that you can help, I assure you that showing up is enough. Thank you.”
The applause was thunderous, and Rowan wanted to sink into the floor.
“Are you OK?” asked Mark.
“No,” said Rowan, standing up and throwing down his napkin.
“Where are you going?”
“Marines don’t lose, but I need to regroup. Do not let Vivian leave until I get back.”