Chapter 62
Gabriella
“Master Sergeant, Victor Scott?” A man in uniform calls out from where he stands, next to Cookie’s casket.
“Here, First Sergeant,” Vic Answers.
“Sergeant First Class, Tyson Harris?”
“Here, First Sergeant,” Ty Answers.
“Sergeant First Class, Alejandro Perez?”
“Here, First Sergeant,” Wolf Answers.
“Staff Sergeant, Caleb Walsh?”
“Here, First Sergeant,” D answers. All of their voices boom in their responses.
“Sergeant First Class, Jacob Brighton?”
Silence.
“Sergeant First Class, Jacob Brighton?”
No response.
“Sergeant First Class, Jacob Brighton?”
Nothing.
The only audible noise is the collective sobs and sniffles across the large collection of gatherers in the veteran cemetery.
The group gasps as one body when the firing of seven rifles erupts into the clear sky.
Three rounds of firing commence. Our men stand like statues of stone, immaculately sheathed in their Army dress uniforms, and saluting.
Their faces are hard, though tears slip stealthily from the corners of their eyes.
The brim of their dress caps shield their eyes from the bright sun.
Though their eyes aren’t clearly visible, we all know the sorrow and possibly guilt reflected within them.
“Present Arms.”
The soldiers retract their rifles from firing, hold their rifles in a salute, and the eerie melody of Taps starts to play. My chest squeezes at the sound, and the tears that have been falling for the entire ceremony increase tenfold, causing my breath to catch.
I look over at Sheila and her two beautiful teenage daughters, Alana and Antonia, and my heart completely breaks for them.
Sheila clings to the triangular folded American flag, hugging it against her chest. The girls are inconsolable, curled up against their mom.
Looking at them now, you wouldn’t think they were about to turn 15 and 17 years old; instead, they look like they’re two devastated little girls holding on to their mother for dear life.
Watching them, I feel a wash of relief that we had Kerri and Abby stay with Mom. They loved Cookie immensely, but Vic and I agreed that it would be better this way. It may be selfish, but the sight in front of me lets me know that we did the right thing.
Sweeping my eyes up to Vic, a pang of fear strikes my heart. It could just as easily be him. I don’t know what I would do if that were Vic lying in that box. My world would shatter and never return to what it once was.
Everything around me starts to fade as I sink further into myself, grieving something I haven’t lost. I don’t know how we got to where we were before, but Vic and I are stronger than ever, and if I know anything about myself, we’ll never be back there again.
He’s my everything, and we’re fucking endgame, not a doubt in my mind.
Before I realize it, the ceremony is over and the casket is being lowered into the ground. The cries, sobs, and curses are again audible and rise in volume.
Walking back to the cars, I fall in step next to Vic and reach my hand for his.
After a moment of hesitation, he intertwines his fingers with mine and looks down, giving me a small smile.
I see Sheila and the girls approach, “Hey, Sheil.” Her eyes home in on mine, like her mind just came back into focus, noticing I said something. “We’ll meet you guys over at Bobby’s?”
Bobby, a longtime Army friend of the group, owns Roger That, the local bar where all the guys used to hang out when we lived in the area.
When Cookie retired, he and Sheila couldn’t fathom pulling the girls from school and away from their friends, so they stayed local.
Plus, Cookie’s parents and his sister all moved in close since he was the only one with kids.
His sister, Camilla, has a gypsy soul, so she’s always traveling, never wanting to settle down.
The story is that she figured if she was going to have a home base, it might as well be by her family.
Sheila and the girls have a good support system here.
Sheila responds with a small smile of her own and a quick nod, then she and the girls are in their car before another word is said.
The ride to Bobby’s is about 30 minutes from the cemetery.
Vic hasn’t said a word since we left the funeral.
I’m not sure how he’s feeling, but my insides are turning with a feeling of impending doom.
It takes me a couple more minutes before I conjure up the courage to speak.
“Hey, Vic?” After a few seconds without a response, I call his name again, “Vic?”
His eyes rapidly blink before his mouth opens, “Hmm? What?”
“Where are you, baby?” I reach over and squeeze his hand resting on the center console.
Keeping his eyes on the road ahead, he tells me, “I’m right here, G.” He flicks his eyes to mine and squeezes my hand back before focusing on the road.
“It doesn’t feel like it. I’m not gonna ask if you are okay because that would be a stupid question, but I will ask…Is there anything I can do to support you?” I just want him to talk to me.
Starting his response by shaking his head tells me that isn’t going to happen. “I’m just hurting, G. So are you. I know what Cookie meant to you, too. I think your presence is all I need right now. Just be here with me.”
I silently nod in response, thinking he’s done talking, but he surprises me by continuing, “I have a lot flying around in my head, Gabbi. I’m not gonna lie, some of it isn’t good.
Some of it’s dark, and I’m not sure what to do with it.
” He takes a slow breath, and I remain quiet, hanging on every word.
“I’m not ready to talk yet, and there’s nothing you can do for me that you aren’t already doing.
This is my own shit I need to process before spilling it out onto you. ”
He takes a couple of breaths and continues, “The truth is, I’m hurting pretty bad, Gabbs. I’m sad, I’m disappointed, and I’m angry as fuck.” His voice is so calm and steady, but I can see the whites of his knuckles exposed on his driving hand. He’s really mad.
“Vic…”
He starts to shake his head, “Gabbi, before you say anything, I’m allowed to be angry.
I’m allowed to be pissed off at the circumstances that drove my brother to the permanent solution he chose.
I’m allowed to be disappointed in the multiple avenues of help that he tried, but couldn’t help him.
I’m even allowed to be enraged at my brother for leaving us and not fighting harder…
” Vic’s eyes start to water as he continues.
“Except he did fight, Gabbi. He fought so fucking hard.” Vic lowers his head a bit, releasing my hand and quickly rubbing his eyes before refocusing on the road.
“How do you know?” My voice comes out soft while I stare at my hands, now clasped in my lap.
“His letter.” I snap my eyes up to his profile.
“What? What letter?” Did Cookie leave a letter? No one said anything about one.
“Cook left me his good-bye letter.” The hitch in Vic’s voice is barely audible, but I notice it anyway. “He addressed it to me and asked for it to remain private between him and me, but left messages to share with those closest to him.”
“Vic, that’s a really heavy weight to carry, baby. I had no idea. Obviously, you read it already?” My chest starts to feel tight at the thought of Vic holding on to all of this. Then a thought pops into my head and my stomach turns, “What about D?”
Vic cuts his eyes to me and pinches his lips together in a straight line.
“D’s pissed. He blames himself and feels betrayed at the same time.
He doesn’t understand why I’m the one who got the letter.
” He pauses for a moment, almost as if he got trapped in a thought.
“It’s not jealousy, I don’t think. I think they just got to be so close that D feels like it should have been him carrying the weight of the letter, not me.
He’s drowning in guilt and regret for leaving when he did. ”
Poor Caleb, I can’t even imagine what he’s feeling. I’m not sure what I would do if I were in his position.
A few minutes later, we’re pulling into the parking lot of Bobby’s bar. When Vic shuts off the engine, I take one last glance at him and ask, “So, are you going to share Cookie’s messages when we get back to the house later?” Please say yes, Vic, please don’t do it here.
When a look of reluctance flashes across his face, I see my answer. Looks like today might get harder. The feeling of impending doom darkens in my gut as I watch him quietly step out of the car and close the door behind him.