"You did not have to come inside," I said.
My mother held my duffel like it might run off. "We have been inside for forty minutes, Julia. Your father parked twice."
"I parked once," my father said. "The second time was improving."
Pittsburgh International was half empty. No banners. No band. I had asked them to keep it small, and they had listened.
"You look thin," my mother said.
"I'm fine," I said. "They fed us. Mostly."
"Mostly is not an answer," she said.
My father took the duffel from her. "Let her breathe, Marie. She just got off a plane."
"I am breathing," I said. "See. Professional level breathing."
He smiled, but his eyes stayed worried. "Car is this way, Captain."
Captain. It sounded strange in an airport.
On the drive to Chestnut Street, my mother turned around in the front seat every few minutes.
"Did you sleep on the flight?" she asked.
"Some," I said.
"Did they give you a real meal?"
"Something that claimed to be chicken," I said.
My father kept both hands on the wheel. "House is ready. Nico got in Tuesday. He fixed the back step you always trip on."
"Nico is home?" I asked.
"He did not want a fuss either," my mother said. "You two are exactly alike and you will both deny it."
That evening the kitchen smelled of sauce and garlic bread. My mother had made enough for twelve people and there were four of us. Nico came downstairs in socks, hair still wet from a shower, and stopped in the doorway.
"Hey, Jules," he said.
"Hey," I said.
He hugged me hard and quick, like he was checking I was solid. "You beat me home by three days. I win."
"You were not racing," I said.
"I was absolutely racing," he said. "I just lost slowly."
We ate at the small table. My father said grace.
"So," my father said, "can you tell us what you actually did over there?"
I turned my fork over. "I coordinated air support. Radios. Schedules. Making sure people could talk to each other."
"That sounds important," my mother said.
"It was mostly waiting," I said. "Then it was not waiting."
"What does that mean?" she asked.
I heard, for a second, a voice on the net from March, thin and trying to stay calm, and my own voice answering him, stay with me, stay with me. I pushed rice around my plate.
"It's classified," I said. "Parts of it. The details."
My mother nodded too fast. "Of course. We are not asking for secrets."
"I know," I said. "I'll tell you later. When I can sort it out better."
"Are you sleeping?" my father asked.
"I'm fine," I said.
"You said that at the airport," Nico said.
"Consistency is a virtue," I said.
Nico grinned, but it did not reach far. "They teach that at officer school? Repeat the same line until the enemy gets bored?"
"Something like that," I said.
After dinner my mother boxed leftovers. My father washed dishes. Nico followed me onto the back porch with two beers and handed me one I did not open.
"Porch still creaks," he said.
"Dad said you fixed the step," I said.
"I fixed the step. The creak is heritage," he said. "Mom would cry if it stopped."
We stood there listening to the street settle. A dog barked two houses down. Someone laughed through an open window.
"You were in Sangin the whole time?" Nico asked.
"Mostly," I said.
"I heard things about Sangin," he said. "Not specifics. Just that it was rough when the radios went weird and units got cut off."
My hand tightened around the bottle. "When did you hear that?"
"Marines talk," he said. "Even when we are not supposed to." He looked at me sideways. "Was there a night in March when you stayed on with a guy who was hit? Someone said an Air Force voice kept a whole net together that night. They called her something. Sticky something."
The porch light buzzed. I could feel the words. Yes. That was me. I never learned his name. I never learned if he lived.
Nico waited. He did not fill the silence with a joke, which was how I knew he was really asking.
I opened my mouth.
From inside, my mother called, "Nico, your laundry is making that smell again."
He blinked. "That is slander. It is a tactical smell."
I laughed before I could stop myself, and the moment thinned out between us.
"I should help her," I said.
"Jules," he said, and stopped himself. "Later, then."
"Later," I said.
We went back inside, and nobody asked anything else that night, and I told myself that was kindness, from all of us, for a while.
Chapter 9: Four Years a Major