The Last Hour (Thompson Sisters), Sheehan-Miles, Charles [reading an ebook .txt] 📗

Bridge. They’d walked for hours, trying to call until the batteries on their cell phones died. I was no different than anyone else then, supporting to move to take down the Taliban and occupy Afghanistan, to go to war against the terrorists who had killed so many Americans. My parents lost friends on September 11, and it was months before the haunted look left their eyes.

But where does it start and where does it stop? One side hits, and the other side hits back, and pretty soon you don’t know what happened to start all the fighting in the first place. What I did know was the day my parents walked home covered in ash from the World Trade Center, led inexorably to the day I found myself in a tiny village in Afghanistan, too late to save the life of a twelve-year-old boy, whose family will always, justifiably, hate Americans with the same kind of hate that drove Colton to pull the trigger.

So here I am sitting on the sidewalk outside the hospital, next to an injured eight-year-old, and what it comes down to is this: these things don’t just happen. My parents’ friends in the World Trade Center didn’t die because of an accident ... they died because someone made choices. Speedy didn’t die because of some random shit ... he died because of a series of choices by a whole bunch of people, including my choice not to report Colton for drinking, and Colton’s choice not to seek help when he started losing it. Any step along that chain of choices might have changed it. If the guy with the grenade hadn’t tried to kill the little girl in Dega Payan. If Kowalski hadn’t chosen to take the grenade himself. If Paris hadn’t shot up his laptop and got us sent out into the field. If the insurgents hadn’t blown up our convoy and killed Roberts. If Weber had stopped somewhere else to take a piss, and the sniper never got off that shot.

That’s why I had to report it. Because I had a choice, too. I could choose to just let it go, to go on, to close my eyes and forget about that little boy dying, but what kind of life would that have led to? I would have ended up hollow, hating myself, going through life so shut off from who I was I didn’t even really have a life.

I just wish I hadn’t dragged Carrie down into it with me.

I sighed.

Daniel said, “You look pissed about something.”

“Just thinking,” I said.

“What about?”

I raised an eyebrow. “You ever do something you knew was the right thing, but it got you into trouble anyway? Like ... tell your mom the truth, even though you know you’re going to get in trouble.”

“My mom says I’d get in worse trouble if I lie.”

I stared out at the passing cars and said, “Your mom sounds like a wise woman. The worst trouble isn’t what you get with her. It’s with your soul.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

I reached out and took his hand. “See this?” I said. “Is this your real hand? Or the one in there?” As I said the words, I looked back toward the hospital.

He screwed his face up a little then said, “This one?”

I nodded. “Yep. You need that one to walk around and play and live, but this is ... you. And when you lie, you hurt this part of you. Cause then you’ve got secrets, and those will weigh you down until this part of you can’t even live any more. And what’s the point of walking around without this part of you? It’d be like walking around without a heart.”

He nodded. “I guess.”

I let go of his hand, and we sat looking out at the traffic. Then my eyes widened. Carrie walked out of the building with Dick Elmore. Her face was concentrated, serious, with lines of stress in her forehead.

“Isn’t that your wife?” Daniel asked.

“Yeah. And my lawyer.”

“Where do you think they’re going?”

I could only think of one thing. If Carrie was leaving the hospital with Elmore, the court-martial board must have returned a verdict. I couldn’t think of anything else that could pull her away from here.

“I’m guessing they’re going to find out what happened at my trial.”

“Your what?”

“Well, I had to tell the truth about something I saw, even though I was worried it was going to get me in trouble. You know how they have trials on television shows sometime?”

“Yeah, but those shows are usually boring.”

“I guess. Anyway, my trial was this week. And I’m pretty sure they’re gonna say I’m innocent.”

“Are you?”

I looked at Daniel and grinned. “Yeah. I think so.”

“Well, good. It would suck to be innocent and get in trouble for it.”

“I guess. It would suck more to have to live with lying about it.”

I watched as Carrie walked down the sidewalk with Elmore, then into a parking deck. Part of me wanted to run after them. Hop in the car, ride along, and find out what the hell was happening. But I glanced at Daniel, and I couldn’t leave this kid sitting here in the hospital by himself. Sometimes you have to make choices, and they’re imperfect, but they’re the only choices you can make and live with yourself.

What are they telling you? (Carrie)

After Elmore paid the parking attendant, he pulled out into traffic. It was slow going until he turned up Massachusetts onto Reno, headed into Northwest DC toward Bethesda. I had Dylan’s phone in my pocket. Just in case. I stared vacantly out the window, asking myself what Ray would want me to do.

What we’re suggesting is that you consider signing a do-not-resuscitate order.

My eyes brimmed with tears at the thought. It wasn’t fair. None of this was fair. I’d done everything right, my whole life. I’d taken care of the people around me. I’d worked hard. I’d been honest. I’d been lonely, but mostly happy.

Until the day I saw Ray