Twelve Marines walking into an elementary school gym like they were taking the building.”
David actually laughed.
It was a warm, familiar sound, and hearing it in our kitchen made the house feel less empty.
“Twelve?”
“Twelve.
Full dress blues.
White gloves.
The whole thing.”
He shook his head.
“I didn’t know Reyes was bringing everybody.”
“What did you tell him?”
David leaned back slightly.
For a moment, the smile disappeared.
“Comms were down yesterday.
I knew I wasn’t going to make the call I promised Hazel before the dance.”
He swallowed.
“I called Reyes when I finally got a line.
I was a mess.
Told him I hated that she was going to walk in there carrying my picture instead of holding my hand.”
He gave a quiet, embarrassed laugh.
“Reyes just said, ‘We got the perimeter covered, brother.
Go to sleep.'”
My hand flew to my mouth.
“That’s all?”
“That’s all.”
I looked at the challenge coin on the table.
“They didn’t just dance with her, David.
They changed the whole room.
There were other kids standing alone.
Your guys danced with them too.”
His face softened.
“They’re good men.”
“They honored you.”
David shook his head slowly.
“They honored Hazel.”
Neither of us spoke for a moment.
Then he asked, “How is she?”
I turned the phone slightly toward the silver challenge coin.
“Asleep.
Still holding this until I pried it out of her hand so she wouldn’t wake up with the edge stamped into her cheek.”
He smiled.
“Reyes gave her that?”
“Apparently.”
“Figures.”
I grinned.
“She says you sent the whole army for her.”
David laughed again.
“Close enough.”
We stayed on the call for another twenty minutes.
Nothing dramatic happened after that.
And somehow that was exactly what I needed.
We talked about cereal.
A faucet that wouldn’t stop dripping.
A drawing Hazel had made at school.
David complained about terrible coffee.
I told him the neighbor’s dog was still digging under the fence.
