Chương 13
“I know.”
“You need to prepare.”
“For what? My uniforms are packed.”
“For your job.”
“This is part of my life.”
“It doesn’t need to be.”
“Stop deciding that.”
“I am your father.”
“And I am an officer now.”
Daniel made a frustrated motion. “Those bars have been on you for thirty-six hours.”
“They were earned before they were pinned.”
“That isn’t what I meant.”
“It’s what you said.”
He opened a cabinet, found nothing he wanted, and closed it.
Emily watched him.
“You don’t want me to meet her,” she said.
“I don’t want you carrying my obligation.”
“Maybe I’m not going for you.”
“Then why?”
“Because Paul Keller wrote about you before he died. Because his sister is going to learn that her family was lied to. Because your decisions changed my life before I was born, and I am done pretending they belong only to you.”
Daniel leaned against the counter.
“You’re angry.”
“Yes.”
“You shouldn’t make choices angry.”
“You did.”
“That is how I know.”
She folded her arms. “I’m still going.”
He looked at her for a long time.
“You get stubborn from your mother.”
“You say that whenever I get it from you.”
They drove west two days later in Daniel’s truck.
Security objected. The Army offered a vehicle and driver. Whitaker offered his own car. Daniel refused both. His blue tractor had been brought from Ohio after reporters surrounded the depot where he worked. The company’s owner, Marlene Bishop, had called to say he was on paid leave and then added that she did not know whether to congratulate him, fire him, or ask for an autograph.
“Do none of those,” Daniel had said.
“I can manage two,” she replied.
Emily rode in the passenger seat with a small suitcase at her feet. The cab smelled of coffee, vinyl, and the pine cleaner Daniel used on the dashboard. A plastic figure of a moose stood near the windshield.
She touched it.
“Where did this come from?”
“Wyoming.”
“Why?”
“It looked stupid.”
She nodded. “Finally, an uncomplicated object.”
They traveled without Whitaker, who remained in Virginia for questioning. Dr. Cho carried Keller’s letter separately and met them near St. Louis. Walter had volunteered to come until his wife reminded him he had a cardiology appointment.
The road gave Daniel something he understood. Lanes narrowed, widened, merged, and announced themselves. Distance could be measured. Weather moved across radar in colored bands. Problems had exits.
Emily watched him work the gears around construction zones. His movements were economical. He checked mirrors more often than necessary.
“Did your knee end your service?” she asked.
“My service had already been ended.”
“Could you have gone back?”
“Maybe.”
“Did you want to?”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
She waited.
Daniel sighed. “For a while.”
“What changed?”
“I sat outside a recruiting office in Dayton for three hours.”
“When?”
“The year before I met your mother.”
“What happened?”
“Nothing. It closed.”
“You just sat there?”
“I watched people go in.”
“Why didn’t you?”
He adjusted the mirror.
“A sergeant came outside to smoke. He looked about nineteen. I realized I’d have to explain myself to someone who still got acne.”
Emily laughed before she could stop.
Daniel smiled slightly.
Then she asked, “Did Mom know your real name?”
“Yes.”
“Did she ever meet Mercer?”
“Once.”
“When?”
“He came to the diner.”
Emily turned toward him.
“Before you were born,” Daniel said. “He sat in a booth near the back. Ordered coffee. Susan poured it and told him if he hurt me again she would put the pot through his forehead.”
“That sounds like her.”
“She charged him for pie he didn’t eat.”
“What did he want?”
“To see whether I needed money.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
“Did you take it?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Pride.”
“Was that smart?”
“No.”
The truck rolled beneath an overpass.
Emily looked out at the fields beyond the highway. “I’m trying to figure out which parts of you were real.”
Daniel kept his eyes on the road.
“All of them.”
“That can’t be true.”
“Why?”
“Because the man who packed my lunches was also someone who carried wounded soldiers through a valley.”
“I never packed lunches well.”
“You cut sandwiches diagonally because Mom said rectangles made children sad.”
“She had theories.”
“You cried when our dog died.”
“I did not.”
“You sat in the garage for two hours.”
“I was fixing the mower.”
“In January.”
He changed lanes.
Emily watched his profile.
Daniel said, “People don’t become false because you learn something new.”
“No. But the old story changes.”
“That happens.”
“You make it sound easy.”
“It isn’t.”
They stopped at a truck plaza near Indianapolis. Daniel ordered meatloaf. Emily ordered a salad and then ate half his fries.
A man at another table recognized him.
Daniel saw the recognition before the man stood—the narrowed eyes, the phone lowered, the glance toward the bracelet.
The stranger approached slowly.
“Mr. Lawson?”
Daniel placed his fork down.
Emily straightened.
The man was in his forties, wearing a work shirt with an electrical company logo.
“I don’t mean to bother you,” he said. “My dad was in the service. Different time. I saw the video.”
Daniel waited.
The man swallowed. “I just wanted to say thank you.”
Daniel looked at the untouched meatloaf.
“You’re welcome,” Emily said.
The man nodded quickly and walked away.
Daniel gave her a look.
“What?” she said.
“He was talking to me.”
“You were failing.”
“I was thinking.”
“You think very slowly around gratitude.”
He picked up his fork. “Your salad is getting warm.”
By the time they reached Missouri, the public story had shifted again.
A national newspaper published excerpts from Mercer’s documents after someone leaked them. Whitaker issued a statement acknowledging that his decoration citation contained inaccuracies and requesting suspension of ceremonial privileges associated with it until the review concluded.
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Mercer’s defense institute removed his biography from its website.
Commentators divided themselves into predictable camps. Some called Daniel a betrayed hero. Others accused him of remaining silent while Whitaker built a career on false credit. One former official argued that decisions made during classified operations could not be judged without context. A television host displayed Daniel’s old deserter notation in red letters.
