Harper had not merely assumed I would surrender my bedroom after the funeral. She had promised it to him before anyone asked me.
My mother stepped off the porch and pulled her robe tighter around herself.
“We can discuss all of this inside,” she said. “The neighbors don’t need to see military trucks sitting in the driveway.”
“The vehicles aren’t here for the neighbors,” I replied.
My father’s embarrassment hardened into anger.
“You brought armed men to your family’s home on Thanksgiving.”
“This is my home.”
His mouth tightened.
“We have lived here for seven months.”
“Because I invited you to stay after David was reported dead.”
“You needed us.”
“I needed my parents. That is not what I got.”
The second soldier returned carrying the compact field case David and I used for secured materials.
He placed it beside me, verified the seal without opening it, and lifted the cardboard box from the freezing concrete.
