Mara stood near the edge with two coffees.
“You’re early,” she said.
“So are you.”
“I brought coffee.”
“I see that.”
“You planning to brood all morning or drink it?”
He took the cup.
They stood side by side.
Across the deck, a new group of recruits would soon become Marines.
Families would cry.
Speakers would crackle.
Cameras would click.
Life would keep making ceremonies out of survival.
Caleb looked at the staff section.
“Do you ever think about him?”
“Callahan?”
“Price.”
Mara watched a flag lift in the breeze.
“No.”
Caleb looked surprised.
“Never?”
“I think about the men he hurt. I think about the ones his father hurt. I think about the systems that made room for both of them. But Matthew Price? No.”
“Why?”
“Because some people want to become the center of your story by hurting you.”
She sipped her coffee.
“I refuse to give him the promotion.”
Caleb smiled faintly.
“That sounds like you.”
“It sounds like therapy.”
“You went?”
“Once.”
“And?”
“She told me I was resistant.”
“You?”
“Shocking.”
He laughed.
Mara smiled into her coffee.
Then Caleb grew quiet.
“I’m glad it happened.”
She turned sharply.
He raised a hand.
“Not the injuries. Not Price. Not any of that. I mean… I’m glad I know.”
Mara looked back at the deck.
“So am I.”
He glanced at her.
“You mean that?”
“I do.”
“Even though it hurt?”
“Most true things do at first.”
A group of young Marines crossed in the distance, carrying equipment, laughing too loudly, alive in the careless way the young can be before the world teaches them invoices.
Caleb watched them.
“I used to think being strong meant nothing touched you.”
Mara said, “That’s not strength. That’s furniture.”
He choked on his coffee.
She looked pleased with herself.
He wiped his mouth.
“Every time I think we’re having a deep moment, you ruin it.”
“I improve it.”
“You really don’t.”
They stood there laughing quietly in the morning light.
