Believe: The Complete Channie Series (159 page)

Mom and Dad kissed the dove’s head, but Jonathan just stared at it. The man recited some poem about the dove symbolizing Franklin’s spirit ascending to Heaven then said, “Let him go.”

Jonathan’s heart shattered into a thousand pieces as he watched the lone bird race towards the circling flock overhead. When Franklin’s bird joined the others, they circled once more then headed west, towards the Sawatch Mountains. Jonathan continued to stare at the distant peaks, long after the birds disappeared.

Something brushed Jonathan’s cheek then fell onto his chest, over his heart. It was a tiny, white feather, as light and delicate as a snowflake. Jonathan plucked it off his uniform, stared at it for a moment, then put it in his pocket.

Later
that night, Dad knocked on Jonathan’s door then entered without waiting for an invitation. “Do you still have the feather you put in your pocket?”

Jonathan pressed his lips together and nodded. He hadn’t removed it, and Mom hadn’t taken his uniform to the dry cleaners yet so it should still be there.

“Go get it.” Dad pulled a tiny glass vial full of sand out of his jacket pocket. He uncorked the vial and emptied it into the trashcan next to Jonathan’s desk.

Jonathan handed the feather to Dad. He poked it inside the vial then slid the thin silver chain attached to it over Jonathan’s head. “I hope this reminds you of the peace you felt when we set Franklin’s dove free.”

Jonathan had felt grief, guilt and physical pain when he let go of the bird; but no peace.

Maybe he would someday. Maybe, sometime in the distant future, he would be happy again. That fragile thread of hope was the only thing keeping him alive. That and the thought of what his suicide would do to Mom and Dad—especially Dad. He’d wear the feather around his neck as a reminder of that hope…and that burden.

Jonathan
couldn’t move. Each breath launched waves of pain through his chest, but he pushed through it. Small caliber fire spit puffs of dust into his face. He tried to raise his weapon, but someone was holding him down. “Hang on Frankie! I’m coming!”

He got his arms free and landed a right cross to his enemy’s jaw; followed by a left jab. His hand shattered on impact. Bits of bone and flesh flew through the air like broken glass. He screamed and cradled his throbbing wrist against his aching chest.

“Jon-Jon, wake up. You’re okay, it’s just a dream.”

Jonathan’s eyes flew open. Dad was leaning over him, shaking his shoulders, tears streaming down his face.

Mom stood in the doorway, backlit by the light in the hall, biting her fist.

Tremors shook Jonathan’s body. His heart raced. His left arm felt as if he’d plunged it into a vat of molten lava.

Dad placed his palms on the crown of Jonathan’s head. “Do you want a priesthood blessing?”

“No.”

Dad gave Jonathan and Franklin blessings before they deployed. He’d promised them both that God would watch over them and protect them if they obeyed His commandments.

If some soldier hadn’t requested a priesthood blessing, Franklin and the chaplain wouldn’t have been on the road. They wouldn’t have hit that IED. They wouldn’t have died. Jonathan couldn’t think of anyone less likely to break a commandment than Franklin. A lot of good it did him.

“I’m fine. Go back to bed.”

Jonathan fought his pillow and his sheets for an hour before giving up on sleep. He wandered downstairs and fixed a bowl of Shredded Wheat, but couldn’t eat it. He was empty, not hungry. He’d been avoiding the basement sparring room ever since he’d gotten home. Maybe he’d find a small amount of peace where he and Franklin had spent so many hours together.

He grabbed the door knob, but it refused to turn. That was weird. He slid his hand over the top of the doorframe and found a simple key. It took some finesse to jiggle the lock while he turned the knob, but he managed to do it without swearing. 

He flipped on the light. Even from the top of the stairs, he could see that there wasn’t enough space left in the sparring room to turn around, much less workout.

Franklin’s entire room had been disassembled and moved down there, even his bed. But it wasn’t just Franklin’s stuff. Jonathan spotted the tip of his competition bo staff poking out from behind a pile of boxes. He jogged down the stairs and pried it out of the jumbled mess. As soon as he felt the familiar grip of the staff warming within his fist, it felt as if a part of his soul had been restored.

It took him most of the night to push everything out of his way. He still didn’t have much room, but it was enough.

Jonathan began a modified, slow-motion version of the last synchronized weapons routine he and Franklin had performed together. He had to skip all the combinations that required a left handed grip—and it would be months before his body healed enough to attempt any gymnastics. He wondered if he could still do a standing back layout with a full twist. Only time would tell.

As he gained confidence, Jonathan moved faster. He was about halfway through the routine when he hit the corner of a box at the top of one of the piles.

One of Dad’s genealogy note books bounced off the floor, spilling letters, postcards and photographs all over the place. Jonathan swore at his clumsiness then leaned his bo staff against the wall. He dropped to his knees and got to work gathering the scattered memories. 

A faded photograph caught his eye. At first, he thought it was a photo of himself or Franklin, but he didn’t recognize the beautiful young woman or the dilapidated old cabin in the background. When he looked closer, he realized it was a picture of Dad—but that woman sure as hell wasn’t Mom.

They were both facing the camera when the photo was taken. Dad’s chin rested on the woman’s shoulder. He had his arms wrapped protectively around her body, crossing beneath her breasts. She had one arm raised with her palm pressed against Dad’s cheek. They both looked incredibly content. Jonathan had never seen his father look that happy. In fact, “happy” didn’t begin to describe his expression. Blissful, ecstatic and euphoric weren’t adequate either.
Who was this woman?

“What have you done?”

Jonathan snapped his head around so fast it sent a stinger down his neck.

Mom clutched the handrail as she flew down the stairs, a look of horror on her face.

“I could ask you the same thing.” Jonathan stood up and gestured at the stacks of boxes. “Why is all my stuff boxed up down here?”

“What happened?” Dad’s voice held only concern. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” The words were an automatic reflex. He was anything but fine.

Mom snatched the photograph out of Jonathan’s hand.

“What’s this?” She gasped when her eyes focused on the picture. “You promised, Charles. You promised to burn everything.”

Dad reached out to take the photograph, but Mom tore it in half.

Dad’s nostrils flared. His eyes narrowed into slits. “Give it to me. Now.”

Dad rarely raised his voice. When he did; it meant trouble.

Mom threw the torn photo on the floor then turned and bolted up the stairs.

Jonathan flinched when she slammed the door. “Dad? Who’s the woman? Was she an old girlfriend or something?”

Dad kept his gaze locked on the photo. “She was my wife.”

Six
months later, Jonathan tossed his pack into the back of Dad’s Range Rover then slammed the hatch shut, rattling the glass.

Dad rubbed the back of his neck. “I don’t feel good about you taking off all by yourself, especially this late in the season. Why don’t you let me go with you?”

“I need to do this.” Franklin had wanted to go on a summer-long trek through the Sawatch Mountains after graduation with Jonathan. They’d enlisted in the army instead. “For Franklin.”

He needed to do it for Mom and Dad, too. They’d done nothing but fight since the night he’d discovered that old photo. Jonathan wasn’t so egocentric that he believed it was all his fault, but his presence wasn’t helping. Mom rarely even looked at him, and when she did, he could see the pain it caused her. She’d packed a bag last week and left. She said she needed to get away from all the ghosts in the house.

Maybe if he weren’t around to remind her of what she’d lost, Mom would come home and try to work things out with Dad. Jonathan didn’t blame her for not wanting to look at him. He still missed Franklin so much it stole his breath every time he glimpsed his own reflection.

Dad pressed two metal rectangles on a chain into Jonathan’s palm.

He knew without looking, they were Franklin’s dog tags. “I thought these were buried with Franklin.”

“That was your mother’s idea. I took them out of the casket.”

“Why?”

“I thought you might want them.”

Jonathan slipped the dog tags into his pocket. He wasn’t sure how he felt about them. They were the source of the army’s mistaken identity fiasco. It was an honest mistake, but one that caused a lot of additional pain.

“Be careful, son.” Dad wrapped his arms around Jonathan and hugged him to his chest.

Jonathan returned his embrace then held Dad at arm’s length. “I’ll be back in three weeks.”

“Do you have extra battery packs for your iHand? You don’t want to run out of juice in the wilderness.”

“Got ‘em.”

“What about your phone? How will you charge it?”

Jonathan opened the door and slid behind the wheel. “It’s fully charged. I’ll only turn it on in case of an emergency.”

Dad grabbed the door and held it open. “Hang on a sec. I’ll go get my new handheld GPS and one of the satellite phones. Cell coverage will be sketchy—if you can get a signal at all.”

“The whole point of backpacking is to get away from it all. I’m not taking every piece of technology we own.
”

“Please don’t take this the wrong way, son. But…you have limitations now.”

Jonathan gritted his teeth. He could either accept his
limitations,
or prove to everyone, including himself, that he was strong enough to overcome them.

“We all have limitations.” He tapped his temple with the index finger of his prosthetic hand. “But only in our minds.”