The Last Hour (Thompson Sisters) by Sheehan-Miles, Charles (reading well .txt) 📕

Smalls out in the hallway, where she stood talking on a cell phone. Dylan frowned at her and kept walking, his limp barely noticeable now, eighteen months after his injury in Afghanistan. He was so different than when we’d first met, the summer after Alexandra’s junior year in high school. That summer he’d taken a bus all the way across the United States to see her. Earnest, quiet, a little haunted, he’d seemed like a kid.

We didn’t meet again until last fall. By that time he’d served in the Army, seen friends killed, been severely injured himself. He’d grown, certainly. But along with growing up, he’d picked up a world of trouble. Rage and pain and disillusionment. Things I’d believed Ray was free of … at first. It turned out Ray simply buried them deeper.

Walking beside me, Alexandra seemed older too, more experienced, more confident. She was getting ready to start her third year of pre-law, and it agreed with her. I suspect being out from under the shadow of our parents helped too.

As we stepped on the elevator, I glanced back down the hall. Major Smalls was still there, talking on the phone, pacing outside the door of the waiting room.

As the elevator door closed, Dylan asked, “When did Smalls show up?”

“Maybe twenty minutes before you? I assume the hospital called the Army, I certainly didn’t.”

He shook his head. “She should leave you alone.”

“Yeah, no shit.” I didn’t know what else to say. But the whole ride down in the elevator and in line in the cafeteria, I kept rolling it around in my mind, gnawing at it like an old bone.

When we got to the table I looked at Dylan and blurted out, “When did you find out about it?”

His eyebrows went up. “Find out about what?”

I waved my hand in the air, as if that would make things clearer. “Major Smalls ... the Army ... the trial.” I couldn’t help but emphasize that last word.

Dylan grimaced and looked down at the table. Was he avoiding my eyes? Avoiding responsibility? Or just thinking? I didn’t know. Finally he said, “When Ray got back from his first visit out to Texas. He sent me a text from the airport, basically ordering me to clear my schedule and meet him at Haakon’s Hall.”

“Haakon’s Hall?” The name sounded vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t place it.

Alexandra chimed in, “It’s a restaurant in Morningside Heights. I’m sure you’ve seen it. It’s right off campus. A lot of the vets hang out there.”

“I don’t go there so much,” Dylan said. “Good food, but you know I don’t drink. I don’t really fit in with that bunch.”

“So why did he insist on meeting there?”

Dylan said, “Cause Ray wanted a drink or three. Understand ... Alex and I had a date that night, but when I got the text, Ray said he was calling whatever favors I owed him and to meet him there. And when Ray says he’s calling in a favor, I jump, okay? I owe him more than you know.”

I just stared at Dylan, and he shifted uncomfortably. I knew how much they owed each other, probably better than anyone else on earth, except Alexandra.

“Okay ... you’re right,” he said, even though I’d said nothing. “Anyway ... by the time I got there, Ray was already working on his second or third or fourth drink. He wasn’t stinking drunk yet, but he was pretty far gone.”

He swallowed, as if hesitant to continue, then said, “That’s when he told me.”

“About the shooting?”

He nodded. “Carrie ... I’d never seen him like that. He was ... jumpy, fidgeting, just ... completely freaked out. It was so unlike him I didn’t know what to think. So he starts telling me about what it was like after I got blown up. How they had to go right back into the field, because another unit got hit. And there’s Sherman, and he’s got no fire team at all, it’s just him, because I was gone, and Kowalski and Roberts were dead. It was just him; he was all that was left. They tacked him on to Hicks’ fire team, just an extra rifleman, completely outside the chain of … of…”

Dylan had begun to stutter, and I could see the effort on his face. Alexandra grabbed his hand, but she didn’t say anything. Finally, he blurted out, “Command. Chain of command. Anyway ... Ray said they were out in the field for another solid six days, and on the fifth day, a chopper drops in, and three new guys get out of the chopper. And they hand them over to Sherman. Here’s your new team, Sergeant. Can you believe that crap?”

I shook my head. I didn’t really understand all of it, but at this point, I needed to just let Dylan ramble and tell the story his way.

“So anyway ... Sherman’s telling me this story. And getting drunker and drunker, and louder and louder, while I’m sitting there drinking coffee. And then he blurts out, ‘They killed him, Dylan.’ And I swear you could hear the whole restaurant just go silent. So I get Sherman on his feet and pay the damn bill. We get across the street to the green, and he starts to sober up a little because it was damn cold out. And then he told me the whole story. There’s nothing Sherman could have done, Carrie, nothing at all. Except maybe get himself killed too.”

I stared at the table. There wasn’t anything here I didn’t already know. I’d sat in on some of the trial, and Ray had finally told me a lot of the details.

Alexandra said, “I remember that night ... you guys didn’t get back to the apartment until the middle of the night. Why didn’t you tell me any of this?”

Dylan stared at her for a second and said, “It wasn’t my story to tell, Alex.”

Not his story to tell. He took that for granted. Yes, I could see that. They had a