Colt did not look at his father. He kept his eyes on the space between himself and Hank. I came at you today at the gas station because you looked at me like you could see something true. And I hated you for it because I have been working very hard at not being seen. I came at you in here for the same reason.
I wanted to put you on the floor so I could stop feeling like what you were looking at was real. He stopped. He was holding himself together with visible effort. And then you put me on the floor instead. And those men stood up.
And I heard who you were. He looked at the 63 names on Hank's forearm. I have been pretending to be a man for 2 years. And the actual men in this room have been carrying things I cannot imagine. And they did it without sitting on the edge of their beds at night holding a gun in the dark.
He looked at Hank directly for the first time since he had stopped walking. "I do not know what I am asking. " I do not know why I am saying this out loud to a man I tried to humiliate an hour ago. I just needed someone to know before I went home tonight. Silence.
Not the silence of a room full of people pretending not to be present. The silence of 40 people who are so completely and entirely present that no one can find anything to do but remain still inside it. Archer Garrison had his hand over his mouth. Tears were running down his face into his black gi without him making any attempt to stop them. Dela Flynn was crying.
Cole Boon had his hand pressed flat against his sternum as if trying to hold something in place. Vince Steel, Rupert Cobb, Curtis Whitmore, and the other men who had stood. They sat with the quiet of old veterans men who have long since stopped being embarrassed by the presence of grief, their own or anyone else's. Hank Briggs stood at the door of the dojo. He thought about the years of mornings with a coffee mug and a photograph.
He thought about June's garden and her yellow sundress and the way she had laughed. He thought about the empty house and the way a house sounds different when it contains only one person. He thought about the 47 years between a 19-year-old from San Bernardino who showed up at Parris Island with nothing particular to recommend him and an old man standing in a dojo doorway on a Tuesday in October with 63 names on his arm. He let go of the door handle. He reached up.
He unclipped the silver chain from around his neck. He took back June's ring from Delaf Flynn's hands. He held it a moment, feeling the familiar weight of it, and then he crossed the room to where Colt Garrison was standing. He took Colt's right hand, opened it, and placed the ring in the center of his palm. He closed Colt's fingers around it, and held the young man's closed fist between both of his own large hands.
Sunny said, ""Listen to me carefully. Are you listening? "" Colt nodded. He could not speak. "This ring belonged to my wife, June.
She was the best person I have ever known in 68 years. She died 4 years ago. I have worn this ring on a chain next to my chest every day since her funeral because it was the only way I knew how to keep her close. Tonight, you are going to take it. He held the young man's fist more firmly.
You are going to drive home. You are going to take that gun out of the nightstand drawer. You are going to unload it completely. You are going to put the ammunition in one bag and the gun in another bag. Then you are going to drive to your father's house.
You are going to hand him both bags tonight before midnight. "Do you understand what I am telling you? " Colt was shaking. "Yes, sir. " Tomorrow morning at 6:00, you are going to come to my address.
Your father is going to drive you there. The three of us are going to drive to the Veterans Affairs office in Bakersfield and you are going to walk in that door and you are going to tell the counselor exactly what you told this room tonight. They are going to help you. That is the work they do and they are good at it. He looked at the young man steadily.
"You will not fight this alone. That is not an option. " You fight it the way Marines fight things with other people beside you. And you keep fighting until it is done. Colt was weeping now.
The kind of weeping that has been damned up for a long time and comes out larger than expected when the dam finally gives way. Hank pulled him forward. He put his arms around the young man who had mocked him in a parking lot 6 hours ago and called him grandpa and challenged him in front of 40 people and then stood in the center of a mat and told the truth about himself at 24 years old in a way that Hank Briggs had not been able to manage until he was considerably older. He held him. The worn leather jacket was draped over the folding chair nearby, and Hank's arms were bare, the 63 names, against the young man's back, and he held him the way he had not held anyone since June's last morning in the hospital in Bakersfield.
Something broke open in his chest. It did not hurt the way he had expected. It felt like air moving again through rooms that had been still. After a long moment, Colt stepped back. He pressed his sleeve against his face.
He opened his hand and looked at the ring in his palm. "Sir, I cannot keep this. It belongs to your wife. " "You will give it back to me," Hank said. "Tomorrow morning, 6:00.