“I’m so proud of everything you’ve done, Fisher and I’m so sorry for what you went through,” my mother tells me as I stand back up and turn to face her. “I hope you don’t mind that I pulled all of this stuff out, but I just don’t think it should be hidden away. YOU should be proud of what you did, as well.”

For the first time, looking at all of these things doesn’t fill me with dread. I don’t hear screams and explosions in my head and I don’t feel the need to suck down a bottle of whiskey to make the memories go away. I served my country and did the best that I could do. I sacrificed years away from the woman I loved and it’s time that I stand tall for the things I’ve done and be proud of what I accomplished.

My mother walks over to the closet where my uniform hangs, opens the door and pulls out a box, handing it over to me.

“Maybe what you need to do is stop worrying about what the future will bring and concentrate on the past. The only way you’ll get to the end is by starting at the beginning. Maybe Lucy just needs a reminder of how it all started.”

I take the box from her, sliding the lid off of the top. I can’t believe I forgot about this box. I’d stuffed it at the bottom of my tote when I returned from my last deployment, determined to ignore the proof that my wife loved me enough to fight my demons so that I could find the strength to leave her. Flipping through letters, photos and sketches of most of my wood working projects, I find a journal I’d kept in high school and for a few years after. Much like the ones in the therapy journal I was forced to keep at the VA, these journal entries read more like short stories, a testament to my lifetime love of creative writing. Glancing through some of the pages, I look up and smile at my mom.

It’s perfect and it’s exactly what I needed. My mother is right, the only way I’m going to show Lucy that we belong together is by reminding her where we began.

Chapter 19

From Fisher’s High School Journal

September 30, 2001

“I can’t believe you did it, man.”

Holding the USMC t-shirt up in front of me, I smile when Bobby smacks me on the back and shakes his head at me.

“You heard the guy. Our country needs us, now more than ever. What happened here a few weeks ago is unacceptable. Our country, our freedom and our future are at stake. I can’t just sit around here in Podunk, Nowhere and do nothing,” I explain, balling up the shirt and shoving a corner of it into the back pocket of my jeans.

The Marines came to our school today to do a recruiting presentation. The only reason I signed up to go was to get out of Advanced Chemistry, but the more the guy talked, the more I listened. Not only would being in the Marines get me off of this island when I graduated in June, it would give me a chance to actually do something important after what happened on September 11th. This country has felt helpless and scared for the last few weeks and I’ve been glued to the television, wishing there was something I could do to make those fuckers pay for coming to our country and ruining so many lives.

“You’re a true American hero, my friend. You know your dad is going to shit a brick, right?” Bobby laughs.

I don’t give a fuck what my father thinks. I’ve wanted off of Fisher’s Island for as long as I could remember and this is my chance.

“He told me last week he would only pay for college if I went for business economics and commuted to the mainland. I’m going to throw this shirt in his face and give him the finger when I get home tonight,” I tell Bobby as we make our way to the cafeteria between classes.

The only thing that gives me pause about signing up for the military and leaving this island is my grandfather. Trip Fisher is more of a father to me than my own. Even though it was his father who founded this island, he’s never cared about making more money than he could ever use in this lifetime or finding new ways to get more tourists here. He’s the island handyman and lives in a small, two-bedroom cottage right off of Main Street. He’s a friend to everyone and doesn’t mind getting his hands dirty to help the people of this island, who are all like family to him. He’s taught me how to do everything from build an addition on a house to fix a leaky faucet, much to my father’s annoyance. As much as I want to get away from this place, I couldn’t imagine leaving my grandfather for too long. He’s been a widower since before I was born, losing my grandmother to cancer when my father was a young boy. My grandfather has mentioned to me on more than one occasion that he believes my father is the way he is partly because he never had a woman’s influence growing up. Trip did the best he could, but sometimes a boy just needs the soft hand and gentle love of a mother to help mold him into a good, caring person. Since my father thinks his shit doesn’t stink and rarely associates with Trip unless it benefits him in some way, I’m really the only family he has left.

Loud voices and the clanging of trays and silverware bring me out of my thoughts as we walk into the cafeteria. My name is called and high-fives are exchanged at least fifteen times as Bobby and I make our way through the room to our usual table in the back corner with the rest of our friends. Being the son of the self-proclaimed king of Fisher’s Island means I’m pretty high on the popularity scale. Not to sound like a cocky little shit or anything, but all the guys want to be friends with me and all the chicks want to fuck me. I’m never without a party to attend on Friday night and I always have a girl to warm my bed on Saturday.

Flopping down on the bench at our table, a chick I made the mistake of hooking up with a few weekends ago slides up next to me and wraps her arms around my waist.