by Joy Jenkins
“No,” she said. “I was not aware of this fact."
Link leaned partially on the desk, intent. "Yeah, and when she's excited about something she'll hold onto my arm. She also does this thing where she plays with the end of her hair when she's studying. She tied it into a knot once without even noticing..."
Link’s litany of Amy's attributes ended when Mr. Rojas called for the class's attention. "Alright, if you're not finished with your project, take it home. It will be due tomorrow," Mr. Rojas said. "For those of you who did manage to finish, drop it on my desk."
With the shrill of the bell, students tucked papers away and departed.
“Sorry,” Link said. “I kind of...lost track of my thoughts."
"I'm guessing,” Carter said. “Donovan doesn't thoroughly enjoy bit by bit breakdowns of Amy's every movement."
Link chuckled. "I've never even bothered to say anything."
"It's not his thing. And don't worry, I'm glad you're happy, Link. If anyone deserves it, you do."
He bent over to grab his backpack. "Thanks."
Outside the classroom, Carter took up her normal spot against the lockers as they waited for Donovan. He stopped outside the door, quickly finishing up a message.
"Is that James?" Link asked, nodding to his phone.
"Yeah," Donovan said.
Carter felt a tiny spark of curiosity. "Who's James?"
"One of my older brothers,” Donovan said. “He's in town and I'm seeing him this weekend."
Carter didn’t press for more, her curiosity fizzling out. At the lack of more prodding, Donovan eyed Carter.
"Want to go to History?" Link asked before Donovan could say anything.
“Why?” Carter asked. “You feel like ditching? Because I'm okay with that.”
Link tugged her off the lockers. "Not today. Come on."
When he slung one arm around her shoulders, she smiled at the comforting gesture as something flashed in Donovan’s eyes. As they rounded the corner to the history classroom, someone shouted Link's name. Amy bounced forward and wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him. The four slipped into their seats as Mr. Philips sent a look over the room, quieting last minute words and giggles.
"Before we get started," he said. "I would like to remind you that our field trip to the Newseum is a week from today." He surveyed the group before him. “I know some of you still haven’t turned in your signed permission slips. You need to have that done by the beginning of next week or you won’t be able to go. This field trip is something to help benefit you. Don't waste it.” He started writing on the whiteboard. "Now, let's move on with our study of the last five presidents.”
◆◆◆
In the cafeteria, Carter claimed the first spot at Amy’s table as everyone else headed to the lunch line. Laughter collided with the slamming of trays on tables, the noise a dull roar in Carter’s ears. She revisited every conversation, every interaction with her father, trying to see what she was missing. Trying to understand why he was shutting her out. She folded her arms and dropped her head on top of them.
"Carter."
She jerked her head up and she read in Donovan’s face how hard he was working to keep his thoughts and questions at bay. Across the way, Link and Amy sat lost in a happy bubble that included no one but themselves.
"What's going on with you?" Donovan asked.
She shook her head. "Nothing."
Donovan settled back against the wall. "Alright. Don't tell me.”
Carter didn’t reply. How could she? What was there to tell when she didn’t know herself. She buried her face in her hands. How did she not know what was going on? This was her father, the one person who she knew better than she knew herself. Now he felt like someone else. Overwhelmed, she sighed heavily.
Before Carter knew what was happening, Donovan stood, bringing her with him. She didn’t protest as he guided her a few feet away to an empty corner with Link still in view. "What's going on, Carter?"
"I don't know."
He crossed his arms. "Come on, something is going on. You're distracted and you look like you need sleep."
"Look, I can't tell you.”
"Why not?"
Letting out another frustrated breath, Carter tossed up her hands. "Because I honestly don't know.” She pressed her shoulder into the wall and crossed her arms. "Captain is keeping something from me and I don't know what it is. He’s been working late nights and he’s avoiding me. Maggie might be avoiding me as well but I can't tell either. She might just be that busy. I saw her leaving our apartment the other day but she never told me why she was there." She rubbed her eyes tiredly. "I'm not sleeping. It's like every time I fall asleep my brain is trying to puzzle out what's going on but it's coming up short.” She closed her eyes, worn out. "I keep going over everything Captain says and does and yet nothing comes of it. I’ve always been able to figure him out before. I'm not sure what to do."
"How long has it been like this?” Donovan asked.
"Since Monday. Why?"
"Your father started physical therapy Monday, correct?"
She assented. Donovan nodded to himself. The tornado of voices spun around them, words like bits of debris, flying in the air. They ignored it.
"What are you thinking?" she asked.
“Okay,” Donovan said, holding up his hands as if to ward her off of getting her hopes up. “I'm not going to pretend to know for sure what is going on with your father. But sometimes soldiers struggle with shock after being shot. Your father could easily be dealing with PTSD."
Carter frowned. "But he could tell me."
Donovan shook his head. "Men usually find the need to face things like this on their own and in their own way. He may not even realize that’s what he’s dealing with. I've seen countless soldiers deal with it, post-trauma therapy was one of my mom’s main areas. Everyone works through it differently."
Frustrated, Carter straightened. ”But why now? He was shot weeks ago."
"Trauma hits at different times. He's started physical therapy and that could have triggered it.”
Carter soaked up his words, trying to make them match with the way her father had been acting.
"I don't know if that is what's wrong," he continued, "but I do know there are more possible answers than it being about you.”
Part of her had been worried it might have to be about her, so Carter held fast to the reassurance, needing it to be true.
"If PTSD is the reason for his distance I wish he would tell me,” she said. “I've been driving myself crazy trying to figure what is wrong.”
“In time, he might. For now, give him space.”
Space was the last thing Carter wanted to give. But if her father was facing something she didn’t understand then she would try to give him space. Even if it hurt.
"Okay," she said. “And thanks.”
Donovan tilted his head towards her. ”Maybe next time you can just tell me what's going on so I don’t have to pester you.”
She found compassion - along with something else she couldn’t fully comprehend - brimming in his blue eyes. "I'll work on it."
Chapter 41
By the time Carter bent forward to tie her Converses, half the girl’s locker had emptied, the bell making girls hurry to freedom. Carter looped the laces slowly, wanting to put off going home as long as she could. Even with her decision to give her father space, she hated the unknowns that underlined every conversation. When she left the locker room, she found Link and Donovan waiting for her.
"We wanted to see if you needed a ride home," Donovan said, answering Carter’s unspoken question.
“Thanks,” she said, “but I don’t feel like going home at the moment.”
“Want to come home with us?” Link asked.
The fact that she didn’t have to even ask, warmed Carter. “Yeah, I do.”
Link’s apartment appeared as neat as it had been the last time Carter was there. The faint smell of lemon-scented cleaner linger
ed in the air and she wondered how recently the cleaning lady had left. The spotless windows displayed rows of buildings and other lives of the wealthy. The light of the late afternoon sun streamed into the apartment and elongated the shadows.
Link took off his glasses and tossed them onto a table beside the door. A routine that felt similar to Carter dropping her keys into the ceramic bowl. Donovan settled his bag down on the ground near the couch. Carter noticed Link’s hesitancy.
"Do whatever you normally do," she said, waving a hand to dismiss his uncertainty. "I'm fine."
"I was going to take a shower and change," he said.
"Yeah, go ahead."
Link headed to the hallway but paused. "Eat anything you want. There's not much in the fridge but I think we have something.”
“Thanks.” As he left, Carter let her eyes roam over the long narrow table beneath the hanging TV, lined with silver framed photographs. She picked up the closest one. A woman in her late thirties with dirty blonde hair and hazel eyes had her arms wrapped around an eight-year-old version of Link. It was a version of Link that still had blonde hair and didn't wear glasses. Even young, the resemblance between him and his father was uncanny.
In the next photo, a 14-year-old Link wore glasses and his hair was brown. Carter continued down the table, inspecting the pieces of Link's life. A frame towards the end held a photo of Link and Donovan, with Link holding a rolled-up scroll tied with a blue ribbon. Link's face was dotted with the beginning of acne. Donovan's face still held a boyish look, though Carter knew he must be seventeen at the time.
"You look young," she said, studying the way Link had his arm wrapped around Donovan's shoulder and the faint smile on Donovan's face.
Donovan tore his attention away from his spread of homework. "What did you say?” Carter held the frame up and he stared at it for a moment before returning to his work. "I was.”
"Do you ever regret it?" she asked.
Donovan stilled, his pencil hanging in the air. After a second's hesitation, he answered. “No."
Carter spun around to challenge the hesitation just as Link appeared, toweling his hair. Without his glasses, in his own home, and dressed in casual jeans and a t-shirt, he looked more self-assured. "What are you doing?"
"Watching you grow up,” Carter said.
He joined her, taking in the collection of his life, the snapshots of memories. "My mom likes having them out," he said, picking up the photo of him and Donovan. "I don't know why. They’re kind of embarrassing.”
"I like them." She tapped the frame. "Your eighth-grade promotion, right?”
He nodded, then pointed to another photo, and his past unraveled before them. When he finished, he stood there lost in his memories.
"How does your mom feel about you leaving for college?" Carter asked.
"I'm going to Georgetown so I'm not going far. We've talked about me living at home for the first year. We haven't decided yet. Where are you going?”
"I haven't made up my mind. Georgetown is a possibility, as well as Brown or Stanford. I don't know whether I could leave Captain."
Before Link could comment, the apartment door opened and a flood of voices spilled inside. Link’s mother dressed in a trim business suit led the parade of lawyers.
“Hi, sweetheart," Link’s mother said as she hugged Link and kissed his cheek. The affectionate greeting spoke volumes of the bond between mother and son. Something Carter knew in the bond she shared with her father. Well, usually did.
"Sorry to barge in here,” Link’s mother said, “but something was going on with the heating in the office so we decided to finish up here."
"It's fine," Link said.
Donovan flipped his textbook closed. "We'll move to my apartment, Monica."
"I appreciate that."
"Mom, this is Carter," Link said, gesturing from Carter to his mom.
"It's wonderful to meet you. Sorry about kicking you out," his mother said, her tone light. "Link has told me wonderful things about you. I hope the next time we meet we'll have a longer time to talk."
"Me, too,” Carter said.
With a last apology, Monica joined the crowd of men and women, making themselves at home on the dining room table. Link, Carter, and Donovan gathered up their things and left the apartment. The arguments died down as they slipped into the hallway. Donovan pulled out his keys and unlocked three different locks before opening his door.
The apartment before Carter surprised her. It looked like an apartment out of a home decoration magazine, immaculate in dark browns and blacks. The only sign that Donovan lived there was the punching bag hanging in the corner and the shooting range chart on the fridge. Carter remained in the doorway, as Donovan hung up his keys on a small hook and Link settled into one of the chairs.
"You live here?" she said.
Both Donovan and Link looked at her.
"Yeah, why?" Donovan asked.
"It's not what I expected," she said.
"What were you expecting? A mattress on the ground and a water canteen?"
"Not exactly. But definitely not a setup from Crate and Barrel.”
"Monica had all this done," he twirled his finger, " I think she felt sorry I was living on my own at sixteen and wanted to make it feel homey."
"So it would have been a mattress and a water canteen if she hadn't helped."
"And a gun case and a couple of computers with video surveillance," he said, a smile tugged at her mouth.
Link's phone rang and color came to his face. "Mind if I talk in your room?" he asked, standing up from the table.
Donovan nodded as Link answered the phone.
"Hey," he said, in a tone that meant it could only be one person.
His voice trailed off as he walked down the hallway and closed the door. Carter surveyed the living room. Instead of a TV, the other wall of the apartment held a bookshelf crammed to bursting with books. Dotted along the shelves in front of the books sat picture frames. When Carter looked at Donovan, he was watching her, the corner of his mouth curled. "Do you want my life story as well?”
"Do you mind?"
He hesitated then shrugged and leaned back in his chair. In the first photo, Donovan was in his mid-teens and surrounded by his family: His parents and his three brothers. Though they all shared their mother’s Greek, tan skin tone and dark hair mixed with their father’s sharp features, compared to his older brothers' large frames, Donovan looked like a skeleton.
"I didn't know you were the runt of the family," Carter said. Wincing, she dropped her head, wishing the words back but found Donovan impassive. "I'm sorry. You just are so much smaller than them."
"That was right after I got the job with Link and lost twenty pounds of muscle."
"You lost twenty pounds of muscle?"
"I had to, I needed to look like a middle schooler.”
In the next photo, Donovan’s mother had her face pressed against a squirming, ten-year-old Donovan. Her brown eyes were laughing, countering his determined blue ones. Carter let out a laugh. Curiosity getting the better of him, Donovan joined her. A flicker of a smile betrayed him, as he looked at the photo.
"What's the story here?" Carter asked.
Donovan crossed his arms, still staring at the picture. She sensed his reluctance. "My mother said this photo summed me up."
He went silent, the rest of his thoughts trapped behind a door he didn't want to open. Carter stared at the photo and waited.
"I was a difficult kid," he finally admitted. "She said I was as stubborn as a mule and as talkative as a clam.”
"A clam?"
"Sometimes when I was struggling with a problem the only way to get me to talk about it was to use force and pry it out of me. It was a contrast to the rest of the time when I talked freely.”
A slow smile took over Carter's face as she imagined the type of kid Donovan must have been. "Does that still hold true?"
Donovan shook his head and said nothing. In his apartment, surroun
ded by the evidence of lonely years in the hundreds of books, Carter understood his resistance to share freely. Besides Link, who was there in his life that he’d let in? Always hiding who he was, who could he share his life with? Maybe letting her glimpse his past in pictures was all he could offer to her. Accepting this small gift, she continued to look without comment and Donovan didn't return to the table.
A photo of Donovan in his early teens stopped her in her tracks. He had one foot on his older brother, who laid on the ground. Donovan's arms were crossed triumphantly, his expression smug. She glanced at him.
"It was the first time I beat James in hand to hand combat," he said.
"James is..."
"Two years older than me. Then it's Clint and Brock. We're all two years apart.” His words came a little easier, less guarded.
"What do they do?" she asked.
"Brock works at the FBI. Clint’s a security detail for a senator, and James works with a private security company.”
"Do they know about Link?" she asked.
"Yes, they would have asked too many questions when I went back to middle school after already graduating high school."
Carter shifted to the next photo but Donovan retreated a step back, drawing her attention. "If you're fine, I'm going to take a shower and change.“
"I'm fine. Thanks for sharing."
He left the living room. Carter perused the photos but felt her energy waning as the silence of the apartment grew. Eventually, she left Donovan’s past and settled on the couch. She mentally urged herself to start her homework. But couldn't bring herself to do it.
The nights of broken sleep rushed upon her. Giving in to the tired feeling, she slumped on the couch, resting her head on the armrest. Exhaustion slowly overtook her and her mind slipped from reality. The last thing she was aware of was approaching footsteps and the faint scent of a familiar cologne.
◆◆◆
"Carter."
Her name spoken by a deep, smooth voice teased Carter back to reality. She stirred. A hand gently shook her shoulder.
