Brandon gnashed his teeth. He couldn’t even look at her now. Yes, he remembered, so he nodded but said nothing.

“Look at me right now, Brandon,” she said.

He didn’t want to, but he finally did. His mother wasn’t that old, but those eyes had lived through so much they were worn and tired beyond her years. Lowering her hand, she undid his tightened fist and slid her hand into his then looked up at him again. “Your father never did any of that. He didn’t feel things like you did. I want you to remember that always. You have a wonderful heart capable of loving and feeling the things he never could admit he did. You’ll make a wonderful husband and daddy. I know it.”

Swallowing hard, Brandon looked away from her hopeful eyes and moved his food around on his plate. As much as he’d like to believe that, he just couldn’t. Even though he’d hated his father for so many years for being so cold and having such an impenetrable exterior, a part of Brandon knew he was a lot like his father. He hadn’t shed a tear when the man died, and something told him he never would again. It’s why he wanted to start all over. He didn’t want to become his father, but he knew he’d never change enough, and he wouldn’t put another human being through what his father had put him and his mother through. But for the sake of avoiding the deep shit he had no intention of getting into on this trip, he shook his head.

“I don’t think it’s in the cards for me, Ma.” He shrugged. “I’d just as soon concentrate on my career in the Marines—the only thing I’ve ever been good at. Everything else in my life so far . . .” He shook his head, swallowing in the bitterness. “Having my own family is not something I anticipate ever happening.”

His mom was silent for few moments before picking up her water glass and drinking. “I think Shakespeare said it best when he said, ‘What’s past is prologue.’”

Brandon didn’t look at her. Growing up reading books and poetry had been his escape. He’d read enough Shakespeare to know what that meant, but it didn’t apply to his past. His was too fucked up.

“It’s like fate, son. The past has set the stage for what’s to come.”

Again he laughed humorlessly. “Then that’s pretty fucked to think about, considering what my past has been like.”

His mom stared at him for a moment. The pained expression said it all, and he knew what she was thinking before she even said it. “I know I failed you—”

“No,” he said, shaking his head and throwing his napkin down on his plate. “Let’s not start with this again. You did your best. He was just too damn unpredictable and dangerous. You were only trying to protect me. I get it, Mom, okay? You stuck around because you were afraid he’d come after you and in the process hurt me. We both know it’s what he would’ve done. Look,” he said before she could start again. “I don’t know.” He shrugged, not wanting to look her in the eyes, so he stared down at his glass of water. “Maybe it will happen someday. I’ll stay open-minded for you, okay?” he lied. “If I ever get the chance, I’ll take it.” He glanced up at her still very remorseful eyes. “Okay? Just promise me you’ll stop blaming yourself for the past. You’re right.” He lifted his glass in the air to make a toast. “To our fresh start and to forgetting about the past.”

“Yes.” She squeezed his hand. “Always remember, Brandon, you had no control over what happened in the past. Arm yourself with the lessons that your past—good and bad—has given you, and take control of your future. It’s time to leave all that behind and move onward, son.” She smiled, lifting her glass quickly, but even seeing her immediate change in mood, he couldn’t summon so much as the tiniest of smiles. He forced himself to at least not frown. “To our bright future,” she said, clinking his glass.

Satisfied with their toast, his mother thankfully changed the subject after taking a sip of her water. She started talking about the neighborhoods in Georgia she’d seen online. This was a much better topic. He’d rather think of their new beginning.

Just as she promised she would, Brandon’s mom was up before dawn. “Let’s get moving, sunshine” she said, holding up her cup of coffee and smiling. “I didn’t make you one because I know you hate the stuff.”

Brandon nodded, grabbing their things and heading out. They were off to a better start this time. Yesterday, his mom had jumped on the freeway heading in the wrong direction, and it was miles before the next exit where she could get off and they could turn around. Maybe this did mean they’d make it there on time after all.

Everything was going smoothly for the first fifteen minutes until his mom swerved suddenly, and Brandon saw she’d blown a tire.

“Fucking great,” he said through his teeth, looking into the rearview mirror.

He turned on his own hazard lights and followed closely behind as she made her way onto the tight shoulder. She made it there, but it took Brandon a few more minutes to park his much larger truck in a way that he wasn’t sticking out into traffic. He glanced up at his mom as he continued to maneuver the big ass U-Haul, but he had to wait until there were no cars coming so he could twist out then back onto the shoulder. His mom stayed put in the car as he mentally ordered her to. She’d be no help coming out anyway.

Groaning at the thought of having to take everything that was so tightly packed in the back of the minivan so he could pull the spare out he decided right there he was done humoring his mom. They were getting a trailer as soon as he replaced her tire. He didn’t have time for all this shit.

He did a double take when he saw the driver’s-side door open and his mom start to get out. “Stay in the van!” he yelled, motioning with his hands, but his window was still closed, and she obviously hadn’t heard him. “God damn it,” he mumbled as his finger hit the button to lower the window.

Just as the window went down, he was startled by a truck’s loud horn as it flew by him so close it shattered the side mirror loudly. Brandon lifted his arms and hands up in front of him in reaction. Between his arms, he saw as his mother, who’d already stepped out of the van, didn’t even have a chance to react. She and the entire open minivan door were literally blown away by the truck’s massive force.

“I don’t need it, sir.” Brandon stood at attention in front of Master Sergeant Hatch, who sat behind a desk.

Hatch stood now. “Son, you gathered your mother’s remains in pieces just days after burying your father. Then you came straight here without taking a single day off.”

“Sir, thanks to the Marines, I was prepared for that and much worse. And there was nothing I could do during the investigation but report to duty until it was over. Her remains were then cremated and sent to me. I didn’t need to take time off.”

Brandon wouldn’t look at him, but he knew the sergeant must be staring at him as if he were one cold son of a bitch.

“They were the only family you had, and as far as I know, you have no close friends. You have to be feeling something, and you can’t keep all of it inside you. It’s not healthy.”

The sergeant paused, but Brandon wouldn’t respond to that. He felt nothing, and because of that, he was convinced now he’d already turned into his father. He was certain his old man would consider therapy weak too.

“You’ve got to let some of what you’re feeling out, or it’ll only build until you finally blow.”

Brandon stared straight ahead, both arms to the side of him. Hatch had no way of knowing that blowing up—breaking down—was not anything Brandon would ever do. If witnessing his mother torn apart then walking around gathering the pieces of her body hadn’t broken him, he knew nothing ever would. “Sir, I’m fine. I don’t need therapy.”

He heard the sergeant take a deep breath then sit back down. “Have a seat.”