The front door opened and his kids rushed out, crashed into his legs, and hung on with their lovingly desperate grip.

“Claire, Martin, I missed you sooooo much,” said Jamie. “You’re all grown up!”

He lifted a child in each arm, swaying slightly as if he were back at sea. The crowd on the sidewalk backed off, scattering to give him space. They knew how it was.

Martin leaned in to Jamie’s ear. “Daddy, I made you a sign inside. Did you bring me anything?”

Jamie smiled sadly. “Sorry, not tonight,” he said. “Show me the sign.”

“I made it first,” said Claire, trying to win back his attention.

Jamie set the kids down as Lindsey approached.

Her dark brown hair was shorter than he remembered. She stood on her tiptoes and he kissed her, savoring the feel of her hair as it brushed across his cheek. That moment was something no sim could capture.

She also looked thinner than he remembered, likely from the worry he’d put her through. She was even thinner than when he’d first seen her, running the Burke-Gilman trail near the University of Washington on a rainy spring morning. A smile was all it took for him to notice her. Though he had already been exhausted from crew practice, he’d kept running just for a chance to ask her name when she finally stopped, four miles later at a water fountain.

“Over here,” said Claire, pulling on his hand. “Come see the sign we made.”

Martin studied his father’s uniform intently. “I like your ribbons. Do you want some cereal?” he said.

“Later we can have some,” said Jamie. “Right now, I want to see this sign.”

Martin and Claire led their father into the sparely furnished living room, no rug, only a couch and a single chair.

“Not much here,” said Lindsey. “The rest is still in San Diego.”

“Lots of room for parties, at least,” said Jamie, looking around the room as the guests began to file in. Navy dress uniforms, spouses in suits or cocktail dresses, and a lot of kids. Before the war, you wouldn’t have seen so many kids at a party like this, Jamie thought. Now, everyone wanted to keep them close.

“They’ve all been waiting for this moment. I’ve been waiting. All part of Navy life, right, Captain?” said Lindsey, stretching out his new rank.

Jamie took in her smile and brought her close. Wives were usually there for promotion ceremonies, but it had all been done on the fly as they prepped for the shitstorm that the Guam relief mission had turned into.

“Daddy, over here!” shouted Martin. “No kissing!”

Jamie navigated through a series of hugs and handshakes to get to where a three-foot-by-five-foot Welcome Home Dady! sign hung. Purple and green crayon, the kids’ respective favorite colors, covered the entire sign, which meant no one else had been allowed to contribute.

“Wow, this is amazing,” said Jamie.

He knelt down and hugged both kids hard, fighting back tears.

Then he detected a faint, acrid smell. It was the pungent musk of a life pledged to steel ships, to wooden piers coated in tarry creosote, and to a losing battle against rust and rot. Still kneeling, Jamie slowly looked over and saw the black leather work boots. The boots were old, worn, nicked, and creased. But they still shone, the bulbs of the steel toes giving off an eight-ball’s luster. The boots were turned out slightly, maybe ten degrees at the left, fifteen degrees at the right. It was a ready stance, as if the world might pitch or heave at any moment. Jamie’s body recognized it all first and sent an icy blast of adrenaline into his veins before his brain could process the presence of his father.

“Chief?” said Jamie as he slowly stood. “What are you doing here?”

Lindsey jumped in before an answer could come. “Your father’s been here every weekend since we arrived, doing everything from machining a new pedal for Martin’s bike to playing games with the kids so I could take a shower,” said Lindsey. “He’s been really helpful.”

Mike just held out his right hand. It was meant to be a welcoming gesture, yet the sheer size of the hand hinted at malice or injury. The backs of the hands were scrubbed red, but creosote, rust, and grease still seemed to ooze from the pores. The missing tip of the pinkie was more evidence that these hands were tools first.

“Hello, James,” said Mike. He stared at Jamie, daring his son to say what he really thought.

“He’s made a real difference here,” said Lindsey, still trying to smooth over the moment.

“I wish I could take credit for the sign, but I have been able to help with the house. With all the Directorate cyber-attacks, the fridge won’t talk to the phone, and the toilet doesn’t know whether to flush or clean itself without instructions from its Beijing masters. I can’t fix the digital stuff, but I can at least clean up and rig some workarounds,” said Mike.

Jamie released his two kids and shook the hand, suddenly without the confident grip he had expected to use.

“Okay, kids, go show your friends the sandbox Grandpa built,” said Lindsey.

For the next hour, Lindsey stayed close to Jamie. She had always been good at this sort of thing, the chitchat, the empty How are yous, and all he could think about was his father walking the perimeter of his yard, keeping an eye on his kids, nursing a can of Coke.

Soon, the party began to break up, the guests having put in their appearances but knowing they weren’t supposed to linger.

When Lindsey went inside to clean up, there was no longer a way for Jamie to avoid talking to his father. The two men took their drinks and stood on the back patio, their silhouettes indistinguishable from each other. They looked down at the Fort Mason Green, toward the piers that had once hosted jazz concerts and winetastings. A pair of pockmarked littoral combat ships and four Mark VI patrol boats nuzzled the piers. Their tiny silhouettes made the absence of the larger warships that should have been there all the more obvious.

“Helluva nice house, Captain,” said Mike. “Can’t say I’ve ever had any admirals for neighbors. Must go with the promotion.”

“What’s going on here?” said Jamie, ignoring his father’s attempt at small talk.

“I figured Lindsey could use the help,” said Mike.

“You did? You don’t even know her, or the kids. You didn’t even come to our wedding,” said Jamie.

“War changes things for all of us,” said Mike.

“I’ll say.” Jamie looked at the walnut-size knuckles he knew were as hard as stones. “I don’t think I ever saw you drink a soda in my entire life.”

Each man took a sip of his drink and waited for the other to speak. The silence was occasionally broken by the laughing and howling of kids.

“The Navy Cross is a helluva thing, James,” said Mike, changing tack.

“It’s because I got the Coronado out,” said Jamie. “Riley died right in front of me at Pearl.”

“Still don’t know how you did it with an LCS,” said Mike. He growled out each letter with disdain. “Better ships didn’t.”

“Easy, Chief, Coronado is still my ship,” said Jamie. “At least, what’s left of it.”

“Well, she made you captain; you’re always gonna owe her that,” said Mike. “Any idea what they’re going to do with her?”

“Maybe make a museum or memorial out of it, when the war’s over,” said Jamie. “Or maybe turn it into dog tags. All that metal we need has to come from somewhere… We could patch up the hits we took at Pearl, but the missile hit we took in the Guam relief op wrecked the whole engine room for good.”

“You don’t belong here with her. You belong at sea.”

“Of all the people to say that,” muttered Jamie.

“So now we’re starting again?” said Mike. “Okay, I deserved that. I wasn’t as good at the home stuff as I was at the job.”

“You could have been,” said Jamie. “If you’d just tried half as hard at your more important job of taking care of your kids. Both of them.”