Some Bright Someday (Maple Valley #2) - Melissa Tagg Page 0,121
left behind in Maple Valley? He missed Jen so much it was nearly a physical ache, as intense as the burns that had marred his arms. He missed the kids. He even missed that tiny little cottage.
At least he’d managed to paint the shutters before leaving. One last feeble attempt to let Jenessa know how much he cared. He just wished he knew where to go from here.
Flagg had told him he was in the prime place for a rescue—a miracle. Maybe that’s what this chance at an appeal was. But why didn’t it feel like it?
“It was a good letter.” Dad’s voice jutted into his thoughts. “Flagg said . . . good things.”
“I guess that’s . . . good.” Could a conversation get any more stilted? “Are you writing a reference too?”
Dad closed the magazine and set it aside. “I wasn’t sure you’d want me to. But I’d like to.”
It seemed overly warm in here. Lucas shrugged out of his jacket. He could put it back on whenever the lawyer made an appearance.
Dad cleared his throat. “Actually, I’ve already written it. I have it with me if you’d like to take a look at it.”
Did he want to read it? Do I even want any of this? He’d once craved freedom from the label of dishonorable more than almost anything. Now he stood on the precipice of gaining that freedom, yet weariness dragged his every step forward.
Dad stood, crossed the few feet between them, and pulled an envelope from his pocket. Only when Lucas accepted it did Dad sit—this time in a chair directly across from him. If this wasn’t spectacularly uncomfortable before . . .
He stared at the envelope between his fingers. The words inside wouldn’t change anything that’d happened in the past. They wouldn’t change the hurt, the distance, nor the secrets that had caused it all.
But Dad was making an effort. He had to at least attempt to do the same. He slid his thumb under the flap and pulled out the folded letter, a single page. His gaze slid past the date and salutation to the body of the missive:
This letter will be brief, because to my personal shame, my presence throughout much of my son’s life has been brief. Fortunately, a person does not need to spend inordinate amounts of time with Lucas Danby to believe with conviction that he’s worthy of a change in his discharge status.
You will read letters from others that detail Lucas’s dedicated paramilitary service in the past ten years, so I don’t need to dwell on that. Nor do I need to give you a list of his attributes—you’ll see them for yourselves when he stands before you.
Instead, I’d like to tell you about my other son—Lucas’s half-brother, Noah. Noah served two tours in the Army, but he has struggled since being medically discharged more than a year ago. Over the past 12 months, I’ve witnessed a pattern of negative choices, irresponsibility, and dangerous behavior, and as a father, felt helpless to know how to address it.
Noah recently spent a month with Lucas in Iowa. During that time, they worked side by side as Lucas sought to mentor Noah. Since Noah returned to Washington, D.C., here is what I see in him: A renewed commitment to his veteran’s support group. A heightened sense of responsibility and accountability. A willingness to invest in his own potential. And a determination not to let his past dictate his future.
I credit my son Lucas with the transformation I’ve witnessed in Noah. And I ask you not to let his past dictate his future. Not when his present is filled with examples, including Noah, of lives impacted for the better. Whatever your decision, I remain a proud father of the man my son Lucas Danby has become.
Thank you.
Lucas’s hands shook as he stared at the letter, sentences blurring together in front of him. Straightforward and powerful, it pierced a place so deep inside of him that even if he were a man of a million words, he’d never be able to express the eddying impact of what he’d just read.
“I don’t know what to say, Dad.” Couldn’t even make himself look up to meet his father’s eyes.
“I’ve made so many mistakes, Lucas. And I know reconciliation isn’t as simple as an apology. Or a letter. I just want you to know that whenever you’re ready, whatever it takes, I’d like to try. I’m ready to try.”