CHAPTER 5

COLD STEEL, WARM HEARTS

DERRICK

PRESENT DAY, 2024

I step out onto the porch and set my coffee on the railing as I run my hand over my beard. I look at my watch and pull out a smoke without lighting it. It's 5:04 a.m. Still dark.

I sip my coffee as I hop into the truck and back it up to the boathouse at the end of the driveway. Dad stands by the slip doors, waving at me to keep backing up. I park it a few yards from the doors and jump out. Dad opens the tailgate and starts loading the goose decoys into the back of the pickup.

"Derrick. Go and tell Pete to hurry his ass up. We gotta get outta here before sunrise. Jake's gonna be back tomorrow evening and we gotta have everything ready."

"I'm on it."

I run back into the house through the back door. In the kitchen, Pete's still rolling cigarettes.

"Hey, Dad's waiting for you," I whisper.

"Almost done, big bro!"

Pete slides the roller one more time, taps the tobacco down on the edge of the counter, and shoves it into his case. He grabs his coffee.

"All right, bro, let's go."

"Quiet closing that door. Holly and Cole are still sleeping."

Back outside, Dad's putting out his smoke while I light mine.

"Pete, gimme a hand with these, will ya?"

Dad barks the order in his low, gravelly voice. I help Pete grab the rest of the decoys, then head to the back wall of the boathouse to get our shotguns from the gun safe.

As we drive out to the field, silence falls over us. We're both thinking about Jake's transition to civilian life.

The truck rumbles down the dirt road, with a bright moon still in the sky. Although it's been a while, the landscape looks the same as it always has, with rolling hills and the occasional farmhouse in the distance. But there's something heavier in the air this morning, something unspoken. I don't know. Maybe it's the homecoming. I wonder if we're all just a little nervous.

It's not like things are going to be the same. No one who goes to war comes back the same.

We park on the side of the road, grab a few decoys and our shotguns, and start trudging through the dew-laden field. Pete keeps an eye on the sky, his head moving like a hawk's, scanning for any hint of movement. It reminds me of our teenage days, when we were scrappy kids trying to impress each other with the smallest things. Who could shoot the straightest, who could haul up lobster traps faster, who could carry the heaviest.

But now, as we walk, the old rhythm feels different. There's less of the easy back-and-forth we used to share. I can tell Pete's been carrying it, even if he hasn't said anything yet. It's the quiet concern, knowing your best friend has seen things you'll never understand.

As we reach the edge of the field, Pete breaks the silence.

"You think Jake's ready for this?"

I shrug. "Been a while."

Dad lights a cigarette. "Some soldiers never talk about it. Others never stop."

"Jake ain't that kind of boy though. I think he'll be okay. Once he sees the old homestead, he'll snap right back in."

"Yeah, and he's got his wife. And us, right, Dad?"

"Obviously. It's why we're out here... put a decoy right there, Pete." He points to the ground.

"We're showing him we care. We're gonna give him the best damn homecoming dinner those two have ever had."

Pete glances at me. I can tell he's nervous. Jake was like an older brother to him, but he knows nobody comes out of battle clean.

"This place, it's a good reset," Dad says. "No pressure. Just him, her, us, and the island way."

Pete grunts. "We'll give him space."

Dad nods. "And no questions. Let him talk when he's ready."

"He'll get there," I say. "Sometimes it's the little things that mean the most."

Pete chuckles. "You always make it sound easy. But yeah. We just remind him what home feels like."

"Exactly," I say. "We're still here."

After about an hour of hushed small talk, a flock of geese flies overhead. Dad whistles low and motions for us to get ready. I take aim, feel the heaviness of the gun in my hands, and squeeze the trigger. Crack. A goose drops from the sky. Two more shots, then three, then four from Dad and Pete. Another goose falls.

I pat Pete on the back. "Yeah, good job, Pete."

"Thanks, big bro," he says.

We stand from our crouching position and head over to our game and decoys.

"Yes! Good job, Pete!" Dad says. "Derrick, can you get Holly to put it in the oven around nine tomorrow morning?"

I look at Dad with a big grin. "Yes, sir."

We walk over to the first bird.

Dad grabs it by the feet and gives it a quick look. "Let's get started." He pulls out his knife and kneels down.

Pete and I follow without a word.

Dad makes a cut up the belly, just deep enough to open it. "Hold the wings." Pete pins them back while I hold the bird steady. The skin pulls back easily. Dad works fast.

"Bag the heart and liver and leave the rest."

I reach in, pull the organs, and drop them into one of the freezer bags.

"We'll pluck it when we get home." Dad wipes his knife on the grass.

We move to the second goose. Same process.

"Good. One for the freezer, one for the oven."

We gather the birds, bag the parts, and head back toward the truck.