Nantucket by Nan Rossiter

care.”
    â€œWell, if I die, they can tell me themselves how much they care.”
    Coop stared at his nephew as if he was seeing him for the first time, and then turned away so Liam wouldn’t see the pain in his eyes.
    For the next several months, it had felt like there was an impenetrable wall between them, and then, on July 5, 1990—two weeks after graduation—Liam and Jack left for Parris Island. One month later, Iraqi troops invaded Kuwait, and five months after that, Liam and Jack were deployed to Saudi Arabia as part of the first allied infantry group supporting Operation Desert Storm.
    Â 
    Liam stood in the shower as cool water rushed over his shoulders. “Damn, it, Jack! Why’d you have to tell me?” he muttered. His mind drifted to the night before their battalion was set to enter Kuwait. Jack had appeared out of the darkness with a pair of newly issued desert boots and dropped them next to Liam. “Size ten, right?” he asked. Liam nodded and Jack sat down next to him. “Why so glum, mate? We’ll be fine—I’ve got your back,” Jack assured him cheerfully.
    Liam looked over, mustering a smile. “And I’ve got yours.”
    For the next eight days, their small band of brothers trudged over rocks and deep desert sand, carrying more than a hundred pounds of equipment, weapons, and personal gear on their backs. Their mission, after blasting through two minefields, was to take Al Jaber Air Base—thought to be the primary command post for enemy forces—but as they made their approach, plumes of black smoke from burning oil fields filled the air, stopping them in their tracks . . . and when they were finally able to continue, under the cover of darkness, everything went wrong.
    Almost immediately, they came under fire and Liam heard Jack shouting, “Get down! Get down!” Then he felt a hot-white burning sensation in his knee and another as a bullet grazed his temple below his helmet. A second later, he was pushed to the ground as more artillery fire whizzed past his head. “Are you okay?” Jack shouted.
    â€œI’m fine . . . except my knee . . . and my head.” And then he’d looked over and saw blood trickling down the side of Jack’s face. “Oh, shit, man, are you okay!?”
    Jack laughed. “I’m fine, buddy. If you’re fine—I’m fine.”
    But Jack wasn’t fine. He’d covered Liam’s body with his own and was hit in the shoulder, chest, and face. They were both medevaced out as soon as it was light.
    Liam touched the scar near his temple—it didn’t hurt like the scar on his knee—which still ached at times, especially when he kneeled, but he was alive, and there was no doubt in his mind it was because of Jack. How do you turn your back on a friend who has put his life on the line for you? No matter what he’s done, you can’t just give up on him.
    Liam pushed the shower knob in hard, and a piece of plastic broke off and fell in the tub. “Damn it,” he grumbled, picking it up and throwing it in the trash.
    He dried off, wrapped a towel around his waist, and looked in the mirror—at least he didn’t look as tired as he had that morning. He shaved, pulled on a clean T-shirt and jeans, and wondered if he should wear a button-down. He’d never been to an art show—what did people wear? He looked in his closet and then in his dresser drawer and finally pulled out a blue polo—not too casual but still comfortable.
    He went downstairs, opened the fridge, and groaned, realizing he still hadn’t been to the store. He rummaged around in a drawer for a notepad and pen, and jotted down a short list of things he needed to pick up on the way home. On the top of the list he scrawled “BEER.” Then he stuffed the list in his pocket, fried the last two eggs, finished the OJ, gave Tuck a treat, and promised to be back soon.

Chapter