flipped it open. His sister said a soft hello.
âYou sound bad. Do you look bad?â She laughed when he groaned an answer.
âOther than a dislocated shoulder, I had a great night.â
âSounds like fun. Iâm sorry I missed it.â
âWait until you come down for a visit. Janie is still Janie. And her niece is living here.â
âThe one that used to visit in the summer?â
âThe one and only.â
âIs she still beautiful?â She was determined to see him married off.
âIf you like tall, blond and gorgeous, sheâs okay.â He rubbed his hand across his face, trying to rub the sleep away. âShe isnât my type.â
âHave you ever found your type?â
âNope. Iâm happily single.â
âI donât think so, brother dear. I think you need a woman to soften your rough edges. You need someone who will take care of you, the way youâve taken care of everyone else.â
âI donât have rough edges. So, whatâs up, Sis?â
He knew there was more to this call. He thought he might need to sit up, because the tone of her voice, even with the laughter,hinted at bad news. Holding the phone with his ear, he pushed himself up with his right hand and then slid back against the box of supplies he left here yesterday.
âWhatâs up, Jen?â
A long pause and he thought he heard her sob. He didnât hear the boys, his twin nephews, in the background. His stomach tightened.
âTime to put our Family Action Plan into place. Iâm going to Iraq.â
Not that. He could have prepared himself for almost anything, but not the thought of his kid sister in Iraq. And the boys, just four years old, without a mom. He couldnât think about that, either. They had discussed it some. He had just convinced himself it wouldnât come to thisâto her leaving and the boys in his care.
âClint, I need for you to take the boys.â
âYou know I will. But there has to be someone better for them than me, an uncle who rides bulls for a living and whoâs camping in a house without electricity.â For the moment.
âYouâre it. Youâre my only family, their only family. You knew this could happen.â
âI want to make sure this is the best thing for them, that Iâm the best thing.â
âYou were the best for me.â
He closed his eyes, wishing he had been the best for her, and that heâd been able to give her more. Heâd done his best. They both knew that.
âWhen?â
âI have to leave for Texas in five days. Iâve known for a while, but I guess I was hoping that something would happen and I wouldnât have to leave them.â She sobbed into the phone. âClint, theyâre my babies.â
âI know, Jen. And you know Iâll take care of them.â
âIf something happensâ¦â
âWeâre not going to discuss that. But you know I love them and Iâm going to take care of them until you get home.â
She was crying, hundreds of miles away at a base in Missouri. She was crying, and he couldnât make it better. Sleeping under this roof, in this room, he remembered the other nights she had cried, when they had been kids, and heâd sneaked in to comfort her, to promise heâd make it better.
He had prayed, and she had doubted God even existed.
âI canât make this better, Jen.â
âYou do make it better.â She sniffled, her tears obviously over. âClint, the Army has been good for me, you know that. And Iâm ready to go. I know that I have to go.â
âBut it wonât be easy.â
âItâs easier knowing that youâll have Timmy and David.â
âDo you want to bring them here, or should I come to you?â
A long pause, and he heard the sob she tried to swallow. âI want to see Dad before I go.â
He looked out the dirt-covered