“Yes, sir. I don’t judge him, but I just don’t like him.”

“Well, then, here’s the solution we’re going to apply to this problem. You two don’t have to like each other, but it might be best if you did, because I’m not splitting up this team. You are the cream of the crop, and you’ll learn to get along. From right now and for the next six weeks, while y’all are getting ready for your first deployment to Afghanistan, the two of you will not ever be more than thirty feet from each other. No, make that twenty feet. If this man”—he pointed to Bobby Joe—“goes to the latrine, you go with him. If this one”—he turned toward Sloan—“goes outside to sit in the sun, you go with him. You are to sit together during classes and eat beside each other in the mess hall. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.” They had both saluted.

“Dismissed,” the commander had said.

“I’ll always hate you,” Bobby Joe had smarted off the minute they were outside.

“I don’t reckon I’ll shed too many tears over that,” Sloan had told him.

Tinker brought Sloan back to the present when he reared up on his hind feet, looked out the window, and barked.

“There’s a rest stop a mile up the road, so hold it until then,” Sloan told him. “Did I ever tell you about Bobby Joe? Well, I woke up in the middle of the night to find Bobby Joe was gone from our twenty-foot limit. I panicked. If the commander found out he’d gotten away from me, I could get a dishonorable discharge, so I went huntin’ for him.”

Tinker looked up at him and whined.

“Yep, I had to find him in a hurry, and since I know why you’re whimpering, the rest is kind of fitting. I found my friend in the latrine, curled up in a ball in the corner. He was holding his phone to his chest and bawlin’ like a baby. His girlfriend had broken up with him in a text, and he threatened to go AWOL. I talked to him all night long, and come morning, we were best friends.”

He pulled into the parking lot of the rest stop, snapped a leash on to Tinker’s collar, and took him over to the doggy section. Tinker hiked his leg on a small bush and then pawed the earth. Sloan made a few laps around the park area with him, just to give them both some exercise, then took him back to the truck and gave him some water.

Sloan got back behind the wheel and opened a bag of beef jerky. He gave Tinker a nice big piece and then bit off a chunk to chew on while he continued on up the road. He didn’t stop for lunch but drove straight to Hillsboro, Texas. He stopped at a convenience store for a cold soda on his way to the cemetery.

“Would you know anything about a Bobby Joe Daniels?” Sloan asked.

“Yep, that’d be my cousin. He got blowed up over in Kuwait a couple of years ago. He’s buried up in Crawford Cemetery. Grave is on the first road to the left after you go through the gates, down toward the end. Can’t miss it because there’s a big old granite stone that says Daniels on it. It’s where the whole family is buried,” the young man said. “Why’d you ask?”

“I was a friend of his in the military,” Sloan said. “Thanks for the directions.”

“Sure thing. What’d you say your name was?” the guy yelled.

“I didn’t, but it’s Sloan Baker.” Guilt went with him as he left the place. He felt like he should have told the fellow that he’d served with Daniels, or that he’d been on the same team with him—or better yet, that he’d been responsible for his death.

He drove to the cemetery, followed the directions he’d been given, and found the Daniels stone in the middle of a large section of ground. Headstones dating back to the 1800s were lined up all around the huge chunk of granite that had green moss growing on it. He found one with Robert Joseph Daniels at the back side of the group. A small American flag flapped in the wind above the grave, and a red rosebush was in full bloom at one end.

“Hello, Bobby Joe.” Sloan whipped off his cap and knelt in front of the grave. The breeze shifted and brought a strong scent of roses with it. He inhaled deeply and tried to say something, but words wouldn’t come out past the lump in his throat. He felt a presence near him and figured it was his imagination, but then a shadow fell over his shoulder.

“Good afternoon, Sloan,” a very familiar deep voice said.

Sloan stood up and turned around slowly, half expecting to see Bobby Joe and find out that he had survived the blast after all, but the man leaning on a cane not five feet from him was an older guy.

“I’m Teddy Joe Baker, Bobby Joe’s grandpa.” The man before him was exactly what Sloan would have thought his friend would look like in fifty years. “One of my grandsons works down at the convenience store. He called me soon as you left. I wanted to meet you since Bobby Joe talked about you so much when he called home.”

“Pleased to meet you, sir.” Sloan extended a hand.

They shook, and then Teddy sat down on a nearby bench. “I’ve been expectin’ you for more’n two years now. I keep in touch with y’all’s commander, and I been prayin’ for you every day since all this happened.”

“I figured you’d rather shoot me as pray for me,” Sloan said. “If I’d been there, I could have defused the bomb.”

“Son, didn’t they tell you?” The old man frowned. “It wouldn’t have mattered if Jesus Himself had walked into that place. It went off before they were halfway across the tent. They never even got to it.”

“What?” Sloan’s knees went weak, and he had to sit down.

“The commander said that it took months for them to get the scene re-created, but that’s what happened. The thing wasn’t on a timer. It was detonated remotely, maybe by a cell phone. Didn’t the commander call and tell you?”

“Maybe. I quit taking his calls because I . . .” He let the sentence hang.

“I can’t even think about what kind of hell you been goin’ through all this time. I sure wish you’d have come around sooner, so you could get over it,” Teddy said. “Since you’re here, you want to come home with me for supper? Bobby Joe’s granny is cookin’ up a pot of chicken and dumplin’s.”

“Thank you, but I’ve got a few more miles to go before I stop today, and I’ve got a dog in the truck,” Sloan answered.

“Well, anytime you’re in this area, feel free to stop by. We’d love to hear stories about Bobby Joe. We still got all his letters. Maybe someday we’ll get them out and laugh about all the things he wrote about you boys.” Teddy stood up and started back to his truck, which was parked out near a big pecan tree.

“I’ll sure keep that in mind, and thank you, sir,” Sloan called out.

Teddy threw up a hand, but he didn’t look back.

“Is he tellin’ me the truth, Bobby Joe, or just feedin’ me a line of crap so I’ll feel better?” Sloan muttered to himself. He sat there for a while longer, letting one memory after another of the good times with the team wash over him, and then he knelt again and touched Bobby Joe’s stone. “Goodbye, my friend. Maybe I’ll see you again in eternity.”

He and Tinker drove on that evening to Paris, Texas. It was near dark when they got there, and he didn’t find a hotel that allowed pets until the third try. Once he was settled in, he ordered a pizza delivered to the room. Tomorrow, he would go visit Creed Dawson’s grave. While he waited on the pizza he found the commander’s phone number in his contacts.

He hit the call button but hung up before it could even ring. If the military folks had just told Teddy that so there could be no blame issued, then did Sloan really want to know? Or would he rather just believe the fairy tale to assuage himself of the guilt he’d been carrying around all this time?

Tinker hopped onto the bed and curled up on Sloan’s pillow, then growled at him.

“So you think I should call no matter what?”

Tinker growled again.

“All right, but I might be an old bear to live with when I do,” Sloan told the dog as he found the contact and hit the call button again.

“Sloan Baker, is this really you?” the man asked.

“It is really me,” Sloan said.

“How’re you doin’, son? I’ve called at least a dozen times,” Commander Watterson said.

“It’s been tough,” Sloan admitted.

“I imagine it has. You’ve got PTSD and we sent you home riding a guilt trip that you couldn’t shake. We were wrong in thinking that you could have defused that bomb in time, but we didn’t know it then. And I was afraid to put you anywhere near an explosive again,” he said.

“I defused one in the local hospital two days ago. It helped.” Sloan wandered around the room as he talked, picking up the HBO guide from in front of the television and the little coffee pods by the sink, then putting them back where they had been.

“Good for you,” Commander Watterson said.

“Today I visited Bobby Joe’s grave and met his grandpa.” He poured a cup of water into the one-cup machine and slid a pod into the right place.