Chapter 5 - The Six-Year Delay
The silence after Charlene's question felt different.
Before, people had been waiting for Brody to speak.
Now they were looking at me.
I saw confusion on a few faces.
Curiosity on others.
And something much harder to bear.
Pity.
General Haskett turned slowly toward Charlene.
"Mrs. Ruddock, an award recommendation is not a public trial. You are not entitled to interrogate the recipient."
Charlene crossed her arms.
"Then explain why it was hidden."
"It wasn't hidden."
"Six years?"
The general looked toward the senior noncommissioned officer standing beside the podium.
"Command Sergeant Major, please ask the family to remain seated or escort them outside."
Two military police officers began moving along the wall.
Brody looked at his mother.
"Sit down."
She stared at him as if she'd never heard that tone from him before.
"Excuse me?"
"Please."
Something in his voice made her obey.
The chair creaked beneath her.
The general turned back toward me.
"Major Lennox, we can suspend the ceremony."
I looked at the medal resting on the podium.
For years, I had told myself I didn't care about it.
I had survived.
Dwayne had survived.
Aaron had survived.
The official investigation had established what happened.
A decoration couldn't change the fact that Daniel was gone.
But that afternoon, when the general first read my name, I felt something I hadn't expected.
Relief.
Not triumph.
Not pride.
Relief that the truth might finally exist somewhere my father's silence couldn't reach.
"No, sir," I said.
My voice sounded strange.
"I'd like to finish."
He studied me for a moment.
Then he nodded.
"Very well."
But before he returned to the microphone, he spoke quietly.
"Your silence didn't delay this award, Major. Don't let anyone put that on you."
I wanted to believe him.
The truth was more complicated.
The first recommendation had been submitted shortly after the flood.
Dwayne Tillman wrote a witness statement.
So did Nolan Pierce.
Colonel Haskett endorsed a review of my actions.
Then the paperwork became entangled with the larger accident investigation.
Questions about the route violation, command communications, and rescue response had to be answered.
By the time that process was complete, I had transferred.
Then I deployed.
The recommendation moved through offices and came back twice for additional documentation.
Years passed.
I told myself that was normal.
The Army was large.
Paperwork got delayed.
People moved.
Documents disappeared into systems that didn't particularly care whether you were waiting for them.
But I also knew that I had never pushed anyone to reopen the case.
When an awards clerk contacted me three years earlier, I answered the questions and sent what he requested.
Then I stopped checking.
Part of me was afraid of what a public ceremony would do.
Not to Brody.
To Dad.
He was still alive then.
His health was declining.
Charlene had become more protective and more controlling.
I had convinced myself that allowing the process to remain quiet was an act of mercy.
Then Dad died.
Three months after his funeral, Dwayne Tillman called me.
He was stationed at Fort Riley.
He had learned that the recommendation was still unresolved.
"Erin," he said, "did you withdraw it?"
"No."
"Did you ask anybody to stop it?"
"No."
"Then why are you acting like you don't deserve it?"
I stared at the wall of my apartment.
"Dwayne, I don't want another fight."
He was silent for a moment.
Then he said something I carried with me for the next three years.
"You're confusing peace with everybody else getting what they want."
I had no answer.
Dwayne found the original witnesses.
He helped identify which supporting documents were missing.
General Haskett, who had returned to Fort Riley in a senior command role, reviewed the old case when it reached his office.
The award recommendation was completed through the official process.
And eventually I received the notification.
The Soldier's Medal had been approved.
I cried when I read it.
Then I put the letter in a drawer.
I almost didn't attend the ceremony.
But Dwayne called again.
"Price's family is coming," he said.
That changed everything.
I hadn't known they had been invited.
"Rebecca?"
"Yes."
I sat down.
My eyes filled.
"Does she know?"
"She knows what you did."
I covered my mouth.
For six years, I had dreaded seeing Daniel's wife again.
She had been pregnant when he died.
Their daughter would be six now.
Old enough to ask questions.
Old enough to understand that her father had gone to work and never come home.
"What does she want from me?" I whispered.
Dwayne's answer was immediate.
"Nothing. That's why you need to come."
Now, standing on the stage, I looked toward the back of the gym.
There, beside a little girl wearing a navy-blue dress, stood a woman with dark hair.
Rebecca Price.
I hadn't recognized her when I entered.
She had been looking down.
But now she was staring directly at me.
And the expression on her face stopped my breath.
Because she wasn't smiling.
She was crying.
The little girl beside her was holding a folded sheet of paper.
Rebecca nodded toward the stage.
Then she began walking forward.
May you like
The ceremony had already exposed one lie.
I had no idea it was about to reveal a second one.
