Beneath Wandering Stars (33 page)

“I know people are being kind,” Lucas says, keeping his eyes glued to the red glass feeder. “But I hated every second of that. I hate feeling so damn helpless.”

I don't know what to say. I'd hate it, too. Any Santiago would.

Not knowing what else to do, I place a hand on Lucas's shoulder. Then I remember the other surprise we have in store—one I suspect will be more to my brother's liking.

I grab the handles of his chair. “Wait until you see what we've done to your room.”

“What the—” Lucas gasps when he glimpses the full-grown German shepherd lying on his bed. The dog is mostly black, minus the little patches of tan near his eyes and on his paws. As soon as he sees my brother, the K-9's ears perk up and his tongue flops out in a way that makes him look like he's smiling. “Gabi. What's going on?”

We've never had a pet. Ever. From goldfish all the way up the food chain, my parents said we moved around too much. It never really bothered me, but Lucas always wanted a dog.

“His name is Homer.” I am dead serious. The retired Army service dog came with that name, which was why I insisted he was the dog for us, though I'm pretty sure his former handler was just a huge fan of
The Simpsons
. “He's all yours.”

Lucas doesn't speak, but I haven't seen his eyes light up like this in weeks. I help him move from his chair to the bed, where the big dog instantly lays his head on Lucas's lap. The comfortable silence that follows tells me this pair will be fast friends.

I unzip Lucas's suitcase. The first thing I see is the copy of the
Iliad
that Seth sent back with me. I run my hand over its cover, lingering on a stain that resembles Rioja wine. I open to a page bookmarked with a pressed almond blossom from the
camino
.

Life
is
short, and war can make it even shorter. But Lucas, Seth, and I—we're the new buds. We're still coming to life. We still have so much to experience and learn and love.

“Lucas, why did you give us these books?”

My brother, enamored by his new buddy, shrugs. “I reread them during the deployment, and I wanted to share the lines that meant something to me with the two people I thought would appreciate them most.”

“So it wasn't some sort of message?”

Lucas and his dog stare at me blankly. “Uh, no. What kind of weird message would that be?”

Indeed. “Never mind.”

Sometimes I get the feeling that life, like the
camino
, is more mysterious than we're willing to admit.

Once Lucas is settled in with Homer, I head to the kitchen to see if Mom needs me to set the table, but I end up getting distracted by the stack of mail on the counter instead.

At the top of the pile there's a letter for me. Postmarked in Scotland.

I rip open the envelope and pull out a glossy photograph of G.I. Lucas seated on a mossy gravestone. There's a crumbling cathedral in the backdrop, set against a lavender sky and a slate-gray sea. The structure is nothing like Santiago. It may have been opulent once upon a time, but now the cathedral is reduced to rubble.

Instead of Lucas's face on the action figure's head, I see mine. The image of my cheesy smile on a muscled, camouflaged body is so ridiculous that I laugh out loud, even though I want to cry when I flip the photograph over and read the words Seth scribbled on the back.

You're still with me.
The universe isn't empty.

This photo isn't a promise, but it's close.

“Let's go,
mija
. We're waiting on you to say grace,” Dad calls from the other room, interrupting an incredibly romantic moment like usual.

Smiling through my tears, I enter the dining room and see my brother seated at his designated spot, Homer resting by his side. There will be days—a lot of them—when Lucas is outflanked by anger and depression, but the rage of Achilles is something soldiers have fought since the dawn of time, and I have faith my brother will ultimately win the war.

Right now you wouldn't even know Lucas had a disability. He looks content, like he knows this is where he belongs. Yes, Lucas is still living up to his name.

Lucas is letting the light shine through.

I pause in the doorway and say a silent prayer for the mutual friend who also cares for Lucas like a brother, a friend who's walking across this hemisphere to prove it. That's when I realize there are three things I
love
about being a military brat.

Number 1: Being called a military brat. I am part of an invisible tribe I never asked to join, but, like Chloe and her rally of supporters have shown, it's one that will never forsake me.

Number 2: That perpetual question, “So, where are you from?” I am a pilgrim on an endless expedition, a link in a very long chain, a citizen of all lands.

Number 3: Surprises. Not all surprises are good, but some of them are, like the surprise of an unexpected journey, the surprise of a stranger's generosity, and the surprise of an answered prayer. Or even the surprise of the photograph in my hand, sent by a person I couldn't stand walking with a month ago. Now I can't stand the thought of walking without him.

People may be the only home the Army issues, but they're the only home that matters.

Want to find out what happens to Seth in Scotland? Learn more at
www.ashleecowles.com/seth-in-scotland/