Beneath Wandering Stars Read Online Free Page A

approach the bed and see that my mother is right. Everything about Lucas was goodness and light. He was the perfect son, the perfect brother, and, I’m sure, the perfect soldier. Yet a shadow hovers over his face, suffocating his light with a darkness that goes much deeper than bruising. Wherever my brother resides in this state suspended between life and death, he is far, far away from all of us. I wipe a renegade tear from the corner of my eye, my cheeks burning beneath Seth’s concentrated gaze.
    “What happened?” I ask, my eyes never leaving Lucas. And by that I mean:
Where were you? How could you let them do this?
    “I don’t know what happened. You’d have been proud of him though,” Seth says softly as my dad re-enters the room with a doctor.
    I was proud of Lucas
before
he got himself blown up, but I’m too drained to get into another confrontation with this meathead G.I.
    Dad and the doc are in a tense conversation of their own. “Months? I thought you said a few weeks.”
    “Early signs of movement are the best reason to hope, but even if your son responds over the next few weeks, the coma could last for months.” The doctor places his hand on Dad’s shoulder. “I don’t say this to discourage you, but so that your family can prepare for a potentially long haul.”
    The doctor leaves and Dad turns to me. “Your mother and brother are beat,
mija
. We all need to go home and rest. The nurses will call us if anything changes.”
    I can tell by his tone that he doesn’t think anything will. At least, not so soon.
    Eyes closed, Dad kneels before Lucas’s bed for a moment, then kisses my brother’s cheek—something he hasn’t done since Lucas was about eight. He herds us out of the room.
    “Wait, Sergeant Major.” Seth follows us into the waiting area. “There’s something Lucas wanted me to tell you. To tell both of you, I think.” His eyes meet mine, searching for an ounce of openness.
    This soldier may be on my bad side, but if he’s here in this hospital, he’s been to hell and back, too. I suppose the least I can do is make an effort to be a little less hostile.
    I sigh. “What’s that, Russo?”
    “I wasn’t going to share this so soon, but seeing how long the doctors think the coma could last, I don’t see any point in waiting. Hell, maybe it will even help.” Seth reaches into his pocket and pulls out a paperback. The instant I see the cover, my heart scrambles up my throat.
    The
Iliad
. By Homer. Ancient Greek Homer.
    “Where did you get that?” I demand.
    Seth stares at me like I’m nuts to be getting so worked up over a book. “Lucas left it on my cot the night before he . . . .”
    Trailing off, the private opens the book and pulls out a folded piece of notebook paper. Seth doesn’t need to tell us what it is, because Dad and I already know. Lots of soldiers write a “last letter” before they head off to war and give it to a close buddy to bring home, in case they don’t make it. The fact that Lucas
has
made it home, just not completely intact, causes a blend of rage and revulsion to bubble up inside me.
    The letter has a similar effect on Dad, who crosses himself like Seth is about to read the words of an ancient curse. “Put that away. My son isn’t dead yet.”
    “I know, sir, but I think Lucas would want me to read it. Especially given the circumstances.” When my father’s rigid eyes fail to soften, Seth continues, “At least let me explain what he wanted you two to do for him.”
    After a tense thirty seconds, Dad nods and I sigh. Then we both listen.
    “Lucas told me that when you guys were stationed in Alaska, you started taking hiking trips every year,” Seth begins. “Just the three of you.”
    This is true, and those trips were glue. Not only did they give us rare time with Dad, they were how I learned that Lucas would always walk my pace and have my back, even when our father was out of sight, leading the charge up ahead. Thanks to a string of