The Flag At The Door

Chapter 13 - Honor And Anger

Anna hated the word honor for a while.

People used it kindly, which made hating it feel cruel. He served with honor. He came home with honor. Your family’s sacrifice honors the nation. Each sentence was meant as comfort. Each one reminded her that honor could not pour cereal, fix Daniel’s chair, answer Noah’s questions, or sleep on the cold side of the bed.

She confessed this to Lucas one evening while Noah played in the yard.

“I know they mean well,” she said. “But sometimes I want to throw the word through a window.”

Lucas nodded. “Daniel would help you pick the window.”

Anna laughed so suddenly it scared them both.

Then she cried.

Lucas looked toward Noah. “He was angry too, sometimes.”

“Daniel?”

“Yeah. Not at serving. At leaving you. At missing birthdays. At the idea that if something happened, people would turn him into a perfect hero and forget he was a stubborn idiot who loved burnt bacon.”

Anna smiled through tears.

“He did love burnt bacon.”

“He said crispy.”

“He said wrong.”

They sat on the porch steps in the late light. The mat had finally been replaced, but Anna kept the old one in the garage because throwing it away still felt too final.

“I don’t want Noah growing up with a statue,” she said.

“Then don’t give him one.”

Lucas leaned forward.

“Give him Daniel. The brave parts, the scared parts, the ridiculous parts. That’s more useful than a statue.”

Anna watched Noah make explosion noises with Private Rocket in the grass.

Honor, she realized, did not have to erase anger.

Love could hold both.