There wasn’t a word on the way home. Joseph felt out of place
intervening, and realized his brother and father were both overwhelmed
by what had occurred. There was no fitting response at the moment, and
Joseph was always one to stay away from pointless conversation.

Austin was conflicted. He loved his father’s loyalty to him, to his
family. But he could understand Warren Traxler’s perspective, his
oldest son now half deaf, half blind and deformed, perhaps, for life.
Hell, that was what his father was trying to protect him from, so he
could surely comprehend the devastation Traxler felt at his son’s
misfortune.

Which was exactly Philip’s perspective. That Warren Traxler did not
have the opportunity to protect his son was unfortunate, but thoroughly
not Philip’s concern. He knew the dangers, he knew the risks, and
circumstance provided Austin an out, and him a means by which to
protect him. Would he not be doing his son a disservice by failing to
protect him from a knowingly dangerous situation?

Still, Philip knew Austin was rattled by the experience, and that he
would feel a certain shame in Michael’s remarks to him as they were
leaving. Austin’s compassion was a wonderful quality, but compassion,
Philip was well aware, often blinded people to reality.

“Don’t worry about what he said, son,” Philip said softly as they approached their home.

Austin hung his head. “You didn’t have to do that, Dad. They’ve been through a lot.”

“None of which you are responsible for,” Philip replied, snapping
somewhat, unintentionally. “Learn now, Austin, ‘guts’ is usually
something people throw around to make themselves feel better.”

“Christ, Dad,” Austin said, “if half my head had been blown off I’d be saying something to make myself feel better, too.”

Philip grabbed Austin by the shoulders. “What happened to Traxler’s boy
is unfortunate, but it didn’t happen because of ‘guts,’ it happened
because of circumstance. Because he was told to go to this war with no
way out of it.”

Joseph watched, desperately wanting to say something, but holding his
tongue, pained as he watched his brother and father struggle.

“Austin, you did NOTHING wrong,” Philip said, looking deeply, almost
sadly at his son. “Please stop destroying yourself over this war.”

“I’m not destroyed by it,” Austin said. “Michael was destroyed by it.
His life, his family, were destroyed by it. Like hundreds, thousands of
others. And I should have been there. I should be there now.”

He paused for a moment as they reached the walkway to their home.

“Instead I’m going to play a game.”

“You’re going to live your dream,” Philip said emphatically. “Why can’t you embrace that?”

“Because others lost their dreams on a battlefield I was supposed to be on.”

Joseph had heard enough.

“Says WHO?” he shot at Austin. “Who the hell said you were ‘supposed’
to be there? Not everything that happens, little brother, is supposed
to. Sometimes it just IS…it is what it is.”

Joseph was frustrated that what was so eloquent in his head came out so…well, not.

“You talk about what you’re supposed to do, where you’re supposed to
be,” Philip said. “That day at Shea, you told Blanchard ‘I belong
here.’ Well if you do, then make it happen and stop beating yourself up
by confusing selfishness with self preservation.”

Austin walked in small circles on the lawn, looking up at nothing in particular. Joseph put his arm around him.

“You were right, A.J.,” he said. “It’s time.”

Philip looked at them both, confused, as Margaret and Kara came out the
front door, both pausing as they saw the blood on Philip’s hands and
shirt.

“Time for what?” he asked.

Austin hugged his brother and headed inside.

“For him to go,” Joseph answered. “It’s time for him to go.”