David Baldacci - Stone Cold

Patrick was still sitting in the dugout, his helmet and batting gloves on as though he were just waiting for another shot to put the ball over the fence. Finn grabbed a snack for him and sat down next to him in the dugout.

“You played a great game, Pat,” he said, handing the boy a bag of Doritos and an orange Gatorade. “I’m proud of you.”

“I struck out, Dad. I lost the game for my team.”

“You also got on base twice, scored both times and drove in three more. And playing center field you caught a ball that was actually over the fence with two men on and two outs. That saved three runs right there.” He rubbed his son’s shoulder. “You played a good game. But you can’t win them all.”

“Is this where you tell me losing builds character?”

“Yeah, it is. Just don’t make a habit out of it. Everybody really hates a loser.” He playfully slapped his son’s helmet. “And if you’re not going to eat those chips I’ll take ’em.” He grabbed the bag.

“Hey, those are mine. I earned them.”

“I thought you lost the game for your team.”

“The game wouldn’t have been close except for me.”

“Finally figured that out, did you? I knew you had the Finns’ brains in there somewhere.” He rapped his knuckles on the helmet. “And take this thing off, you’re hardheaded enough already.”

“Gee, Dad, thanks for all your support.”

“How about we grab some dinner on the way home?”

Patrick looked pleasantly surprised. “Just you and me?”

“Just you and me.”

“Won’t David be mad?”

“Your brother is thirteen. He doesn’t really like having his old man around all that much right now. I’m just not that cool or smart. That’ll change in about ten years when he’s in debt from college, can’t find a job and I’m suddenly brilliant again.”

“I think you’re smart. And cool.”

“That’s what I love about you.” As they walked back to the car, Finn lifted Patrick on his shoulders and took off running. As they arrived at the parking lot, a breathless Finn put his son down.

Laughing, Patrick said, “Dad, why do you keep carrying me around on your shoulders?”

Finn’s smile eased off his face and his eyes grew a little moist. “Because pretty soon I won’t be able to do it anymore, son. You’ll be too big. And even if you weren’t you wouldn’t want me to anyway.”

“Is it that big of a deal?” Patrick said as he munched on his chips.

Finn unlocked the car and threw his son’s bag inside. “Yeah, it is. You’ll understand really well when you’re a dad.”

They ate at a local burger place about a mile from their house.

Patrick said, “I love this food; nothing but grease.”

“Enjoy it while you can. When you get to be my age, it’s not that easy on the body.”

Patrick stuffed a french fry in his mouth and said, “How’s Grandma?” Finn stiffened just a bit. “Mom said you went to visit her. How’s she doing?”

“Okay. Well, actually not too great.”

“How come we never visit her anymore?”

“I’m not sure she’d want you to see her like she is now.”

“I don’t care about stuff like that. She was fun even if she talked a little funny.”

“Yeah, she was,” Finn said, staring down at his half-eaten cheeseburger, his appetite suddenly gone. “Maybe we’ll go see her soon.”

“You know, Dad, she doesn’t look very Irish.”

Finn thought of the tall, broad-shouldered woman with the sharply chiseled, near-gaunt features so many Eastern Europeans from that generation possessed. He could barely reconcile that image with the shrunken mass his mother had become. His son was right, she didn’t look very Irish, because she wasn’t. Still, Finn looked far more like his mother than his father. He said quickly, “She’s not. Your grandfather was Irish.” He didn’t enjoy lying to his son, but he knew the truth was not possible on this subject. Yes, his father, the Irish Jew.

“You said he was a cool guy.”

“Very cool.”

“I wish I could’ve known him.”

Me too , thought Finn. For a lot longer than I did .

“So where’s Grandma from, then?”

“Your grandmother was really from all over,” he answered vaguely.

When they got home Mandy met them at the door. After sending Patrick to get changed for bed she said, “Harry, you’re supposed to go into Susie’s class tomorrow. It’s parents’ career day.”

“Mandy, I told you I really don’t feel comfortable doing that.”

“All the other kids’ parents are doing it. We can’t leave Susie out. I’d go but I’m not sure cooking, cleaning and driving qualifies as a career.”

He gave her a kiss. “It does with me. You work harder than anybody I know.”

“You have to go, Harry. Susie will be so disappointed if you don’t.”

“Honey, come on. Give me a break.”

“Fine, but if you’re copping out, you go and tell her. She’s waiting up in bed.”

Mandy walked off, leaving Finn standing by the door. Groaning, he trudged up the stairs.

Susie was sitting up in bed, surrounded by her stuffed animals. She had eleven of them she kept on her bed; she couldn’t go to sleep without them. She called them her guardian angels. Around the foot of the bed were ten more stuffed animals. These were her “Knights of the Round Table.”

Her big blue eyes looked up at him as she got right to the point. “Are you coming tomorrow, Daddy?”

“I was just talking to Mom about that.”

“Jimmy Potts’ mom came in today. She’s a marine biologist.” Susie formed the words slowly while she scratched her cheek. “I don’t know what that is, but, Daddy, she brought live fish.”

“That sounds really cool.”

“I know you’ll be cool too. I’ve been telling everybody about you.”

“What have you been telling them?” Susie had no idea what he did for a living.

“That you were a soldier.”

“Oh, that’s right, I was.”

“I’ve been telling everybody that you were in the navy. And that you were a walrus ,” she added importantly.

Finn tried hard not to laugh as he patiently explained that he had been a Navy SEAL , not a walrus. “Remember, sweetie, up in this area there are a lot of people who used to be in the military. It’s not that special.”

“But you’ll be the best, Daddy, I know you will. Please come, please.” She tugged on his sleeve and then wrapped her arms around him.

In the face of this, what father could say no? “Okay, honey, I’ll be there.”

As he turned out the light and was leaving, Susie said, “Daddy, can I ask you something?”

“Sure, what is it?”

“When you were a soldier, did you ever kill anybody?”

Finn leaned back against the door. This was not the question he’d been expecting.

Susie added, “ ’Cause Joey Menkel said his dad killed lots of bad people in Iraq. And he’s a soldier too. So did you?”

Finn sat back down next to her, took his daughter’s hand and said slowly, “When people fight, people get hurt, sweetie. It’s never a good thing to hurt someone else. And soldiers only do it to protect themselves and their country, where their families live.”

“So did you?” she persisted.

“I’ll see you at school tomorrow, baby. Hope you sleep well.” He kissed her on the forehead and nearly sprinted from the room.

A minute later he was in the garage. He kept his gun safe here. It weighed nearly a thousand pounds and had a key, combo and biometric lock system that only he could open. He unlocked the heavy door and took out another, smaller box that also was key and combo protected. Opening that, he carried the file over to his workbench and started looking through it. The photos, the reports, were both now faded, yet they never failed to incite in him a nearly uncontrollable rage. He read the words aloud to himself: “Rayfield Solomon, Alleged Traitor, Commits Suicide in South America.” He looked at the photo of Rayfield Solomon, his father, a dead man with a hole in his right temple, and the legacy of having betrayed his country.