Page 42 of All We Carry Home

“Oh, and I’ll see you in June at the banquet,” I said to Stuart. “Though I’d hate to make the drive all the way out here before then.”

I left the implication hanging, and I knew that Stuart would be careful going forward. Victor might be an intimidating force in the association, but Stuart now knew that I wasn’t scared of him, not in the slightest.

“Wonderful,” Stuart said with an awkward salute. “We look forward to that event and seeing Phantom in the arena.”

I left the office without further comment.

Peter frowned at me as we got back into the truck. “What was all that about?”

“Fighting fire with fire,” I said. “You hungry?”

He nodded.

As we ate at a diner on the edge of Pendleton ahead of the return drive to Baker, Peter watched me with a renewed spark of interest, and I felt the walls around him starting to lower.

“So, what were these rumors?” he asked.

Lying wouldn’t get me anywhere with this kid. Not if he was a fraction like I had been at his age.

“Eva’s neighbor knows that she’s his greatest competition and is trying to get her barred from showing Phantom in the breed shows.”

“What sort of rumors would get her barred?”

“Rumors of inappropriate relations. Crossing the line between trainer and client.”

Peter chuckled. “Are the rumors true?”

“No.” He was trying to get a strong reaction out of me. It wouldn’t work.

The silence stretched a bit more as I sensed he was gearing up for another round of questions.

“You were in the war, with my dad?” he asked as he stared at his leftover french fries.

I took another swig of coffee and motioned to the waitress for the check. “Yes.” I waited for Peter to ask more. We were testing each other, and I wasn’t about to blink first.

He was silent until the truck was fueled and ready for the long drive back home. “So . . .” he said once we were on the main road, which stretched out to the southeast with the mountains far in the distance. “What was it like?”

“The war?” The question surprised me. My mouth went dry.

“Dad won’t talk about it,” Peter added.

“It isn’t easy to talk about,” I said.

“Why not?”

“I don’t think anyone knew what it was going to be like—and things were hard.” How could I put this in a way he could understand? I didn’t even understand it. The brotherhood, the death, the soaring victories and crushing defeats.

“Did you ride in tanks?” Peter asked.

“Sometimes.”

“Did you have friends who died?”

“Yeah.” My stomach roiled, and my gaze swept over the barren horizon. “Too many.”

Peter fell silent. Several miles stretched before he spoke again. “If Dad would just talk about things, I think Mom would come back.”

“He’s trying, Peter.”