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Authors: Sharon Hamilton
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outside. He donned his swim shorts, told Bay to stay put and promised he’d be back in a bit, locked the motor home, and ran across the warm sand. He dove into the surf, thankful to be back in the water, where he felt safe. Where the world was right.
Cooper swam parallel to the shore, back and forth in one-mile lengths, like he had done hundreds of times before. He preferred the ocean here, rather than the inlet near base, which was full of debris, oil and gasoline residue. The cold water soothed his soul.
Like a bee sting, he couldn’t shrug off the lack of respect Brownlee had for his fallen brother. It was so wrong on so many levels. At least he had a family.
Big house. Doesn’t even understand how easily it all could be taken away. He thought about his mom patching his shirts with leftover pieces of shirting from discarded clothing. She even used to tie his shoelaces together to make whole ones, which got him in trouble with the kids at school. One time she’d asked his dad if the soap they got in a motel cost them extra, since she’d brought her own. They’d worked so hard for every penny they had, but everything they had was theirs. They owned it completely, outright.
And now it was gone forever. As if it had never existed.
The sun was sinking on the horizon. Coop sat for a few minutes to enjoy the view, letting salt water drip down his skin. The warm sand felt good as he buried his toes in it. It was going to be a clear night tonight. The stars would be out there in droves, like tourists in Heaven.
The last crescent of bright salmon-colored sun melted into the watery horizon. It was a routine Coop liked to do every day he could: watch the sun die. In the remaining afterglow, he walked silently up the beach toward his silver home.
Coop heard banging car doors and saw Fredo, Kyle, Armando and a new guy running towards him.
“You are to get wet and sandy, sailor,” Kyle barked. His LPO looked serious as a heart attack but Fredo and Armando were still punching each other in the arm. The new guy, a handsome African-American who was almost Coop’s height, smiled with the biggest white teeth he had ever seen. He had the air of an officer. Career man all the way.
Cooper tried to look relaxed, but he didn’t really want to be around anyone tonight.
“I said, get your butt off the sand, or these motherfuckers are gonna bury you right here,” Kyle yelled back. He did a right good job imitating one of their BUD/S drill instructors .
Coop just sat in the sand and pushed some of it over his wet legs.
That was a call to action. The resulting sand fight lasted almost ten minutes. When it was all done, Cooper looked like a creature from a horror film, crusted with wet sand, Kyle had been pants’ed and was trying to pull up his cargos before tourists would get a look at his naked ass, Armando’s hair was wild and full of sand, and Fredo was swearing up a storm in Spanish, having broken one of his gold chains. He was on all fours looking for it in the orange light of dusk. The new guy had stayed out of it and was sitting on the step of Cooper’s motor home, looking neat and organized.
On cue, the three of them got down and joined Fredo until Kyle found the chain and returned it to Fredo’s sandy palm.
“First one to the surf doesn’t have to jump in,” Kyle yelled out. Everyone headed for the white water. Cooper turned and saw Kyle call out to their new Team guy. “C’mon LT. That means you t,oo.”
So this guy was a new AOIC, Assistant Officer In Charge. Technically above Kyle’s rank on the Teams, he would be learning all he could from the capable Team 3 LPO.
The new guy looked very by-the-book prissy. The horrified expression on his face egged the guys on. They catcalled him until he started to run. And man, the guy could run! He beat Kyle by a good ten yards, but stood just outside the surf. Like everyone else, the new guy tossed his shoes and dove in.
The five of them formed a school and swam
Cooper swam parallel to the shore, back and forth in one-mile lengths, like he had done hundreds of times before. He preferred the ocean here, rather than the inlet near base, which was full of debris, oil and gasoline residue. The cold water soothed his soul.
Like a bee sting, he couldn’t shrug off the lack of respect Brownlee had for his fallen brother. It was so wrong on so many levels. At least he had a family.
Big house. Doesn’t even understand how easily it all could be taken away. He thought about his mom patching his shirts with leftover pieces of shirting from discarded clothing. She even used to tie his shoelaces together to make whole ones, which got him in trouble with the kids at school. One time she’d asked his dad if the soap they got in a motel cost them extra, since she’d brought her own. They’d worked so hard for every penny they had, but everything they had was theirs. They owned it completely, outright.
And now it was gone forever. As if it had never existed.
The sun was sinking on the horizon. Coop sat for a few minutes to enjoy the view, letting salt water drip down his skin. The warm sand felt good as he buried his toes in it. It was going to be a clear night tonight. The stars would be out there in droves, like tourists in Heaven.
The last crescent of bright salmon-colored sun melted into the watery horizon. It was a routine Coop liked to do every day he could: watch the sun die. In the remaining afterglow, he walked silently up the beach toward his silver home.
Coop heard banging car doors and saw Fredo, Kyle, Armando and a new guy running towards him.
“You are to get wet and sandy, sailor,” Kyle barked. His LPO looked serious as a heart attack but Fredo and Armando were still punching each other in the arm. The new guy, a handsome African-American who was almost Coop’s height, smiled with the biggest white teeth he had ever seen. He had the air of an officer. Career man all the way.
Cooper tried to look relaxed, but he didn’t really want to be around anyone tonight.
“I said, get your butt off the sand, or these motherfuckers are gonna bury you right here,” Kyle yelled back. He did a right good job imitating one of their BUD/S drill instructors .
Coop just sat in the sand and pushed some of it over his wet legs.
That was a call to action. The resulting sand fight lasted almost ten minutes. When it was all done, Cooper looked like a creature from a horror film, crusted with wet sand, Kyle had been pants’ed and was trying to pull up his cargos before tourists would get a look at his naked ass, Armando’s hair was wild and full of sand, and Fredo was swearing up a storm in Spanish, having broken one of his gold chains. He was on all fours looking for it in the orange light of dusk. The new guy had stayed out of it and was sitting on the step of Cooper’s motor home, looking neat and organized.
On cue, the three of them got down and joined Fredo until Kyle found the chain and returned it to Fredo’s sandy palm.
“First one to the surf doesn’t have to jump in,” Kyle yelled out. Everyone headed for the white water. Cooper turned and saw Kyle call out to their new Team guy. “C’mon LT. That means you t,oo.”
So this guy was a new AOIC, Assistant Officer In Charge. Technically above Kyle’s rank on the Teams, he would be learning all he could from the capable Team 3 LPO.
The new guy looked very by-the-book prissy. The horrified expression on his face egged the guys on. They catcalled him until he started to run. And man, the guy could run! He beat Kyle by a good ten yards, but stood just outside the surf. Like everyone else, the new guy tossed his shoes and dove in.
The five of them formed a school and swam
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