Chapter 10
By mid-afternoon, the initial euphoria of the homecoming had settled into the practical reality of daily life. Thomas decided the overgrown azalea bushes by the front porch required immediate attention, pulling an old pair of hedge clippers from the dusty recesses of the garage. The rhythmic snip-snip of the blades echoed against the brick exterior of the house as he methodically shaped the stubborn green branches, his muscles working beneath his t-shirt with smooth, practiced efficiency.
Maya sat on the top step of the porch, reading a paperback novel, though her eyes frequently drifted away from the pages to watch her father work. The sunlight caught the silver threads starting to pepper the temples of his short-cropped brown hair—a new detail she hadn't noticed before he left for deployment. War didn't just test a soldier's resolve; it aged them from the inside out, leaving invisible receipts carved into their skin and hair.
Thomas stepped back, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead with the back of his forearm, and surveyed his handiwork. The bushes were finally neat, framing the front porch the way they used to before he deployed. He turned, catching Maya watching him, and offered a weary, genuine smile.
"Looks better," he said, walking over and dropping the clippers onto the grass. He sat down on the step beside her, leaning his elbows on his knees.
"You don't have to prove you're back by doing yard work, you know," Maya said softly, closing her book and resting it across her lap.
Thomas let out a short, dry chuckle. "It's not about proving anything, kiddo. It's about control. Out there, you don't control much of anything—weather, logistics, timing, human nature. Here, I can look at a bush, cut it back, and make it neat. It’s honest work. It makes sense."
Maya understood the sentiment far more than she wished she had to. She nudged his shoulder with hers. "Well, your manual labor is appreciated. Mom was complaining about those bushes since April."
Thomas smiled broader this time, the tension around his eyes easing just a fraction. He reached out and ruffled her long brown hair, earning an exaggerated sigh of protest from Maya as she tried to fix her strands. For a few minutes, they sat in comfortable silence, watching a stray cat cross the neighbor's lawn.
Yet, the quiet afternoon was interrupted by the sharp buzz of Thomas’s cell phone vibrating against the wood of the porch railing. Thomas’s entire demeanor shifted instantly. The relaxed father vanished, replaced in a microsecond by the Master Sergeant. He picked up the phone with sharp, deliberate movements, his eyes scanning the caller ID before pressing accept.
May you like
"Vance," he said, his voice dropping into its official, clipped military register.
Maya watched him closely, her heart doing a nervous flutter. Even at home, the long arm of the military could reach out and pull him back into the machine.
