He sat on the grass rather than the bench.
"Can I show you something?"
Maya shrugged.
Isaiah reached into his jacket.
He removed the folded drawing.
The edges were worn.
The colors faded.
Maya looked at it.
Her eyes widened.
"I made that?"
"Yeah."
"You kept it?"
"Every day."
She took it carefully.
DADDY COME HOME SOON.
Maya read the words.
Her face changed.
Isaiah looked away because if he watched her too closely, he knew he would cry.
Then he felt small arms around his neck.
His entire body froze.
Maya hugged him.
Not tightly.
Not for long.
But she hugged him.
Isaiah closed his eyes.
His hands hovered uncertainly.
Then he wrapped them around his daughter.
He started crying.
So did Lena.
Maya pulled back.
"Are soldiers supposed to cry?"
Isaiah wiped his face.
"Good ones do."
That night, Isaiah dreamed of captivity.
He woke on the motel floor with a lamp broken beside him.
His knuckles were bleeding.
For several minutes he did not know where he was.
Then the room returned.
America.
Motel.
Home.
Not home.
He sat against the wall until sunrise.
Two days later, Thomas came to see him.
Isaiah almost shut the door in his face.
Thomas stood outside with both hands visible.
"I'm not here to fight."
Isaiah stared at him.
"That's smart."
Thomas nodded.
"I probably deserve that."
"No."
Isaiah stepped aside.
"You don't deserve anything from me because apparently you didn't know I was alive."
"I didn't."
Thomas entered.
Isaiah closed the door.
The two men stood awkwardly.
Thomas looked at Isaiah for several seconds.
"I've seen your picture for years."
Isaiah gave him a cold look.
"Can't say the same."
Thomas accepted that.
"Michael talked about you."
Isaiah's expression softened despite himself.
"He talked about everybody."
"He respected you."
"Your brother was a good officer."
Thomas nodded.
"Thank you."
Silence.
Then Isaiah asked, "Why are you here?"
Thomas took a breath.