“What’s that supposed to mean? This is the second time you’ve said something like that.”

“It’s plain and simple, Dad: I promised Carl I’d get him back safely. Me. Not the cops, not the park rangers. Me. So that’s how it’s going down.”

“But you didn’t know the odds against you when you made that promise. He can’t hold you to it.”

“He’s not,” Jack said. He shook his head. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Dad rubbed his jaw. “I understand perfectly. And you know, Jack…the better I know you, the more I like you. Carl’s not holding you to your promise…you are. I can respect that. It’s damn foolish, but I have to respect that.”

“Thanks.”

How about that? Dad did understand.

“But you can’t go out there alone. You’re going to need backup.”

“Tell me about it. Know where I can find any?”

“You’re looking at him.”

Jack laughed. Dad didn’t.

“I’m not kidding, Jack.”

“Dad, you’re not cut out for that.”

“Don’t be so sure.” He pushed open the porch door. “Come inside. I need to tell you some things you don’t know.”

“About what?”

No matter what he was told, Jack wasn’t taking an accountant in his seventies as backup, especially if that accountant in his seventies was his father.

“About me.”

4

Inside, Dad handed him a cup of coffee, then, before Jack could ask him what this was about, disappeared into his bedroom. He returned a minute later carrying the gray metal lockbox Jack had found back on Tuesday. He hadn’t expected to see it again, but he was more surprised by what his father was wearing.

“Dad, are you kidding with that sweater?”

His father pulled the front of the ancient brown mohair cardigan closer about him. “It’s cold! The thermometer outside my window says sixty-nine degrees.”

Jack had to laugh. “The Sasquatch look. It’s you, Dad.”

“Never mind the sweater.” He set the box on the coffee table. “Have a seat.”

Jack sat across from him. “What’ve you got there?” he said, already knowing the answer.

Dad unlocked the box and flipped it open. He pulled out an old photo and passed it to Jack: Dad and six other young guys in fatigues.

Jack pretended to study it, as if seeing it for the first time.

“Hey. From your Army days.”

“Army?” His father made a face. “Those clods? These are Marines, Jack. Semper fi and all that.”

Jack shrugged. “Army, Marines, what’s the diff?”

“You wouldn’t say that if you’d ever been in the Corps.”

“Hey, you were all fighting the same enemy, weren’t you?”

“Yeah, but we fought them better.” He tapped the photo. “These were my wartime buddies.” His expression softened. “And I’m the only one left.”