He made it to the porch and grinned at me. “Oh, just fine. I’m collecting scars this year. I made it through four tours with only some shrapnel and an itty-bitty bullet hole. This year, I got four new scars, just from old age.” He chuckled. “I’m glad to see you here, boy. Finally taking my advice. Getting your family back. Good for you.” He patted my shoulder and kissed the top of my head, then sat across from me and placed the donut box on the wooden table next to his chair.

“There’s coffee in the kitchen. Want a cup?” I offered.

He waved it off. “Nah, already had some.”

Rocky trotted over to greet him, then lay down on his feet. Jed leaned over and patted his head. “This is a good dog. Failed all my certification tests, but still a good boy, aren’t you?” Rocky licked his hand, and Jed laughed. “He was meant to stay in the family, meant to be with you, Luke.” He was a big believer in fate and destiny and all that kind of crap.

I believed—well, not much—life was what you made it to be. I had seen too much, watched too many good men die, to believe in fate. Life was random and unfair. I hoped to someday understand Jed’s optimism. We both turned to look through the screen door when we heard Dylan bounding down the stairs.

He made it to the doorway, then rushed through to jump onto Jed’s lap. “Papa, you’re here! Yay! I smell donuts.” He scrambled down from Jed’s lap and opened the box. “Oh, sprinkle ones.” Jed laughed as Dylan snatched one, then sat by me on the swing and snuggled into my side. I put my arm around him. I grinned down at his upturned smiling face as donut sprinkles rained down on my leg.

“There’s my little sunshine,” Jed said and held out his arms for Calla as Lily walked onto the porch. I held the baby monitor up with a confused smile for Lily.

“I turned it off when I got up. Thank you for letting me sleep.” She rummaged through the donut box with a smile then took a bite of an apple fritter.

I reached for the box and got my own apple fritter.

Jed chuckled. “You two and the apple fritters. Some things never change. Not as good as my Diana’s, but they’ll do.” My mom used to make the best apple fritters. A collective hush fell over us as we remembered her.

“Who’s Diana?” Dylan asked.

“My daughter. Luke’s mom,” Jed answered.

“Oh yeah, my other grandma.”

“She sure would have loved you, Dylan, and you too, little princess,” Jed said.

“Mommy said she was an angel in heaven. I wonder if she knows my dad Will,” he mused as he ate his donut.