Shock

As the man begins to speak, Cindy instantly catches the past-tense words and chest tightens. Hearing about an explosion, her hands cease their fidgeting with the towel, and she blinks, unable to even think of what the coming news might be. It was too horrible to believe.

But that horror was exactly what she heard. She didn't hear the hope in his voice. She didn't see the hope in the situation. Wes... her husband... her world... was missing in action, and that meant he was as good as dead - it didn't mean hope. The military would only waste so much time searching for a man who they were sure died in an explosion. And even if they did find him, it would only be to bury what was left.

Cindy's eyes lower to the dog tags and she swallows hard. Her whole body felt rigid, in a strange form of shock. But deep down below the stun, below the grief, below the anguish... there was a boiling anger.

Reaching out slowly, she accepts the tags and looks at them, running her thumb over the words. She felt as if she had just been shot through the heart - a fate that seemed much more preferable than this. Tears pooled in her eyes, but they did not yet flow.

Looking up, she stares the officer in the eye, her jaw clenched. She could see his own sorrow. She could see the pity. "Thank you," she manages hoarsely. "I'm sure this was difficult for you. I see you care - but you needn't worry about me." Her tone grew more cold with each word. "I've been abandoned once before to raise a child on my own. I can do it again."

Closing her fist over the dog tags, she retreats a step, dismissing the officer with her body language. "If you'll excuse me, I was right in the middle of work."


Zach's eyes widen as he looks over at Beth, then he laughs. "An ice cream's true revenge."

Still grinning, he keeps working - slowly - on his own ice cream while his eyes wander the little park. "I like it here. Might be a nice spot for a picnic sometime," he hints.

Taking the last bite of his cone, he stands up and brushes off his hands. After chewing, he studies the swing for a moment before stepping into the flexible seat. A silly grin emerges. "This is the way my sister and I used to swing." Using his body to gain some movement, eventually he's swinging back and forth, still standing on the swing. "Of course..." he speaks as he moves back and forth beside Beth, catching her with his eyes at each pass. "...I used to do this little upside down thing too, that I would never dare try now. I'd be too scared of cracking open my noggin."


Spying a familiar pickup truck approaching, Dylan's pulse quickens. He doesn't get up yet though, first wanting to make sure it really was a ranch truck, and then make sure it was Dan and not somebody else.

Relieved that it is indeed Dan, he swallows hard but remains seated. His eyes drift to the ground, unwilling to look his older friend in the eye. He doesn't even look up when his backpack is lifted. The joke about Dan smelling good doesn't manage to crack even a smile.

After hesitating another moment, Dylan finally gets to his feet. In just a month, he'd dropped weight, he was pale, and his eyes had gained back their dark, hollow look... and he knew it. There was no hiding it - not this time. His gaze remains glued to the ground, his hands tucked safely in his hoodie pocket.

The offer for supper reminds him of the painful ache in his gut. He thought maybe he'd rather throw up than eat, but since he hadn't had a meal in two days, there probably wasn't anything to throw up at this point. He shakes his head though. He was starving... yet he wasn't hungry.

"Whatever you want to do," he finally responds. He wouldn't keep Dan from doing whatever he wanted. After all... Dylan was at his mercy.

Heading for the truck, he slides in the passenger seat and waits for Dan. Buckling up, he hunches over slightly to try and ease his stomach pain, leaning his head against the window. He didn't know what to say or do now that he was here.