the gymnasium wasn’t big enough.
Jess came with Caleb. And me. And the admiral, who sat at our table with his grandson, Tommy.
Lieutenant Commander Whitfield came with his son, Owen. He brought a framed photograph
from 2011. A group of corpsmen at Camp Lejeune, sweaty and grinning. Danny was in the middle of the front row.
He gave it to Caleb.
The guest speaker that year was Caleb.
He stood at the podium in his navy blazer. The microphone had to be lowered all the way down. He was holding a note card in both hands. His hands were shaking.
He looked out at three hundred and forty people.
He found me at our table in the back.
I nodded.
“My name is Caleb Halloran,” he said. “I’m ten. My dad was a Navy corpsman. He died in Afghanistan when I was two.”
He swallowed.
“I don’t remember him,” he said. “I only have one picture.”
