The launch was a private affair. But that didn't stop the family from getting together. It merely changed the location.
Jean Berenson's fingers trembled as she made the tea, the occasional clinking of spoon against china being the only break in the heavy silence that settled over the suddenly far-too-big house. She glanced in the direction of her sons' bedrooms, now empty, and suddenly, the tears were impossible to hold in. She had the presence of mind to move away from the cups, leaning instead on the sink as the strength drained out of her and her spine and shoulders shook with heavy, wracking sobs.
A few minutes later, she regained control. She could stand up and pretend that she was okay. But she still carried the cups into the living room two at a time; there was no way she could've balanced a tray.
Two sugars, milk, she noted to herself as she handed a cup to Steve. Her Steve, the source of strength during that terrible time when they'd been under the control of the enemy and unable to do anything more than helplessly watch their sons work to kill each other. But that was all for naught now, and his eyes were as hollow as hers.
One sugar, no milk. That cup went to Dan. He hadn't even been in town when his daughter and nephew had died. He'd tried to, but he hadn't gotten through the roadblocks. Probably just as well; he'd only have been captured.
Dan's hands were wrapped around Naomi's. Exes they may be, but old habits died hard, and any source of strength was welcome in such times. They weren't looking at each other. Naomi was regarding Ellen and George, who both looked as if they'd used up their allotted horror and grief for one lifetime. They hadn't even had Saddler's body to bury. They hadn't even known what had happened until after the war.
Jean headed back into the kitchen to collect more cups.
"This family," Naomi said fiercely, "is cursed." Her knuckles were white as she clutched her ex-husband's hands.
Dan swallowed. "We don't know anything yet. Jake might be fine. It's just a, a secret mission. The kids have done this a million times over."
"They didn't always win," Naomi pointed out quietly. Dan shot her a furious look, and glanced meaningfully at his brother.
But Steve didn't seem to hear. Cassie's voice, distorted by a bad phone line, still echoed in his head. 'I need to talk to you. Not over the phone. Can we meet?' Strange that it was that line that he remembered so clearly, and not the discussion that followed, where she calmly and sympathetically laid out to him and Jean where their son had gone.
"He should have told us," Steve said hollowly.
Naomi snorted. "Those kids never told any of us anything." She tilted her head to try to hide the tears that threatened to roll down her cheeks, fooling nobody.
For the first time, Ellen spoke up, her voice low and timid. "Sara and Jordan. How are they?"
Naomi bit her lip. "As well as possible, under the circumstances."
Dan added, "You know, they can always stay with – "
"Sending them to another town right now is the opposite of helping. They need stability. If you want to help, move back into town."
Dan didn't answer. It was a conversation they'd already had far too many times. But he didn't let go of her hands, either.
Jean came back, passed out the remaining cups, and took a seat next to her husband. Silence fell once more. Between the six of them, they'd lost four children. There were two left. Two little Berensons, marked by grief and chaos and the fringes of war.
As if by unspoken agreement, everyone in the room sat a little straighter, let their resolve harden. The pain would never fade, but in time, they'd learn how to handle it. They'd learn how to go on.
For the sake of the future, they had to.