Far Edge of Anywhere

What Should Be, Isn't

"So, are you glad you came?"

Tom looked up from the screen of his laptop, blinking into the darkness. His sister had snuck up on him, as usual. Only, instead of the traditional Nerf dart to the back of the head, she'd broadsided him with a question.

"Yeah." Nodding, he gestured towards the chair next to him. He'd claimed the back porch as his quasi-office during this visit, since he was sharing a bedroom with not one, but both of his nieces. He was using a blow-up mattress on the floor, while Sylvie and Jenny got the bunks that he and Rob had once shared. The true guest rooms with their queen sized beds and privacy had been reserved for Mindi and Rob and their significant others. "It feels weird being here rather than being in Washington, though."

"I'm still kind of in shock that Dad requested the transfer." Mindi walked around and sat sideways in the big chair, pulling her sweater more tightly around her body. Throwing her legs over the arm of the seat, she settled in. "I thought he'd stay at Fort Lewis until he retired."

"I thought he'd stay there until he keeled over." Tom snorted, the sound completely devoid of humor. "Although I'm pretty sure that he's still alive because he's not eligible for heaven and the devil sees him as a threat."

"Tommy." She'd used her Mom voice, but the quick flash of white betrayed the fact that she'd smiled. "He's making an attempt."

Reaching out, Tom lowered the screen of his computer, closing it with a sharp 'click'. Settling it on the table next to him, he hunkered down in his chair. He'd pulled a space heater out earlier that evening, but the little gadget was chugging along without accomplishing much. The porch had been outfitted with walls and windows by some unknown previous owner of the house, but they'd neglected to fill in cracks or insulate the addition, and the cold seeped steadily in to overwhelm any attempts to regulate the temperature. The association between the temperature of the porch and the chilly relationship between he and his father wasn't lost on Tom. "He is. I'll admit that. I'm just wondering whether it's too late."

"Speaking as a mother, I can tell you honestly that it's never too late." Mindi's voice was quiet, contemplative. "I can't imagine ever getting to the point where I would quit trying to connect with one of my kids."

"But we're not talking about Mom, are we?"

"No, but Dad isn't a monster, Tom. He's just a dad. And he's human, just like you and me. All parents are fallible. You do the best you can in the situations you're given and then hope that the therapists can sort it all out later."

He couldn't help but laugh at that. "You're probably right."

"I'm always right." She curled her feet up under her body. "Haven't you figured that out by now?"

"It's beginning to dawn on me."

"Well, you've always been a little slow."

"Brat."

"Loser."

It felt good to be home - well, as much of a home as a military kid could have. Even through his father's long tenure at Fort Lewis, they'd bounced around from house to house. Most people could point to one of two residences where the majority of their early lives had been lived. The children of military men had no such luxury. The family unit, rather than any particular physical dwelling, comprised what they termed as 'home'. In Tom's case, that unit rarely included his father.

But still, spending long days in the same house with his mom, Mindi, and Rob had been comforting in a way. Even though he had no childhood memories of the actual house, it still felt like he'd returned home from somewhere. And his father - well, that wasn't turning out to be quite as complicated as he'd feared. The Old Man had mellowed a bit, softening a little around the edges. Maybe it was age, or maybe it was the unmitigated cuteness of Sylvie and Jenny that was responsible for the change - Tom hadn't yet been able to figure it out. Something had changed, but the 'what' portion of that question was still up in the air.

"But to answer your original question, yes." Tom looked over at Pipsqueak. She hadn't changed much since marriage and motherhood. She was maybe a little rounder than she'd been the last time Tom had actually seen her, but it didn't detract from the beautiful, remarkable woman she'd become. She'd been meant for this role in life - nurturing people had always been second nature to her. Before Jenny and Sylvie, she'd devoted herself to the kids in her various school classes. Now that she was a mom, she'd expanded her heart to include pretty much any kid she saw. Tom sometimes felt like she had folded him in with the rest of her children. It was just how she was. "Yes. It's really good to be here."

"So - what do you think about Sophia?"

"Sophia." Tom's eyes narrowed as he mulled over his answer. "Sophia is perfect for Rob."

"Holy cow, yes." Mindi grinned. "They're two Yuppie peas in a very ambitious pod."

Snorting, Tom canted his head in an inquisitive look at his sister. "Are Yuppies even still a thing?"

"She drives a Volvo." Her expression indicated that the assertion had been proved.

Tom waved his hand in an attempt at concession. "When are they heading to New York?"

"After the New Year. She's got an internship or something at some big brokerage."

"Rob told me that he's been interviewing with a few places."

Mindi leaned her cheek against the cushion of the chair. "Sophie's family is from the area. I'm sure they'll settle down there."

Tom picked at a loose piece of wicker on the arm of his chair. "Any guesses on how much that ring is worth?"

"The engagement ring?" Rolling her eyes towards the ceiling, Pipsqueak shook her head. "Probably more than both of my cars combined. Rob told me that it was a family stone, and he just had it reset into the ring that Sophia liked. He couldn't have afforded that monstrosity on his own."

"I'm surprised she's not walking around with armed guards."

"Well, you're here, Mr. Military Macho Man." Grinning, Mindi kicked a toe in Tom's direction. "If anyone tries to take off with it, you'll save the day."

"You betcha." Tom grinned back. "That's what I do."

For a moment, they fell silent. The space heater chortled in its corner, the only sound in the chilly air. Tom's mom and brother seemed to find it necessary to keep any conversation going - they had an odd aversion to quietude - but Tom and Mindi had always been comfortable just sitting in silence. Maybe it was because they were the older siblings - the ones given the most responsibility. Or perhaps it was just that they were more alike than anyone else in the family. It didn't matter, really. It just was. And it was part of why Tom loved his little sister so much. She understood him.

Kind of like Sasha.

He frowned, glancing involuntarily at his phone. It hadn't so much as buzzed since he'd left Newport. Six days without any contact whatsoever, and he had to admit to himself that he was a little - something. Worried? Relieved? Lost? Not that he'd had a whole lot of time to dwell on the matter. Christmas preparations and celebrations had filled the first few days, and then the days after Christmas had been spent teaching Jenny how to ride her new bike and playing with Sylvie and her play kitchen. Whatever free time he'd had had been spent in his 'office' working on his thesis.

He'd anticipated something out of Newport. Anything, really. Exactly what, he didn't know, but more than abject silence.

"Are you expecting a call?"

Startled, Tom looked up at his sister. "What?"

"A call." Mindi indicated his cell with a pointed nod. "You've been fiddling with that thing ever since you got here. Is there something that you're missing back in Newport?"

Something? No.

Someone?

Tom flicked at the device with his fingertips, turning it over on the table. "One of my students was running into some issues. I told her to call if she needed anything."

"Her?"

Damn it. Pipsqueak never missed anything. "Just a student, Mindi."

"I'm sorry." Mindi's brows rose. "That answer doesn't compute. Please try again."

Tom swizzled the phone a little on the table, making it turn in circles by nudging it with his index finger. "I'm telling you the truth."

"And, you think I'm stupid - why?"

"I don't think you're stupid."

"Thomas."

Oh, the dreaded Mom/Teacher/Pipsqueak tone. Tom heaved a sigh and shoved both sets of fingers through the tousled mess that was his hair. "Mindi, it's a weird situation."

"We've already decided that she's complicated."

"Good lord, yes." Complicated was precisely the right word to describe Sasha Tierney. "She's that in spades."

"So, it is the girl that you'd dated."

There was no point denying it. His littler sister could ferret the truth out of anybody - Tom was realistic enough to know that he didn't stand a chance. He bought a little thinking time by pretending to be very particular about recrossing his ankles on the table, but Mindi saw through that and cleared her throat pointedly.

"Her parents are in Newport for the holidays." Tom folded his arms across his chest. "Apparently, there's friction there. She'd asked me to hang around and act as her buffer, but I was already heading down here."

"Friction?" Mindi frowned. "You mean like between you and dad?"

Shaking his head, Tom grimaced. "Worse, I think. They're kind of high and mighty muckity-mucks. Her mother used to be a U.S. Ambassador. They aren't too thrilled that she joined the Navy, and are intent upon getting her to resign her commission and put her skills to use elsewhere."

"Well, that's crappy."

"She's happy where she is." He sighed. "They should just let her be."

"She's an adult, right?" Mindi tugged her sweater down past her fingertips. "Why is it their business what she does?"

"Sasha is an only child. I think that they expected her to follow in their footsteps rather than making her own." Tom pulled his feet off the table and stood, taking a few steps towards a matching wicker love seat where their mother kept a selection of quilts draped over the back. Grabbing one, he leaned over and tossed it at his sister, who caught it handily. "But I've never met them. All of my information comes from her."

"And she asked you to what - be her fake boyfriend?"

"Basically."

"Maybe she wanted you to be her not-so-fake boyfriend."

Tom sat back down in his chair, hunkering back down against the cushions. "She knows that's not possible."

"Does she?"

Tom glared down at his feet. His shoes were nearly worn through. He'd need to buy new ones soon. Maybe he'd drag Jenny and Sylvie to the mall tomorrow. Chris had been telling him that they had a carousel there. Or he could take them to one of those places where they let kids stuff their own bears. At the very least, a day bribing his nieces would take his mind off his silent phone.

"Tommy?"

"She knows."

But Mindi was still looking at him with a speculative gleam in her eye. "Do you?"

A sudden ache in his throat forced him to swallow before he could answer. "Yeah. I do."

"But you don't like it."

"No." He could be honest, here. Sitting on this porch with the one person in the world who he trusted beyond reason. He could admit things without fear or repercussion. For the first time, he could actually admit the truth. "No. I don't."

She didn't say anything, but Tom could feel her eyes on him, knew that her expression had turned from inquisitive to compassionate. He lifted his hands, pressing at his eyes with the heels of his palms. Damn, what a mess. And what a failure he was for not being able to just move on. It wasn't just the struggle of wanting what he couldn't have that was killing him. It was not being able to let her go.

"Tell me about her." Mindi shifted in her chair, tucking her feet under her body. Pulling the quilt up under her chin, she merely sat back and waited.

What was there to say? Sasha Tierney was a force of nature. She reminded him of a storm at sea - beautiful and unpredictable and powerful. She was the kind of woman that made him want to be a better man. She made him want to be good enough for her.

When he finally spoke, he had to fight that damned lump again. "She's sassy. She says things that surprise me. She makes me laugh."

"What does she look like?"

"Dark hair. Tall - a little taller than you are. She's in great shape, of course. She's a beast at hand-to-hand. Fantastic shot, too. Sniper material. Blue eyes. Like blue, blue eyes. She's really, really pretty."

"How does she make you feel?"

"Good." What a majestic bit of understatement that was. Tom rubbed his fingertips across the rough fabric of his jeans. "Like I can do anything."

"That's a good thing."

"She speaks who-knows-how many languages, has lived all over the world. She's seen things that the majority of the people on the planet don't even know exist. She's lived in the heart of luxury and privilege. And you know what makes her happy?"

Mindy shook her head, her eyes wide. "Tell me."

"Stacking stones on the beach. She found this place near the pier where the beach is secluded - cut off from the boardwalk. People have been piling rocks on top of each other. Nothing fancy - just making these tall stone towers. And who the hell knows why. She took me down there. It was before I knew that she was Navy, so we were still - together." Tom smiled down at his hands. "Anyway, it took her forever to find the perfect rock. She must have picked up and examined at least a dozen before she chose the one that she wanted. She finally got it balanced exactly how she wanted it, and when she stood back up, she had this expression on her face - "

He faltered, his eyes drifting closed briefly on the memory. "She looked like a kid at Christmas. Like she was experiencing pure joy." When he glanced up at his sister, he wasn't surprised to see her smiling over at him. "But it was just rocks, you know? All she'd done was find a rock that she liked."

"It was more than that, Tom." Mindi narrowed a look at him. "She'd found someone to share it with. She wasn't just excited about the rock. She was happy that she'd found it with you."

Tom rolled his eyes towards the ceiling, tilting his head back with a groan. "After she stacked her rock, she found one for me. I was just standing there, watching her. I didn't know what she wanted me to do, you know? So, I just stayed out of her way. And then some kid drops a milkshake on my head."

"You're kidding."

"I wish I were." Tom looked down towards his feet, fully aware that his sister was enjoying this a little too much. "Sasha could not stop laughing. She thought that was the funniest thing ever. So, I'm stalking up to the boardwalk, covered in ice cream, and it's oozing through my clothes and down my pants, and she's giggling herself silly. I'm there with milkshake running down my ass, and she's crying with laughter. She didn't stop until we got to her hotel."

"You didn't go home?"

"It was our last day. We had an - agreement. We could be together for five days. It's a long story." He tried not to sound bitter, but was pretty certain he'd failed. "She said she had some extra clothes in her hotel room, and my apartment was pretty far from where we were. We'd lose less time if I just showered at her place."

"Really." The corner of his sister's mouth edged upwards. "How very efficient."

"It wasn't like that." Yet. But Tom had no intention of sharing that much. Certain things needed to be kept to himself.

"Mmm-hmm." Blatant skepticism radiated in her tone, and Mindi's brows rose high. "So?"

"So, she knew that I'd been injured. I told her that I'd been in an accident. After I got cleaned up, she saw the scars - the damage." A flickered glanced up at his sister told Tom that she understood completely. "I expected her to be grossed out. I mean - she didn't know the extent of things, of the burns, or the surgeries - she didn't have any idea. But when she saw it, she wasn't disgusted, or scared, or anything like that. Hell - she didn't even pity me. She just accepted it. She just accepted me."

"Tom, you're more than what happened to you." Leaning forward, Pipsqueak balanced her chin on her hand.

"I know that."

"I don't think that you do."

"Okay." Tom conceded. "I'm learning it."

"But this girl sounds like the kind of person who could make you realize it faster."

"She's amazing, Min." Tom's voice came out in a low whisper. "She's maddening. She's a total pain in the butt, and a complete smart-mouth. She's pushy and intelligent and fascinating. She makes me think. She makes me laugh. She makes me want - things."

"What kinds of things?" Soft, her question was gentle. "Sex? Or something more than that?"

"A future." Tom only realized the truth of it as he said it. "I want a future with her."

"You're in love with her."

"I can't be."

"But you are."

"No." Tom shook his head. "That can't happen."

But his sister just smiled sadly, sighing into the cold night air. "Oh, Tommy, you poor, big, handsome loser. I think it already has."

-OOOOOOO-

"Hey, Tommy." The voice had come from the garage. "Come here for a minute, will you?"

Sliding the door of Mindi's van closed, Tom shooed his charges up the porch and towards the front door. Each of them carried a cardboard box shaped like a house, along with a shopping bag filled with their treasures. Turns out that stuffing one's own bear also required dropping half a pay check on clothing and shoes and accessories for the newly stuffed ursine. The shoes he'd bought himself had been cheap in comparison, and they hadn't even been on sale.

Seeing the door swing shut behind Sylvie and Jenny, he stowed his keys in his pocket and headed through the open side door and into his father's workshop. Even in the new house, the shop was the same. Same tools, same makeshift work benches, same rickety ladder that Tom had used his entire life while cleaning gutters and trimming trees. It even smelled the same - like wood shavings, rust, and WD-40.

He blinked a little, allowing his eyes to adjust to the shadows inside. It only took a moment to make out the bulky shape of his dad near the opposite wall, sitting on a stool near a long table that was littered with bits and pieces of something mechanical.

Rounding an ancient table saw, Tom made his way towards his father. "What's all this, Dad?"

Jed fiddled with a bolt that he had in his hand. "Radio. This one used to be your grandpa's. I'm trying to fix it up so that it's usable again."

"HAM?"

Jed nodded. "It's an old one. A 1958 EF Johnson Ranger. State of the art in its day. This one belonged to your mother's father. He used to have regular conversations with Barry Goldwater on it."

"No kidding?"

"True story. Goldwater was a HAM. Belonged to some radio clubs in Arizona. Actually ran one of them. His call sign was K7UGA." Jed nodded, tossing the bolt down onto his workbench. "Your grandpa got a kick out of telling people that he used to converse regularly with the guy who was almost the president."

"I didn't know that."

"Your mother was never really interested in radios. I'm not sure that she ever knew to tell you."

"Hmm." Tom reached out and picked up what looked like an elongated light bulb. "What's this thing?"

"That's a vacuum tube. Way back in the '20s and '30s, HAMS used to make their own radios. They'd jerry-rig these things into these setups that they used to call 'glow bugs'. I was thinking about trying to make one myself, but I haven't been able to find the vacuum tubes."

"Maybe there's a place on-line that sells them."

"On the computer?"

"Sure." Tom rolled the vacuum tube in his fingers. "You can get all kinds of things on-line these days."

"I wouldn't know where to begin."

"I could look around, next time I'm connected to the internet." He handed the tube to his father, who placed it carefully on the wooden surface of his work space. "Wouldn't be any trouble."

"Okay." Jed nodded. "While you're at it, you can find me a Collins S-Line 75 A-4. Those receivers are hard to find in good shape."

"I'm sure they are." Tommy pressed his lips together before continuing. "But I'm pretty sure that you didn't call me in here to talk about glowbugs and antique radios."

For a long moment, Jed simply glared down at the assorted bits of metal and gadgetry on his table. Then, he exhaled heavily. "No. I didn't."

For the first time, the old man really looked old. Tired - perhaps a little weary of life. It had been too long since Tom had spent any meaningful time with his father - just a few days between deployments and schooling and assignments. When he called home, his father merely handed him off to his mother, an arrangement that seemed to have been both mutually agreeable and acceptable. But now - Tom leaned against the workbench, noticing things that he hadn't had a chance to notice before. More gray in his father's hair, heavy bags under his eyes, deep lines in his forehead. And he was paler than he'd ever been. "Are you okay, Dad?"

"What?"

"Are you okay?" Tom's brows drew low, a crinkle forming on the bridge of his nose. "I know that we haven't really had a chance to talk to each other while I've been here, but I've noticed that you've been looking a little rougher than normal."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"Just that you're looking old."

"I am old, Thomas." Jed nearly spit the word. "Ancient. Useless as tits on a bull."

"Dad. I'm not trying to start a fight."

"You're calling me old."

"I just said - " Groaning, Tom wrenched himself upright. "I didn't call you old. I just said that you're looking a little worse for the wear. I was showing concern."

"And somehow that's better?"

"Dad. Please."

Jed glared at his son before turning and picking up a screwdriver. "Forget it. I just wanted to have a talk with you, but it seems that nothing has changed."

"Oh, come on." Tommy turned, leaning his back against the edge of the bench, gathering his patience back up around him. "You know how I meant it."

"Go back inside, Tom." Fiddling with one of the many disembodied gauges on the table, Jed waved a dismissive hand at his son. "Here I thought that we could have a decent conversation, but - "

Muttering an expletive, Tom pushed off from the table and took several steps towards the door. He'd reached the table saw when he heard his father toss the gauge back down onto the table with a wretched sort of sigh.

"Tommy."

"What?" With another roll of his eyes, Tom stopped, shoving his hands down into his pockets as he spun a quarter-turn back towards his dad. "What?"

"Your mom's sick." Jed's voice was uncertain, weak, and thready. Once he'd spoken, he didn't seem to be able to stop talking. "She didn't want me to tell you all at Christmas, because she didn't want to ruin the holiday."

Tom's stomach dropped, his heart skipping a few beats before continuing at a quicker pace. "What do you mean, 'sick'?"

"She's sick. Really sick." Jed's stool creaked as he spun towards his son. "She'd been feeling poorly for a few weeks, and I finally convinced her to go get checked out. They did some tests. Blood tests, MRI, biopsies, the whole she-bang."

"And?"

"She's got cancer. Leukemia of some sort. I can't remember the right terms. Damned name's a million words long. She's had it for a while, and just hasn't known it."

"How bad is it?" Tom's hands had tightened into fists in his pockets, his heart beating erratically. "What stage?"

If anything, the old man's face became even more haggard, more drawn. His lips quivered as much as his voice when he finally answered. "Doctor says that he's not too hopeful. She's going to have some lymph nodes removed the day after Mindi leaves, and she'll start chemotherapy right after New Year's."

"Geez, Dad. Chemotherapy? Surgery? And you didn't think it was necessary to tell us?"

"I left it to your mother, and she decided not to." The excuse was weak, and Jed apparently knew it. "I didn't agree with her, but it was her choice."

"Then why are you telling me now?"

"Dunno."

"I'm not an idiot, Dad." Tom clenched his jaw before continuing. "Why now?"

"I don't know, Tom."

And it seemed that was the only answer that the old man had. Tom clamped his mouth shut, glaring through the dusty afternoon light to where Jed stood. There are some questions that hurt to ask. Tom felt this one all the way to his toes. "What's the prognosis?"

It took a long, long time for Jed to answer. When he finally did, his eyes were glistening oddly. "A few months, maybe."

"A few months?"

"If we're lucky."

"Damn it, Dad." Tom stepped towards his father, pulling his hands from his pockets. "Why the hell didn't you tell us earlier?"

"She didn't want me to. She made me promise."

"Does Mindi know?"

But Jed only shook his head, his jaw tight.

"And Rob?" He made a stupid kind of gesture towards the house. "He and Sophie have already left. They didn't have a chance to even understand or try to accept this."

"Like I said. Your mother - "

"We have a right to know, Dad." Tom slapped his hand on the table saw, sending a flurry of wood shavings and dust into the air. "We could have done things differently. Spent more time with her."

"She didn't want anything to be different than it would have been normally. She wanted Christmas to be happy."

"But - "

"It was her choice, Tommy." Jed stood, kicking the stool back and away from him. His voice was low and rough but carefully controlled. "And believe me - I'm not happy about it either, but she gets what she wants. This is her choice. It's her life."

Tom raked his fingers through his hair, heedless of the mess he was making. His body felt raw. Anger - pain - disbelief. He was hot all over. Hot and heavy and too-full - like his soul was going to explode. The metal of the table saw was cold beneath his palm, and gritty with dirt and sawdust. Rasping his hand against the table, he fought to control the frantic pace of his breathing, the pain settling in his heart. "What else can we do? Have you gotten a second opinion?"

"Tommy." Jed faded a little, shuffling forwards towards his son. "She's had a second opinion. And a third and fourth opinion. If there was anything that we could do - "

"So that's it?"

"Son." Jed stopped within an arm's reach of Tom. "I -"

And then Tom saw it. Saw him. Saw the frightened, lost man beneath his father's warrior-tough exterior. He'd never considered his father to be fragile before, never considered the fact that his father could ever be terrified or worried or vulnerable. But there it was, hovering beneath his dad's expression like a shark beneath the ice of a frozen lake. Jed Chandler had always just been - Dad. The Old Man. The Army Ranger. Determined, and stubborn and as hard-assed as they came.

But now -

"Damn it, Dad." Tom's voice gentled, but he couldn't look the old man in the face right then, couldn't meet that broken expression because it meant that, for so many years, he'd been wrong about something that he'd been certain that he knew. Jed wasn't past feeling. He wasn't incapable of basic human emotion. His father hid what he was feeling because he was afraid of losing what he loved. Couldn't face the possibility of being alone in the world. He felt too strongly, too completely, too much. And then he hid it all from the world.

Traits that he'd apparently passed on to his son.

"She didn't want me to tell you." Jed sounded small, and unsure, and weak. "She's going to kill me when she finds out that you know."

Shaking his head, Tom allowed his eyes to drift closed, only somewhat surprised when moisture mixed with the workshop grit there. Blinking rapidly, he swiped at his face with an open palm. "Mom adores you, Dad. That's something we've always known - even if we didn't understand it. She'll forgive you."

"Not immediately."

"I think she'll be able to put it into perspective."

"Yeah." Steepling his fingertips on his hips, Jed sighed. "Maybe you're right."

The dust swirled through the beams of light filtering in through the dirty shop windows. It was beautiful in its way - like the pictures of nebulas and gas clouds in space. Tom watched a particular mote as it swirled through the sunlight until it was lost to shadow on the other side. A fleeting bit of grace in the filthy stuff of life.

"I'm sorry, Son." Low, rough, Jed's words echoed the pain that he was obviously feeling. "I'm sorry."

"Me too, Dad."

"I'm just - " Jed struggled for a bit before simply ducking his head to his chest. "Aw, hell."

The heat rose behind Tom's eyes again, and he found himself crossing the distance between himself and his dad, found himself wrapping his arms around his father for the first time since he was a child. He'd never realized how much taller he was than his dad, how much the toil of war and stress and training had taken on the older man's body. Jed had always appeared to be a giant, but at this exact moment, he seemed only a breath away from crumpling.

"We'll get through this." Tom lowered his head to rest on his dad's shoulder - that shoulder that had always seemed able to carry the weight of the entire world. The one that had hefted him as he'd slept, held Christmas trees, duffel-sacks full of baseball equipment, and the weapons of war. The one that his mother had snuggled against as his parents had watched Johnny Carson on their brand new colored set. The shoulder that had always seemed rigid and inflexible.

The shoulder that was now shaking with the brutal force of his father's grief.