It's Sunday evening, and everyone is settled again in the small sitting room, full from a pasta dinner which Fabrizio and his wife had prepared for everyone. Josephine is on the sofa reading aloud from her book for school to Rose and Molly who are listening intently. Julia and Miranda are seated nearby playing a game of chess, and Jack is sitting across the room, conversing in Italian with Fabrizio while he sketches Rose and Jo curled up on the couch. Will is in the corner assembling a model plane, and Fabrizio's children are sprawled on the floor, tossing a ball back and forth for Chaplin to chase.
Struck with a sudden need to relieve herself, as she often has nowadays, Rose stands slowly and excuses herself from the room, aware of Jack's eyes following her as she goes. The closer she gets to being due, the more Jack is hyper-aware and clued in to her every move and mood, not that she can blame him. When it comes down to it he is much more anxious about the birth of this baby than she is, considering she has done this before.
The downstairs washroom is small and cramped, holding nothing but a toilet and a sink, and so there is not much room for Rose to move around in her pregnant state. She has gotten much bigger this time around than she remembers being with Josephine, something which the doctor had assured her had everything to do with her age and better general health.
Despite doing her business, she's still feeling an odd pressure in her abdomen as she washes her hands and checks her appearance in the mirror. She looks a little disheveled, having not bothered to contain her curls today, which have once again grown below her shoulders, but she doesn't really care here at home. Jack likes her hair down, and nobody is around to see her but friends and family. Feeling a flutter of movement from the baby, she rests her hand there. Just from the amount of movement over the past few months, she can tell that this child is going to be extremely active, and it already seems to have a temperament and personality. Her mind drifts to the previous night laying in bed with Jack, and how he had rested his ear against her belly, talking to the baby— letting it know how loved he or she is, and how excited they are to meet them. Any time she thinks she can't possibly love Jack more he proves her wrong.
Deciding to get back to the sitting room before Jack gets worried and comes looking for her, as he is bound to do if she's gone too long, she only makes it a few steps down the hall when pain of a sudden contraction rips through her, making her call out, and she feels sudden warmth run down her legs.
Jack is the first one around the corner in spite of his limp, his face lit with concern verging on panic. As he reaches her side, she grasps onto his forearms for support.
"Are you okay? What—"
He notices the wetness hitting the floor, his eyes snapping up to meet hers.
"It's time, Jack. The baby," she says between deep breaths as she works through the first slight contraction.
"Now?" He asks, dumbfounded.
"You gonna make her stand there all day, son?" Molly pipes up, and that seems to snap Jack out of his daze and into movement.
"Right, no, of course not."
She can see the wheels in his mind turning as he thinks through what needs to be done. It's early still, by almost a month. They hadn't yet fully prepared everything I they might need for this moment.
Bracing her behind her back, he starts to lead her down the hallway.
"Fabri, buddy, I'm sorry, we're gonna have to kick you out of the guest room for the night. I don't want Rose walking up the stairs."
His friend shrugs and his wife nods. "Whatever you need, Jack."
"Jo," his eyes land on his daughter, "Do me a favor and grab towels and sheets from the linen closet. Whatever you can find. Jules, will you run to town and fetch the doctor?"
His sister nods. "I'll drive," volunteers Molly.
Feeling a little more in control of the situation now that tasks have been given out, he starts walking Rose down the hallway to the guest room. It only takes Jack and Miranda a few minutes to get the bed set up once Jo returns with linens, and they settle Rose in, sitting up as much as possible.
"Jack," Rose says looking at her husband, who has gone a little pale, his good leg bouncing anxiously as he sits in a chair next to her bedside. His eyes meet hers, and she can't help the amused expression she probably bears. "Darling, aren't you the one who is supposed to be telling me to breathe and not the other way around?" She asks, making him chuckle, and let out the breath he hadn't realized he had been holding.
"You're right," he says, pushing her hair back from her face. "I just didn't expect this so soon."
"It'll be okay, Jack," she reassures him. "I'll be okay. A month early isn't unheard of. I think we have a long night ahead."
Julia and Molly arrive back with the doctor just as Rose has another contraction. She's squeezing onto Jack's hand but its tolerable and he thinks that maybe this won't be so bad after all. Miranda seems to register his thought, and shakes her head at him. "Don't worry, Jack, this is nothing yet. You'll know when it really starts."
Rose shoots a glare towards Miranda, who apparently thinks its funny to raise Jack's anxiety again when he's finally calmed down. Miranda had been there for Josephines birth, however, and remembers all too well Rose clinging to her arm and screaming bloody murder.
The doctor comes around the bed, first taking Rose's temperature and checking her heart rate.
"How long ago did the waters break?" He asks, looking to Jack.
"About half an hour ago."
"And how many contractions since?" He asks, as Rose's grip on Jack loosens again.
"Two," she answers, speaking for herself.
Are you comfortable with your husband remaining in the room, Mrs. Dawson?" The doctor asks, and Rose nods, surprised that that is even up for discussion.
"I won't do it without him," she answers, and Jack nods, hoping that his apprehension isn't too apparent to the doctor.
"Right then," says the kindly man, glancing between them. " I cannot yet tell you how long it will be. It's your job, Jack, to keep calm, and to keep your Rose here calm as well. I'm sure your guests can keep everything else in hand."
At this Miranda and Julia pipe up their reassurance.
Everyone settles in to wait, the excitement in the house palpable. Wanting to be of use, Fabrizio brings water for Rose, and coffee for both Jack and the doctor, and shortly after that they can hear him begin to play his violin in the sitting room, keeping the children entertained. The puppy, who seems to instinctively understand what is going on settles in to keep watch by the doorway, and cries a bit each time Rose has to breathe through the pain of a contraction.
As the evening passes into night, Jack keeps Rose distracted by talking about anything and everything— his travels as a teen and young adult, artwork he's seen, people he's met— how ready he is to meet this baby. As time goes on, Rose's contractions grow steadily more frequent and intense. By eleven o'clock that night the doctor is satisfied that Rose is ready to start pushing.
As for her part, at this point all Rose wants is to have this baby as quickly as possible so the pain will stop. She is trying to remain calm and steady as much for Jack's sake as her own, but she's quickly losing her ability to do so. She doesn't want to scare him, but each contraction is now sending her close to screaming and its all she can do to grip his arm like a vice as he tries in vain to get her to breathe with him. Miranda is hovering over her on the other side, wiping her forehead with a cool damp towel, and that is making her even more agitated and she doesn't want to say so.
"Ahhhhgh god damn it, Jack!" She yells, her nails digging into his forearm making him yelp. "No more children!" She tries to take deep steady breaths as the pain passes, and she can hear his sister bark a laugh from the hallway at her brother being yelled at. Jack has a sheepish but concerned look on his face as he just nods.
"Alright, Rose. Whatever you want," he tells her. "You've got this sweetheart. Take a deep breath and just squeeze my hand as you push."
The doctor is directing Rose through it for another hour or so. Finally, at a quarter past midnight on October 31, a baby is born.
Jack hears a cry sound over Rose's screams of exertion, and gives a "whoop!"
He leans forward, kissing Rose's sweat soaked forehead as she strains to see the baby.
"A girl," the doctor announces. For a moment, everyone is distracted as they watch the new baby girl greet the world, but as Rose gives another sharp cry, and grips Jack's hand like a vice, they're brought back to reality.
"Jack— something's wrong," says Rose, and she gives another guttural cry, still having the urge to push much more strongly than she should for afterbirth. The doctor hands the baby off to Miranda who is still standing nearby and turns his attention back to Rose, realizing that his job is not yet finished.
"It's okay, Rose," Jack assures her, although he looks terrified now as he looks to the doctor, knowing that she shouldn't be in this much pain anymore.
"It is okay, isn't it?" He asks, and the doctor looks up at him with surprise coloring his features.
"Damn it, tell me its okay. I can't lose her!" He all but yells, his thoughts clouding with fear and sudden thoughts of what he would do, left without his Rose again.
"You're not losing her, Mr. Dawson," the doctor tells him still looking surprised. "There's another baby."
"What?" Jack and Rose shout, almost in unison.
"Mrs. Dawson, you need to keep pushing. You're almost there. I can see the top of its head. You're having twins."
The laugh that escapes Jack's lips is completely unbidden— a sound of pure relief and incredulity. Focusing in on Rose, he meets her eyes, squeezing her hand back. "Alright, Rose," he tells her. "You're gonna be fine. One more time. One more big push and we can meet our babies."
And one more big push really is all it takes. Within seconds, another Dawson baby has arrived, its cries joining its sister.
"It's a boy," says the doctor with a smile.
"You hear that, Rose? A boy! We have two babies, sweetheart!" His shock over unexpected twins subsiding, Jack is over the moon.
"Twins, just like you and Jules," says Rose with a tired smile. She knows she has a little more work to do before she's done, but for the moment she can't take her eyes off of the babies being cleaned up by Miranda and Julia.
Before she knows it, the whole ordeal is finally over after eight long months, and she's being propped up, her babies delivered to her arms. The love that has swelled within her as she looks on the babies who have begun to settle down is enough to make her cry. Bright blue eyes like Jack's— like Josephine's— are gazing up at her with curiosity.
"Juliette Ruth and John Thomas Dawson," she says quietly, glancing up at Jack who is looking on in awe, now oddly quiet himself, and he meets her eye.
He reaches forward and gingerly sweeps the little wisps of soft hair from their foreheads, leaning forward to kiss each baby.
Everyone else has slipped from the room to give them some time, and Jack is now talking softly to them as their eyes focus on him, taking him in. He feels instantly attached to these little lives in a way he doesn't know how to describe. It's similar to the feeling of instant adoration he had felt the first time he met Josephine. The little girl, Juliette, has grabbed onto Jack's finger, as John has grasped Rose's. "Hello, my little ones." His voice is soothing. "I'm your papa, and this is your beautiful Mama."
He meets Rose's eyes, and she can't help but melt at the pure expression on his face. "We're so happy to meet you, and we can't wait for you to meet your big sister Josephine. We all love you so much."
As if summoned (and she may very well have been listening at the door), Josephine steps into the doorway looking unsure. Jack glances up, and ushers her to come inside, holding his arms out for her to come into his embrace between him and Rose on the bed. Now used to affection from Jack, she snuggles into him, perching on his lap as he drops a kiss to her strawberry hair. Rose, exhausted but happy, is overwhelmed with the amount of affection she feels for this small family they've made.
"Josephine, meet your sister Juliette, and your brother John," says Rose. "This is your big sister, my babies."
The look of wonder on Josephine's face as she peers down on her new siblings and the the love and pride shining from Jack makes everything worth it for Rose— the months of hormones and discomfort, the hours of pain and labor— the blood, sweat, and tears of it. Everything. She wouldn't trade her little family for anything in this world, and wishes that she could take this feeling of total peace and bottle it up to keep forever.
— — —
One by one, everyone has their introductions with the newest Dawsons, everyone expressing their joy and surprise over the unexpected twins. Only Julia, who is of course a twin herself, claims not to be surprised.
"I'm gonna be their favorite aunt," she announces. "Just like I was, Juliette is a big sister. She even looks like me a little, doesn't she?"
"You're their only aunt," Jack tells her, rolling his eyes. "And of course she looks like you, you look just like me." He's too happy and relieved at how well the delivery has gone to be bothered by her continual boasting over being born first.
"That might be true, but they do have Miranda and Molly, she points out.
Jack nods. "Actually," he says, "Rose and I haven't asked them yet, but we're thinking about asking Miranda and Molly to be their god mothers.
Julia smiles. "I think that's a great idea," she tells him. A beat passes and she looks contemplative, her grin growing.
"You know," she says, fully beaming now, "in all the excitement, I forgot. Happy birthday to us."
Jack laughs. It's early morning now, nearing dawn. In all the excitement, nobody but the children in the house have had any sleep yet. "Happy birthday, Jules," he tells her, kissing her cheek. I guess we gotta share our birthday now."
As she bids him goodnight and heads out with Molly and Miranda and a William who is asleep on his feet, he decides to step out onto the porch to have a quick cigarette before maybe getting some sleep himself. Fabrizio follows him out and offers a light.
"Thanks, fabri," Jack says, taking a deep drag— the familiar tobacco and nicotine soothing after such a long day of high emotions.
"Congratulations, Jack," his friend says. "You're very happy, yeah?"
Jack nods with a grin. "Thrilled," he answers, clapping a hand on his friend's shoulder.
"Not as bad as you thought, huh?" Asks Fabrizio. For the past few days Jack and Fabrizio had been talking on and off about what its like to be sit with a wife in labor. It had helped having his friend here, and hearing some reassurance from another man. While he knows that Rose had had complications with Josephine's birth, thankfully everything seems to have gone without a hitch this time, as long as you aren't counting a surprise second baby. Before the doctor had left, he had explained that the mere fact that Jack himself was a twin made the likelihood of him conceiving twins greater than most. Rose had admitted that she had suspicions that she should have probably voiced.
"Everything is just how you said, Jack," his friend tells him, taking a drag of his own cigarette.
"What do you mean?" Asks Jack, not sure that he knows what Fabrizio is referring to.
"Our lives. America. It's just like we talked about back in Venezia. Just like we said before the war. We have families and babies and real jobs. You do your art and I get to cook. You're with your Rosa."
Jack smiles at his friend. "You're right," he says with a nod.
An errant thought crosses his mind, and he wonders if he should bring it up. He's with Rose— the woman he loves, and had loved on the Titanic. The woman Fabrizio had fallen for had not survived, like Tommy. Like little Cora. Like far too many souls. All these years, Fabrizio had not mentioned it, and neither had Jack, not wanting to open a fresh wound.
Fabrizio seems to understand Jack's sudden shift in mood. He had much the same whenever the ship was brought up.
"Fabri, I'm sorry that not everything worked out," he tells his friend. "I'm sorry about Helga."
"Its okay, Jack. I think I loved her, but I also love Sofia and our babies. We're happy. Helga would have wanted that, yes?"
Jack nods, thinking of the young blonde woman who had beamed at the idea of dancing with his friend. He tries not to picture her fear as she clung to the railing as the ship went down— doesn't mention what he witnessed. "Yeah. I think she would."
Finishing his cigarette, he stubs it out in an ashtray on the railing and turns back towards the house. "I think I'm going to go join Rose and get what sleep I can before these babies wake us up. You should go join Sofia."
Jack surveys the house on his way to bed. Fabrizio's kids are asleep on the sofas in the living room. Miranda, William, and Julia have returned home for the night, with Molly staying at Julia's flat. Sofia is asleep upstairs in his and Rose's room for the night, as they hadn't wanted Rose making the trek upstairs so soon and Josephine is as well, in her own room. Walking through the hall and past the kitchen and his office, he passes the dog, still sleepily standing guard over Rose at the door, and he gives him a quick scratch under the chin before he goes in an closes the door. There is still a small lamp on in the corner of the room, and in the glow, Jack can see the newborn twins asleep together in a small crib placed next to the bed. Careful not to wake them, he plants gentle kisses on each forehead before removing his shoes and moving to crawl into the bed next to Rose.
"Jack?" She asks.
"Shh. Just me. Go back to sleep," he tells her as she stirs awake, and she does, settling into his chest, content as his fingers rise to comb through her hair.
As he's starting to doze off, he hears her whisper. "Happy Birthday, Jack," and her arm over his waist tightens a little in a hug.
He moves his lips to settle on her forehead, resting them there a he starts to doze again, and they sleep soundly, for at least two hours.
— — — —
As Christmas grows closer, they settle into a routine. Now the second week in December, Jack is back to taking occasional meetings about his illustrations. At everyone's insistence, Rose continues to stay home with the babies for now, using her spare time to write and take up pottery— a hobby Jack had suggested when she once again complained that her hands were made to work. He knew that his mother had an old pottery wheel in the attic, so all they had needed was the clay, and he had built her a nice outdoor kiln in the yard. Everyone admits, she is turning into a damn good ceramicist. They take turns waking up with the babies, with Jack arising first more often than not, unless they need feeding. He swears that at this point he has learned what the sound of each cry means, and they do cry a lot. He's not sure he had been fully prepared for just how much, but he would't trade it for the world.
Currently, he is on the first trip he has taken away from Chippewa Falls since the twins were born— to New York to meet with people from Reader's Digest, Women's Home Journal, and a group starting up a new publication called The New Yorker. Some of the most well-known names in the illustration industry—people Jack looks up to— want to meet him, and so Jack had no choice but to agree to make the trip, and Rose had been insistent and encouraging as always— his biggest supporter.
And so here he was, all the way in Manhattan, dreaming of home. Rose had joked before he left that he would be getting more sleep by being away than he had gotten in a month and he only wishes she had been right. It's the second night he's been in the city, staying at a hotel in Manhattan paid for by Reader's Digest. The first night he had called her twice to check on her and the babies before getting maybe a few hours. Tonight, after returning from a day of long meetings and dinner at Fabrizio's restaurant all the way in Brooklyn, it had been too late to call, and with nothing but Rose and his children on his mind he's finding sleep impossible. It's a bit incredible to Jack how in the span of less than a year he had gained a whole family, the wellbeing of which is constantly at the forefront of his mind. Every time he goes away for a day or two he's even more amazed at how much he misses just the presence of Rose next to him at night, and now how he keeps waking expecting to hear the cries of infants, or the barking of the dog, or Josephine's laughter. He now has a home to be homesick for.
Knowing that rest is futile, at least for the moment, he pulls his coat back on, still the green tweed of army surplus, and laces up his boots. He's wide awake in a whole city that doesn't sleep, so he may as well get out of his stuffy hotel room. The cold makes his leg ache as he walks but at the very least, he thinks, he can probably find a cafe or diner of some sort to sit in and sketch.
He's in Manhattan, close to central park, but decides to head further in towards Greenwich Village, the artists' neighborhood he squatted in as a teenager, and then lived in more legally after the sinking with Fabrizio when he had first begun looking for Rose.
It has been years since he has been in this area— before the war. He wanders through slowly, taking stock of the changes he notices. Many of the buildings are the same but some new businesses have opened and some had obviously changed hands. There are more lights nowadays, and a lot more cars— the din of the city it's own symphony, the steam rising from manhole covers providing cover from anyone who may be watching from windows high above. In a way Jack feels like he is walking in a different world, so far away from the rustic comfort and idyllic warmth of his life in Chippewa Falls with Rose and Josephine and the twins. He wishes keenly that she were here walking with him; he can picture the two of them together in a different life, perhaps a little younger and without kids, wandering through the Villiage together hand in hand— what life may have been like had they actually been able to disembark the Titanic together upon reaching safe-harbor.
Distracted by his train of thought and ideas of what never was, he doesn't see the man walking on the other side of the sidewalk, and the impact of colliding jars Jack's leg painfully, making him grit his teeth and squeeze his eyes shut before regaining balance enough to see whom he had run into and apologize. "I'm so sorry—" he starts, and pauses. Upon opening his eyes, he feels his stomach sink and the blood drain from his face— absolutely sure that he is encountering a ghost or spectre.
"Charlie?" He asks, taking a step back from the man in front of him.
The man's eyes narrow in confusion. "You knew Charlie?" The man asks, prompting Jack to look closer at the man he had just collided with. Whoever this was looked so much like Jack's old war buddy- the one that Jack had been trying to save when that blast ruined his leg— the one who hadn't survived.
"I— yeah, I knew him," says Jack, nodding now. "Jack Dawson." He holds out his hand, giving a firm handshake. "I served with Charlie over in Europe. He was my best friend out there."
The man nods, shaking Jack's hand. "Allan," says the man. "Charlie was my older brother."
Jack nods again, recognizing the name now. Charlie had talked about Allan frequently— about how glad he was that Allan had been too young to be sent off to war. His brother, he had said, was brilliant, and Charlie had been glad he would be spared the atrocities of the front lines.
"Forgive me for mistaking you," says Jack. "You look so similar."
Allan nods a bit sadly, his eyes curious. "What are the odds, huh?" He asks. "Running into Charlie's old friend out here in the middle of the night. Were you the one who wrote to us?"
Seems to be my kind of luck, Jack thinks, but doesn't say so aloud. His brand of luck seems to have a habit of leading him into chance encounters like this. Instead he just nods, feeling a little awkward— like he should say something, offer some kind of condolence.
"Say," says Allan, looking like he feels a bit awkward himself, "how would you feel about grabbing a drink? I know a place not far from here."
Jack shrugs. "Sure," he responds amiably. "Lead the way."
The place is a speakeasy, alright, but a relatively tame one. There's none of the loud big band music, just a small quartet playing some soft jazz, and a small crowd of people talking amongst themselves. Allan seems to know the bartender and greets him kindly, securing two old fashions— one for each of them. "Hope you like bourbon," he says to Jack. "Charlie sure did."
Jack nods, accepting the cocktail. "He definitely did," says Jack, his settling on the handful of nights off he and his friend had gotten. "I like anything," he tells his new companion, still not quite over the shock of how similar this man looks to his late friend. He sounds like him too, with the same southern cadence.
"So," asks Allan once they're seated, "You knew Charlie in Europe?"
Jack nods. The face of his friend comes to his mind, a man he had met at boot camp when the both of them had felt way out of their element as they were tossed into physical conditioning and training. They had banded together as comrades, commiserated together, laughed together, at times cried together, and if it weren't for Jack's signature luck, if that's what you want to call it, they probably would have died together. They really were brothers in arms, and Jack hadn't delayed a second in jumping into the line of fire after seeing Charlie get hurt to try and save him— to pull him back into the trench where he could get some medical aid. Not being successful in that endeavor was one of Jack's biggest regrets, filling him with endless 'if-onlys.'
"I did," answers Jack slowly. "He was my best friend out there— truly like a brother. I'm so sorry for your loss."
Allan nods, seeing the sincerity in Jack's eyes, and takes a fortifying sip of his drink. "I know— I know it's probably hard for you to talk about. I can't imagine what it was like," says Allan, "but could you— how?"
Jack can tell he's struggling with how to phrase the question he really wants to ask.
"How did he die?" Asks Jack for him, and Allan nods.
Jack sits back a bit, taking his own rather large sip. It had been a long time since he had thought about the details of that day, and he had never tried to describe it to anyone in full— not even Rose. The date of his injury holds significance for her as well, in being the date of the sinking as well, and he hadn't wanted to frighten her with the coincidence.
"We were in Nieppe, in France, near the northern border. I think they later called it the Battle of Hazebrouck. The defence of the Nieppe Forest. We were stationed with the 55th West Lancashire division, holed up in the trenches, and the German line had been firing all night. They hadn't let up. On April 14, around sunrise, Charlie was given orders to make his way out and check a fuse. The Germans were expected to advance at any time and it was important that the fuses were set properly and ready to blow once they were close enough to our line."
Allan nods, absorbed in Jack's story. Jack himself, as he speaks, can see the chaos in his mind's eye— he can hear the sounds of battle— the distant shouting, the eerie silence and warning glow before a bomb lands. He can almost smell the gunpowder and explosive agent in the air.
"That was Charlie's job," Jack explains. "He was our fuse man— kind of an expert at it. He had done it so many times at this point that he probably wasn't thinking when he headed out, but this time it was already too light out— too late in the morning for him to have enough cover to get out and back unseen. The enemy fired three rounds, and I think it was the second that hit him."
Jack pauses, trying to bring himself back to reality a bit with a sip of his drink. Revisiting this memory was unsettling him more than he'd like to let on, but he knows that this man deserves to know how his brother died— how brave Charlie had been, and how selfless.
"Your brother put his life on the line every day for the rest of us. He was always the first out of the trench— the first to mark himself as a target because he didn't want harm to come to the rest of us. He was the bravest man I've ever met, and it was a privilege to call him my friend. After Charlie was hit, all hell broke loose. I jumped over the barricade, trying to get to him unseen, as did a few other men. We tried to drag him back, maybe to save him, but one of the men stepped on the fuse Charlie had just armed, and it went off. Charlie was too close to the blast, and our comrade died instantly as well. At that point, the Germans were also charging, firing heavily into the area. I remember the blast throwing both Charlie and I some feet away— remember taking a few bullets in my own leg, not to mention shrapnel from the bomb before the pain was too much and I myself lost consciousness. I woke up a week later in a hospital back in England, and that was where I was told that Charlie didn't survive. That is where I wrote your family from."
Jack reaches forward to Allan who is looking faraway now and very pensive, and clasps his shoulder. "I'm sorry," says Jack sincerely. "I'm sorry that I couldn't do more— that I couldn't save him in time. I still think all the time of what I could have done differently, and if it would have mattered."
Allan shakes his head sadly. "You tried, and that's what does matter. I'm just glad to finally hear the story— to know for sure what happened. All we got was a cold official letter from the military, and some of his effects— his dog tag, some old cigarettes and train tickets, photos of our Ma and our sister. His old smoking pipe. And then your letter, some months later." Allan reaches into his coat pocket, and pulls out a round metal disc on a cord which Jack instantly recognizes as a British military issue dog tag, stamped USA as country of origin, just like his. "I still carry it with me," Allan explains. "It has become my good luck piece. Ma wanted nothing not do with it. She won't even read your letter."
Jack pulls out his own, which he still carries tucked into his inside coat pocket and lays it on the table next to Charlie's before picking his up to look at it. Aside from the name, it is identical down to their division numbers.
"I don't know what you were told when you were given the news," says Jack, "but you gotta know, your brother died a hero. He put his life on the line for the rest of us every day."
"Thank you," says Charlie, "For telling me what happened. It will be nice not to wonder any longer. Thanks for taking the time to talk to a stranger."
"Of course," says Jack, handing back the dog tag. "Charlie was my family out there. If you ever need anything, don't hesitate to look me up."