Total pages in book: 216
Estimated words: 206530 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1033(@200wpm)___ 826(@250wpm)___ 688(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 206530 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1033(@200wpm)___ 826(@250wpm)___ 688(@300wpm)
Xavier yanks back from me. “I’ve gotta go check on the horses. Stay here.”
He turns and stomps out the door, grabbing his coat and hat before slamming it behind him.
Xavier’s father sits down heavily in his chair at the table and sinks his head in his hands. I wonder just how old he is and if Xavier isn’t wrong about his motivations for coming here. Sure, he might still have political aspirations for his son—you don’t get to his position in American politics without being an extremely motivated man… but maybe he just wants his son back, too.
Men. I sigh, thinking of how my own father spent his life trying to protect me because he loved me but ended up screwing things up so royally.
Why couldn’t he have just said the words?
I love you.
Three simple words that seem so impossible for these emotionally stunted men.
The words Xavier has yet to say to me.
I walk toward the door, looking at Xavier’s retreating shape through the heavy sheets of rain. I press my hand to the glass. More than anything, I want to run after him but I have the feeling he needs to be alone.
I turn back and look at his dad. “So what exactly happened? There were protests at the airbase? And,” I gulp down tears, “someone threw acid at him?”
Pritchard looks up at me, bags that I didn’t notice before heavy underneath his eyes. “He’s right. I did send him there because I thought it would look good for his career. But if I’d had any idea.” His face crumbles and he looks away from me. “If I’d known it would have lost me my son…” His voice trails off.
After a few long seconds, he finally continues, still facing away from me. “He went to Afghanistan as a commissioned officer, a lieutenant. He was a good officer. He was always a natural leader. Probably why we got into as many scuffles as we did during his growing up.”
He shakes his head. “He was only there two months when it happened. Barely enough time to get his feet wet and no chance at all to really get a feel for the place. No one blamed him.”
“What happened?” I press.
“He was stationed at the detention center at the base. Not a top position but he had responsibility enough. He was smart and he discovered that Taliban prisoners were using their religious text as a means of communicating with each other. They were writing notes in the margins of the Qurans in the prisoner’s library. Xavier reported it and had his men remove the Qurans.”
Pritchard’s head bows. “Well, apparently some of them thought that removing the Qurans meant sending them to the incinerator, not just taking them out of circulation and sending them up the line of command.”
I frown. “Okay.”
Pritchard finally turns and looks at me. “You don’t get it. Burning a holy book is enough to start a jihad over there.”
Oh no. My stomach sinks. I’m starting to get where this is going.
“Some Afghan workers on base saw the Qurans in the incinerator pile and pulled them out, half-burned.” He closes his eyes. “They told the Afghan guard and went to the press. The entire country started rioting. The airbase itself was taking a constant barrage of petrol bombs and stones. One of the Afghan soldiers the Americans were training within the gates started shooting American soldiers before being shot down. Another threw open the gates to the rioters. Seven American soldiers died at that site alone. Some of the other rioters had bottles of acid.”
I step back, a fist to my mouth, but Pritchard’s not done.
“Xavier shouldn’t have even been there.” He shakes his head, devastated eyes beseeching mine. “He was stationed inside the detention facility. But as soon as he realized what had happened and that the facility was surrounded by protestors and rioters, he immediately went to the front lines of the air base’s defenses.”
He drinks down the rest of his water like it’s a shot glass. “Damn fool.”
I look toward the door. “Hero,” I whisper. Then I look back up at him. “But none of it was his fault.”
His father laughs darkly. “Try telling him that. He blames himself for not stressing to those under his command how holy documents should be treated. For not walking the Qurans personally to HQ after he discovered them.” He gestures toward the door. “For living when other men died. You heard him.”
I look out the window. It’s raining even harder now and lightning flashes, illuminating the dark sky. It should only be near twilight, but with the storm, it looks to be full dark.
Where is Xavier?
Is he having trouble with the horses?
I cross my arms and then stop and look down, surprised like I am all the time by my suddenly larger stomach.