***
The barrel of Brooke’s 9mm Ruger LCR double-action revolver wobbled slightly on the hot metal hood of the cruiser. John squinted his left eye shut and peered through the gun’s sight. Orange plugs filled his ears, and Eric stood right behind him, hunched over and making sure John was on target.
“Keep it steady. Just line up the sight and squeeze the trigger,” Eric said.
John’s finger rested on the trigger and, in one quick motion, pulled it back. The pistol bucked upward, and the 9mm shell ejected and clinked against the cruiser’s roof. A spray of sand flew into the air next to an empty bean can. John let out a sigh, and Eric patted him on the back.
“It’s all right. Just try it again,” Eric said.
“Yeah, John! You can do it!” Emily said, watching from inside the cruiser. Pieces of two similar orange plugs filled her smaller ears. Her hair flopped up and down as she bounced on the front seat.
John realigned the bean can in the pistol’s sights. He tried to keep the revolver steady, but the sight would slowly waver back and forth from the target. He tightened his arms and shoulders, attempting to stabilize his stance. The bean can finally rested permanently along the tip of the revolver’s barrel. He pulled the trigger, and the bullet made contact, sending the can flying backward into the desert.
“Nice shot!” Eric said.
John smiled. He could feel the strain of his shoulders and arms from the recoil. He wiped the beads of sweat forming on his forehead and handed the gun back to Eric like he’d showed him, with the barrel pointed away from anyone and his finger off the trigger.
“Good job. You’ve got your dad’s eye for shooting,” Eric said.
“Really?” John asked.
“Yeah, just be thankful you didn’t get his back hair. Gross.”
John had always been told he looked like his dad. The similarities grew along with his age. He’d once seen a picture of his father in high school, and even he had to admit the resemblance was unmistakable. A sense of pride rushed through him whenever someone told him he did things like his father. It made him feel like his dad wasn’t completely gone.
“What was my dad like when he was younger? Back when he first joined the Marines?” John asked.
“He was one of the toughest… Emily do you still have your ear plugs in?” Eric asked.
“What?” Emily asked.
Eric turned back to John. “One of the toughest sons of bitches I’d ever seen. He’d be real proud of you for helping take care of the family and making it this far.”
The smile across John’s face started to fade. Proud of what? He hadn’t done anything to help. His mother was the one who had saved Emily. Eric was the one who had rescued his mom in Phoenix. All John had done was tag along for the ride.
“I haven’t done much,” John said.
“Whoa, hey. What are you talking about? You being here, watching over your sister, that’s a big job. One that I know your dad would be glad you’re doing.”
“You really think so?”
“I do.”
John desperately wanted to make his father proud. He’d heard the stories of how Jason had saved people, facing death fearlessly. He knew his dad had saved Eric in Iraq a long time ago. Would I be able to do that? Would I be able to face death and save the people around me?
“Is it scary?” John asked.
“Is what scary?” Eric replied.
“Knowing you might die.”
“Hey, that’s not something you have to worry about for a long time.”