I did not respond.
“I should have said something,” she continued. “Every time he made one of those remarks. Every time Brandon copied him. I told myself I was keeping peace.”
“You were.”
“No. I was keeping quiet.”
That was the first honest thing anybody in my family had said about our dynamic in years.
Mom took a breath.
“Brandon is scared.”
“I’m sure.”
“He thinks his career is over.”
“That isn’t my decision.”
“I know.”
Another breath.
“I’m not asking you to fix it.”
I pressed my thumb against my palm.
“Thank you.”
“He wants to talk to you.”
I looked toward the dark window.
“No.”
“Okay.”
The lack of argument startled me.
“Not now,” I added.
“Okay.”
Mom and I stayed on the phone for another fifteen minutes.
We talked about almost everything except Brandon.
When I hung up, there were tears on my face.
I had not noticed them starting.
The inspection concluded two days later.
The Sterett performed well overall.
There were deficiencies.
There were strengths.
There were recommendations.
There was no revenge hidden in the report.
When Captain Keene received the preliminary outbrief, I watched some tension leave his shoulders.
Afterward, he requested a private moment.
“Admiral, thank you.”
“For what?”
“For keeping the inspection separate.”
“It was supposed to be separate.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He hesitated.
“I wish I could say everyone would have done the same.”
I gathered my notes.
“Then expect more from them.”
He nodded.
Before I left, Keene said, “Petty Officer Owens has requested permission to speak with you before you depart.”
I stopped.
“Officially?”
“No, ma’am. As your brother.”
My first instinct was no.
My second was also no.
But beneath both was something I had carried for decades.
Not hope exactly.
Maybe unfinished business.
“Five minutes,” I said.
Captain Keene arranged a small conference room.
Brandon entered without an escort.
He looked different.
Not destroyed.
Smaller.
No grin.
No performance.
He remained near the door.
I stayed standing.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Finally he said, “I’m sorry.”
I studied him.
“For what?”
His eyes moved away.
“That day.”
“What part?”
He looked at me sharply.
I held his gaze.
He understood.
“The jokes.”
“And?”
“Touching you.”
“And?”
He exhaled.
“Not stopping.”
I waited.
His jaw tightened.
“And embarrassing you.”
There it was.
Almost.
But not quite.
I asked, “Why did you think my uniform was fake?”
He rubbed his hands together.
“I didn’t actually think it was fake.”
The room went very still.
“Then why did you say you did?”
“Because…”
He stopped.
I waited.
Brandon looked toward the wall.
“Because when I saw you, I just thought…”
“What?”
“I thought you were showing off.”
“By wearing my uniform to conduct an inspection?”
“I didn’t know about the inspection.”
“You knew I was an admiral.”
He said nothing.
“Didn’t you?”
His face reddened.
“I knew you said you made rear admiral.”
“You knew.”
“Yes.”
“And you understand rank insignia.”
“Yes.”
“So you saw my uniform. You saw my stars. You knew what they meant.”
“I wasn’t thinking.”
“No.”
I stepped closer.
“You were thinking exactly what Dad taught you to think.”
Brandon’s eyes hardened.
“Don’t bring him into this.”
“Why?”
“Because this is between you and me.”
“No. It stopped being between you and me when you decided humiliating me in front of your shipmates was entertainment.”
He flinched.
I had never spoken to him like that.
Not without retreating.
Not without smoothing the words afterward.
Brandon shook his head.
“You always thought you were better than us.”
There it was.
The hidden accusation.
The thing beneath thirty years of jokes.
I stared at him.
“Because I got promoted?”
“Because you left.”
“I joined the Navy.”
“You left home. You went to college. Officer program. Graduate school. Every time you came back, you had another title.”
“You enlisted.”
“That was different.”
“Why?”
“Because Dad understood it.”
The answer escaped him before he could stop it.
We both heard it.
Brandon looked down.
I spoke more quietly.
“So this was never about me thinking I was better than you.”
He said nothing.
“It was about you needing Dad to think you were better than me.”
His face tightened.
“That’s not fair.”
“Maybe not.”
I folded my arms.
“But is it true?”
Brandon looked at me.
For once, there was no joke available.
No crowd.
No father.
No excuse.
His eyes filled, though no tears fell.
“You know what he said when you made captain?”
I waited.
“He told me not to worry about it.”
Something inside me went cold.
Brandon gave a humorless laugh.
“I wasn’t worried until he said that.”
I said nothing.
“He acted like your promotion was something that happened to me.”
That sounded exactly like Dad.
Brandon looked toward the floor.
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