Without even looking at him, Alana went up to his office. He heard her opening and closing drawers. She came down, went into the bedroom, and closed the door. Brandon heard the latch being locked from inside. When he woke up in the guest bedroom next morning, still fully clothed, he went to his office. As he feared, all the hard drives had disappeared. Alana, who knew the master password for the computer, had apparently changed it. He couldn’t log on at all. Hearing Alana down in the kitchen, he went down, feeling defeated, ashamed, and full of foreboding. It looked as if Alana hadn’t slept well at all. Her eyes were red—she’d been crying—and her hair disheveled. She looked at him without saying anything while he poured himself a coffee. “I’m sorry, honey. I don’t know what to say. Whatever you want, I’ll do. I just want it to be like before.” “Like before? No, absolutely not!” she said. “It has got to be different, got to be better. You’re not going off to jerk yourself behind. “That was a pretty shitty deal he got from the government, doing what he thought was his duty, serving the country, only to get cancer from it. How are you holding up? Sorry, that’s a silly question, I know it has to be so hard for you.”“Well, it’s one of those situations where I guess all along I knew what the end result would be; the oncologist didn’t sugar coat things, he told Dennis and me right from the start that the chances of a recovery were pretty slim. But despite knowing that, Dennis would never give up. The hardest part, at the end, was seeing him in pain, I could hear him saying, it was like he was praying ‘please, let me go’. It broke my heart to see him suffering, and I couldn’t do a single thing about it. That’s why I got the hospice people in from the hospital, Will, those nurses are pure angels, how they can do their job, knowing the people they are looking after will never recover, but day after day, they came here, bathed him, made him feel comfortable, gave him.
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