The guys looked at each other, all three of them.
“Probably,” Kane offered. “Yeah.”
I sat down. Pulled on the ribbon. It fell away, and I lifted the lid, wondering what in the world they were collectively giving me.
Inside the box was a beautiful, leather-bound book. I took it out, surprised at its weight. How heavy and warm it felt in my hands.
“Open it.”
I flipped the cover, and there he was: Connor. Staring back at me through time. Flashing me the most beautiful, wonderful smile… a smile I almost forgot he had. Almost, but not quite.
I think I gasped. Covered my mouth with my hands. But then I was flipping through the book, page after page, picture after wonderful picture of my brother in the prime of his life.
Tears welled up instantly, then began to fall. They streamed down my cheeks so quickly I had to lean back to avoid them dropping onto the beautifully embossed pages.
“Here.”
One of them handed me a tissue, but it wasn’t nearly enough. I might need a hundred.
“I…”
The sentence failed. Words were absolutely meaningless. I kept flipping and sobbing, over the most amazing set of photographs I’d ever laid eyes on. Connor, in various uniforms, camos, and fatigues. Standing or kneeling in the most exotic locales. Grinning back at me, first from a ship, then from a desert, then from some tropical beach with a bright blue sky.
There were dozens of photos. Hundreds. Lots of pictures had the guys in them as well. Photos of Connor and Maddox holding their rifles, shoulder to shoulder. Photos of my brother with Kane and Austin, playing cards in a quonset hut.
“Keep going,” Maddox said.
I flipped some more, and suddenly I saw myself. It was a picture taken while we teenagers, or at least while I was. Connor and I stood together, embracing and laughing, as if the photographer had done something funny. Or as if the two of us were sharing some secret, silent joke.
I reached out blindly for more tissues. They were handing them to me as fast as I could grab them.
“There’s more.”
In the last few pages of the book, the photographs were much older. I was young in them. Connor too. And also…
“Oh my God…”
My parents stood there now, smiling back at me. My mother and father looked heartbreakingly young, the way I remembered them. There were twenty or thirty photos like this. Family photos. Images of birthday parties and picnics and holidays. Of barbecues outdoors, of camping and hiking and rollerskating.
I paused at an especially precious one, of Connor and I tearing open presents on Christmas morning. I choked back even more tears, remembering that particular day.
“These were among your brother’s things,” said Maddox, “that somehow never made it back to you. They were on base with him. He kept them in a special envelope, and took it wherever he went.”
I was smiling now. Even laughing. Laughing through my tears.
“You should’ve gotten these a long time ago obviously,” Austin said. “But after what happened… it’s a blessing that you didn’t.”
I thought about the fire. About how these things would’ve be utterly and completely gone. I felt a stab of panic at the thought, but they were here now. Here where they belonged, safe in my hands.
“I… I don’t know what to…”
“Say?” Kane offered, finishing the thought.
He’d left the counter and was kneeling beside me now. I dabbed at my eyes and sniffed.
“Say you’ll make even more memories with us,” Kane said gently. “Add pages to this book. That you’ll add another book’s worth of photographs, and then another.”
I looked at him, then Austin, then Maddox. My beautiful blond SEAL smiled down at me and nodded.