Chapter 7 - A Home for Grace
By the end of the month, the insurance disbursement and survivor benefits were fully processed. Under Captain Vance's guidance, the funds were placed into an irrevocable trust: the David A. Morgan Memorial Trust, managed by a licensed independent fiduciary, designated solely for Grace’s healthcare, housing, and higher education. I set up a modest monthly survivor benefit allowance to cover our living expenses.
With the help of David’s battalion spouses, I found a small cedar-shingle home five miles off-post, nestled near the edge of a quiet lake surrounded by Douglas firs. It had a fenced yard, a porch bathed in morning sunlight, and a spare room with large windows that would become Grace’s nursery.
Derek helped me move the boxes. My Honda Civic sat in the driveway, fully detailed, the keys permanently in my pocket.
"What are you going to do now, Derek?" I asked as we unpacked David’s books into the small living room.
Derek set down a box and pulled a folded brochure from his pocket. It was an application for the local union apprenticeship program in heavy diesel mechanics.
"I took the placement test on Wednesday," he said, his chest puffing out slightly. "I scored in the top tier. The union hall is in Tacoma. I found a studio apartment near the sound. Dad came by my friend’s place yesterday trying to talk me into coming back to the shop. Said he was drowning."
"What did you say?"
Derek looked at me, his eyes clear and resolute. "I told him he had twenty years to learn how to swim. I told him David showed me what a real man looks like, and he wasn't it."
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We stood by the window, watching the breeze ruffle the surface of the lake. For the first time since the green notification sedan had pulled into my driveway six weeks ago, I felt a clean, unbroken breath expand in my chest. We were not victims anymore; we were architects of our own survival.
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