Free The Night Singers by Valerie Miner Page A

happened late at twilight, you know, when it’s hard to see. The ordinance truck was moving in reverse. We had a new man at the wheel, but it wasn’t really his fault. The back-up horns weren’t functioning. And there was so much construction racket, he couldn’t tell.”
    She nodded, appreciating his patient rendition. Yes, she had read it in the court martial report. At first she was enraged that the driver had been acquitted, but time loosened her grip on retribution. An accident. Brandon was killed in an accident. Somehow being here, listening to Sergeant Mackie felt more solemn and momentous than his funeral had. That ceremony was held for a dead body. This spot represented the place where he gave his life for another soldier. (Private Landsman had written to tell her how sorry he was, how grateful. He told her he’d never met a braver man. The innocent pedestrian Landsman was now back in Milwaukee working at his father’s laundromat.) Sergeant Mackie had raced over to do CPR and then saw that it was too late. In some ways she was grateful to be here with Mackie rather than Landsman. She couldn’t help wondering if Landsman’s life had been worth it, if you put Brandon and Landsman up on a stage, wouldn’t most people pick Brandon?
    â€œBrandon was working over there. When he saw Landsman in trouble, he shouted, but there was too much commotion for Landsman to hear. As I said, it was so noisy that the driver didn’t notice the faulty back-up horn. So Brandon dropped his tools and pushed Landsman across the road. And then he tried—this is what I don’t completely get but as you say, Brandon could be stubborn—he stood there waving fiercely to the driver to stop before he hit anyone else. Then, oh, what a terrible moment, the truck kept rolling backwards.” His voice broke.
    She wept into her Kleenex.
    Lightly, chivalrously, Mackie touched her shoulder with his trembling hand.
    Her advisor at Oregon State had urged her toward graduate school, said she’d have a flourishing career in biochemistry. He said she was too smart to be a grade school teacher, but she knew the comment just revealed his ignorant, if well-intentioned, mentoring. She wanted to teach science to children for a while and then raise a family of her own, take her kids to dance and art lessons. Brandon was drawn to family from another direction: as much as he loved Jennifer, he longed for someone who was related to him by flesh and blood.
    The strain—if it could be called that—occurred several years into their marriage. They both wanted children and weren’t having any luck. If ever two people would be devoted parents, it was the Petrie-Tobins.
    Half-heartedly he agreed to go to the fertilisation clinic in snazzy Scottsdale. The docs found nothing wrong, but suggested artificial insemination. When that failed, a specialist proposed in vitro. They had just collected the fertilised eggs when the option about going to Germany arose. As he reached the end of his duty, Brandon was called in by his commander. Such an exceptional soldier—stalwart, obedient, brave, bright—should think of the military as a career. Brandon demurred. At least consider a posting in Germany to think it over, the commander counselled.
    Neither of them fancied an Army life. Brandon yearned for non-institutional environment after the orphanage, the university, the military. They both wanted adventures. Brandon was eager to enroll in a training scheme at a local microchip firm. He had a solid electrical engineering degree from Oregon State and the company would pay him to learn on the job. Business was booming in the Valley of the Sun. He would soon get a lucrative position; Jennifer could stay home and raise the kids; soon they’d save enough for a little house on the outskirts of Phoenix.
    Jennifer felt torn. She ached to move back to the Northwest, to be near her family, return to reasonable