The flames were warm and comforting, and as she watched they opened familiar windows into her past, into her memories. Beside her on the rug lay Jess, fully stretched out like an enormous bear-skin rug – one hundred pounds of German shepherd and her last living family member. Settling further into the old chair, Kathleen let her eyes wander over the angled line of photographs in their wood, silver or plastic frames on the mantelpiece. The first was of Jim Hunter, her husband, in his youth, all whipcord muscle. Beside him, looking even younger, was his best friend Jack Hammerson – soldiers both of them. The next frame held another young man, the face eerily similar to Jim’s but the photo was sharper and more modern. It was her son, Alex Hunter. An older version of Jack Hammerson was standing beside him, a hand on his shoulder. Another soldier sent out to serve and defend the nation. Another soldier who never came home, she thought morosely. Except for you, Jack, you could survive anything.She looked down at the dog.
