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use the word dirty.” Jenny lowered her voice and purred the last word out.
    “It’s no use. I still can’t do ‘buns’ right,” said Jane, squinting at a form from the file before consigning it to a pile.
    “Also,” Jenny added turning back to Nikki, with a shake of her head. “The nurse said he’ll be awake in a little bit, but they don’t want more than one person back at a time and for no more than fifteen minutes at a time.
    “Duly noted,” said Nikki.
    “1971,” said Jane, holding up a single sheet of paper. “He was released from the hospital at McChord Air Force base in…” She squinted at the paper. It was a carbon copy, dim and faint with age. “December, 1971. Doesn’t say what he was released from. Released for? I’m not sure how to make that sentence work.”
    “That’s impossible,” said Mark, ignoring Jane’s syntax issues. “He wasn’t in Vietnam; he wasn’t even in the military. Grandma said he was a salesman when they were married. They weren’t even divorced until ’72. How is he supposed to have been in Vietnam?”
    “A lot of people who weren’t military were in Vietnam,” said Nikki.
    “You think he sold stuff to the Vietnamese?” asked Mark.
    ‘That’s not what she means,” said Brett.
    “Well, I’m glad you two know you’re talking about. Does someone care to explain it to me?”
    “Oh, for God’s sake, Mark! I teach American history. Didn’t you listen to any of my lectures that summer I had to take you to work with me?”
    “It’s called a GameBoy, Dad. They’re practically designed to assist kids in ignoring their parents.”
    “Hmph. I would ground you if you didn’t carry a gun.”
    “I’m a cop,” said Mark, to the sudden, fixated attention of the girls. “Much to the disappointment of my father’s liberal sensibilities,” he added and Brett snorted.
    “Oh,” said Jane, rather sadly.
    “Anyway, regardless of grounding, what are you saying about Grandpa? How could he have been in Vietnam?”
    “There were plenty of non-military personnel in Vietnam,” said Brett. “Pilots. Nurses. CIA.”
    “Oh, come on,” said Mark. “That seems a bit farfetched.”
    Brett opened his mouth as if to argue, then shrugged. “It does seem farfetched. It’s more likely he was injured here in the states and treated at that military hospital for some reason.”
    “Injured in a shrapnel-causing explosion?” asked Nikki, and Brett’s mouth twisted unhappily.
    “Maybe he sold something to the military and was injured on base.”
    “He knew what a Soviet T-72 was,” said Jane, softly. “He recognized it right away when we showed him the picture.”
    “There, you see, maybe he sold… Soviet T-72’s or whatever,” Brett waved his hand at Jane, as if wishing for the facts to magically align themselves.
    “The Soviet T-72 is a tank,” said Nikki. “I don’t think that’s it.”
    “That has to be it,” snapped Brett. “Dad sold shit up and down the coast, for all kinds of companies. I got postcards from Oysterville to Darwin. He was never home. He never had the same job for more than a year! He probably sold some piece of shit war machine to the government and it blew up in his face — got what he deserved.”
    “I don’t think that’s true,” said Nikki, through her teeth.
    “And what would you know about it,” said Brett crossing the room in swift angry strides until he was nose to nose with Nikki, leaning down to do it.
    “I know your father,” said Nikki, her toes clenching inside her shoes. “I know he didn’t ‘deserve’ to get shrapnel stuck in his chest. We’re not hearing the entire story.”
    “I don’t need to hear the whole story,” said Brett, jabbing a thick finger into Nikki’s shoulder. “I lived it. Mark! Come on, we’re leaving.”
    He walked from the room, his footsteps heavy and even on the carpet.
    “I think you’re right. I think we’re not getting all the facts,” said Mark, standing up and