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with those sad eyes of his. “They’ve lost their SEAL. You’ve lost your family. I’d say that’s a match made in Heaven, Coop.”
    “You’re kidding.”
    “Do I look like I’m kidding?”
    No. He didn’t look like he was kidding at all.
     
    An extremely tall shadow fell through the ornate glass and metal front doors of the Brownlee house. At first, Libby was frightened.
    Get a grip.
    The melodic doorbell chime had been imported all the way from an abandoned abbey in the South of France. Whoever he was, Libby Brownlee thought, he’d not be able to get through the doorway without ducking, or smacking himself in the forehead.
    “Yes?” She didn’t remove the brass chain connecting the door to the doorframe. It couldn’t really stop anyone, especially someone of his size, she realized too late.
    What she saw scared her, but in a way she didn’t recognize, couldn’t identify. He was a handsome, very, very tall and fair-haired young man about her age. His piercing blue eyes didn’t stray from hers as he coolly nodded his head, and took inventory of her character without peeling his steady gaze from hers.
    She felt undressed, yet powerless to cover up. But she didn’t look away.
    “Ma’am, I’m looking for the Brownlee family.” He said this as he ducked his head and leaned forward. She observed he was trying to make himself smaller. The effort made him look huge.
    “This is the Brownlee residence.” Her response was worthy of a domestic. No need to let him know she was a relative.
    “My name is Special Operator Calvin Cooper. I’m…”
    “I know what a Special Operator is.”
    He smiled but continued, “—currently serving in the Navy. I’ve been asked to reach out to the family of Special Operator William Brownlee.”
    “Uncle Will.” She bit her tongue. Too late to take it back. “My father’s twin brother. I never met him. He’s been dead for many years, since before I was born.” Libby looked at the ground, but was soon distracted by the size of the young man’s canvas slip-ons. The light brown hair on his ankles and lower legs, punctuated by light purple scars, blazed in the afternoon sun.
    A surfer.
    “Yes, ma’am. That’s the reason I’m here.”
    “It’s a little late for a color guard. He get awarded a medal posthumously or something?”
    The sailor stepped back and put his eyelids at half-mast after a flash of anger. He appeared way calmer than she knew he really was. The control was impressive. No matter how hard she looked, the anger did not surface again. He licked his lips and began to speak, softer this time.
    “Look. I don’t want to be here any more than you want me, so let’s just get this over with, so I can tell my Chief I tried to reach out and you guys slammed the door in my face, okay?”
    Maybe she was being stupid, but somehow she trusted him. This wasn’t the wrinkle she’d expected. “Fine.” She removed the chain, opened the door and the muscled giant walked into her home with quiet, fluid strides. He smelled like he’d just figured out how to wear aftershave. Something told her he didn’t do it very often.
    He scanned the large two-story living room with its carved wood ceiling done in Spanish florets.  His eyes lit on the three-foot tall bouquet of fresh flowers her mother put on the coffee table every day—bounty from her extensive flower garden. Libby didn’t expect to see him smile. Behind the table, a bright red velvet couch was covered with lime and fuchsia-colored silk flowered pillows. No one ever sat there, Libby mused.  If they did, they’d be buried in the pillows, and hidden from view by the bouquet.
    She was embarrassed by the brightness of the colors. “My mother takes pride in her flower garden.” She finally said. Why had he been staring at the blooms?
    He tore his eyes off the display, and, without saying a word, continued to scan the archway that led to the kitchen, then back around to the walls of the foyer and a view of