When my father and AndrZ come home from early mass we meet him at the door. The medal gleams from its case. My father takes off his brown Sunday hat and takes a deep breath. His suit smells faintly of moth balls and dry cleaning fluid. They thought it was the war to end all wars, he says, taking the medal from my hands.
War is a terrible thing.
His mouth is pink and round like a flower. Stop bothering us, Annette tells him. We are sprawled on the back steps drawing a treasure map. Annette takes a toothpick and dips it into the saucer of lemon juice. As You Would Have Others Do Unto You.