Updated Mar 23, 2026 • ~7 min read
Chapter 23: Torres
JAKE
The call came on a Wednesday in May.
He was at the farm, working on the north fence line, when his phone rang. The number was a 210 area code — San Antonio — and he looked at it for a moment before he answered, the specific calibration of someone who had learned to note his own response to unknown numbers.
He answered.
It was Kowalski.
Kowalski said: *Jake.* He said it in the tone that did not require context, that required only hearing.
Jake said: *Who.*
Kowalski said: *Torres.*
He said nothing.
Kowalski said: *They found him yesterday morning. His apartment in San Antonio. It was—* Kowalski’s voice was doing the thing voices did. *It was a suicide.*
Jake stood in the north field.
He said: *When.*
Kowalski said: *Sometime Monday night. His neighbor called the super Tuesday morning.* He paused. *His sister is handling arrangements. I wanted you to hear it from me.*
He said: *I talked to him in February.*
Kowalski said: *I know.*
He said: *He was—* He stopped. *He seemed okay.*
Kowalski said: *I know.* He was quiet. *He did the seem-okay thing very well.*
Jake said: *Yeah.* He sat down on the fence post. *He did.*
Kowalski said: *There’s going to be a service in San Antonio. Next Thursday. I’ll send the details.*
He said: *Okay.*
Kowalski said: *Jake.*
He said: *Yeah.*
Kowalski said: *It’s not—* He stopped. *Call me if you need to talk.*
He said: *I will.* He paused. *Thank you for calling.*
He put the phone in his pocket.
He sat on the fence post in the north field.
Torres.
Sergeant Major Michael Torres, twenty-eight years of service, the man who had told Jake in his third year that a soldier’s job was not to be invincible but to be present. Who had stood at the edge of a firebase in Kandahar and watched the second deployment sunrise and said: *Mitchell, there it is.* Who had a daughter in Houston who wore his unit patch on her backpack because she was seven and her father was a soldier and that was the most important thing she knew.
The daughter was going to grow up knowing something different.
He sat in the north field for a long time.
He drove to Amy’s.
She was on the school property — it was a Wednesday afternoon, summer school was running — and he sat in her driveway and looked at the house and did not go in. He did not know why he had driven here. He did not know what he was looking for.
She came home at four.
She saw him in the driveway and got out of her car and looked at him and said nothing. She read his face and said nothing. She came to the passenger door and opened it and got in.
He said: *Torres died.*
She said: *Oh, Jake.*
He said: *Suicide.* He said it flat. *Monday night. Kowalski called.* He paused. *I talked to him in February. He seemed okay.*
She put her hand on his arm.
He said: *He was the one who told me to be present. Eighteen years of—* He stopped. He said: *He had a daughter.*
She said: *I know.* She didn’t know Torres, but she knew.
He said: *I should have—* He stopped. *I keep doing the check. The protocol. Looking for the missed sign.* He put his hands on the wheel. *I know there wasn’t one. I know that’s the PTSD talking.* He paused. *I know and I can’t stop.*
She said: *It’s okay to run the check.*
He said: *It doesn’t help.*
She said: *I know.* She moved her hand up his arm. *You’re allowed to feel this without it being fixable.*
He said: *I’m afraid.*
She said: *Tell me.*
He said: *I’m afraid of the spiral.* He said it plainly. *I’m afraid that this is going to—* He stopped. *I had a teammate in the second deployment who lost someone on the first and I watched him go down in three weeks. I watched the spiral.* He paused. *I know my own vulnerabilities.*
She said: *Call Dr. Okafor.*
He said: *It’s 4pm.*
She said: *The line is open until six.* She took out her phone and handed it to him. *Call him. Now.* She said it quietly, not urgency but certainty. *Tell him what you just told me.*
He looked at the phone.
He said: *I know I should.*
She said: *Jake. Call him.*
He called.
Dr. Okafor answered on the third ring and Jake said: *I had a loss. Suicide. Former team member.* He said: *I’m with Amy. I’m not in crisis. I’m—* He paused. *I’m afraid of going somewhere I can’t come back from.*
Dr. Okafor said: *That self-awareness is protective.* He said: *I have a six-fifteen slot. Can you come in.*
He said: *Yes.*
Dr. Okafor said: *Good. Bring Amy if you want.*
He looked at Amy.
She nodded.
They drove to Garland.
In Dr. Okafor’s office at 6:15 he talked about Torres and about Devon and about the spiral he’d watched and his own spiral risk and the fear that grief was the thing that would tip it. Dr. Okafor said: *You called me within four hours of the news. That’s not a person in a spiral.* He said: *That’s a person who knows his terrain.*
Jake said: *Torres knew his terrain.*
Dr. Okafor said: *Yes.* He said it without flinching. *He did. And he still—* He paused. *The terrain doesn’t always tell you everything. But you having this conversation, right now, with this self-awareness, is not nothing.* He paused. *It’s a great deal.*
He said: *I don’t want to be the next phone call someone makes.*
Dr. Okafor said: *I know.* He said: *What’s one thing you can do tonight.*
He said: *Stay close to Amy.*
Dr. Okafor said: *Good. What else.*
He said: *Call Kowalski.*
Dr. Okafor said: *Good. What else.*
He looked at Amy. He said: *Come back on Friday.*
Dr. Okafor said: *I’ll hold a slot.*
They drove home in the dark.
He was in the passenger seat — Amy driving, because she’d said *let me* and he’d let her — and he looked at the highway lights and thought about Torres and about the daughter in Houston and about Devon and about all the men in all the rooms who came back carrying things that were invisible from outside.
He said: *Amy.*
She said: *Yes.*
He said: *I’m glad you were in the driveway.*
She said: *I’m glad you came to the driveway.*
He said: *I didn’t know that’s what I was doing.*
She said: *You came home.* She paused. *That’s what it was.*
He looked at the highway lights.
He thought: *Torres.*
He thought: *I’m going to grieve this. I’m going to do it in the room with people who know how to be in the room with grief.*
He thought: *I’m not going down.*
He thought: *I’m going to go to the service and I’m going to tell his sister that he was excellent and I’m going to come home and sit at the kitchen table and keep drawing.*
He thought: *that’s what I’m going to do.*
He thought: *that’s the decision.*
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