JD Devine

By: JD Devine

The wind howled through the gaps in the tent’s heavy fabric as Specialist James Smith propped his phone against his water bottle. Frost crept along the edges of the canvas, and despite the heater humming nearby, his hands felt cold. He pulled his fleece closer as the familiar ring tone played, watching the spinning circle on his unreliable connection. At this rotation site, the expensive wi-fi kept dropping signals like the temperature dropped at night.

His mother’s face appeared first, followed by his stepdad Dave settling into view beside her. His grandmother leaned in from the side.

“Happy Thanksgiving, sweetheart!” His mother called out, her voice carrying forced cheerfulness he’d grown familiar with over his deployment. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m good, Mom,” James replied, shifting on his cot. “Just finished my shift. We’ve been busy. The guys are having a celebration in the mess tent later.”

Dave leaned forward, his face taking up more of the screen. The Marine Veteran’s eyes scanned what he could see of James’s surroundings with practiced attention. “They feeding you right, son? Better not be just MREs today.”

James managed a genuine laugh. “No, the cooks got their hands on some turkeys. Won’t be like Mom’s, but it’ll do.” He could hear Patterson in the background, arguing with Johnson about the right way to season the bird, just like his mom and grandmother did every year.

Different voices, same argument. “The guys have been planning this for weeks, actually.” He paused, noting the empty chairs behind his family where his grandfather and Dave’s mother had sat last Thanksgiving. The absence felt heavy, even through the screen.

His grandmother shifted closer to the camera. “I just finished making my gravy,” she said softly. “Your grandfather’s eyes would always light up when he smelled it simmering.” Her voice wavered slightly, but she maintained her composure.

James nodded, swallowing hard. “Nobody makes gravy like you do, grandma.”

“That’s right,” his grandmother smiled, wiping quickly at her eyes.

The conversation lulled for a moment as they all absorbed the weight of the empty spaces. Outside James’s tent, he could hear his fellow soldiers talking and laughing as they headed to dinner. The familiar sounds anchored him to the present.

His mother shifted in her seat. “Are you staying warm? You look bundled up.”

“We’re good, Mom. Got plenty of layers.” The wind picked up outside, rattling the tent flaps against their ice-stiffened ties. He didn’t mention how the bitter cold cut through even the best military-issued gear. No need to worry her more than she already did.

Dave asked about the equipment they were working with, and James shared what he could without breaching operational security. His stepdad understood the dance of telling enough to reassure family while keeping crucial details private.

As the call continued, James noticed his grandmother occasionally glancing toward the kitchen, probably thinking about all the Thanksgivings when his grandfather had been there. His mother had rearranged the dining room, he noticed, perhaps to make the empty seats less obvious.

When the time came to end the call, they lingered longer than usual, none of them quite ready to disconnect. His mother blew him a kiss, Dave gave a proud nod, and his grandmother smiled broadly and waved.

“Love you all,” James said, his voice steady despite the ache in his chest. “Save me some leftovers for when I get home.” James joked, but images of missed holidays flashed through his mind—his mother’s Christmas ham, his twenty-two birthday candles unlit. The time stretched in his mind like a calendar with too many empty squares. He pushed the thought away, but it lingered like the artificial pine smell of the tiny Christmas tree his unit had already started passing around, planning for next month’s absence.

His mother must have caught something in his expression because her smile wavered. “We’ll celebrate everything when you’re back,” she said, the same thing for each missed holiday or birthday. “One big party.”

James nodded, knowing they’d both mark time by the holidays that passed without him. Each one was another empty chair at the table, another video call, another reminder of the life continuing without him back home.

The screen went dark, but the echoes of their voices lingered like the wood smoke drifting past his tent. As he sat in the growing darkness, the sounds of the base filtered in—Patterson and Johnson’s laughter, the hum of generators, the clatter of pans from the mess tent. Different voices, different family, same warmth.

Standing, he tucked away his phone and zipped his winter jacket against the night air. The smell of turkey drifted through the camp as he stepped out into the cold, his boots crunching on frozen ground. It wasn’t the Thanksgiving he’d have at home, but it was the one he had—two families, two tables, one soldier learning to belong to both.