In his dreams, it's always summertime. He stands by a lake. A family reunion. His cousins splash in the water while the adults talk. No one pays him any attention. They can't hear him; they don't see him. He looks down. He's wearing desert camouflage. A rifle is slung across his chest. His clothes are covered in blood.
The dream came a dozen times in Nathaniel Fick's first few months home after returning from Iraq in June 2003. A Baltimore native, he had been a lieutenant in the Marine Corps, and during two combat tours had distinguished himself with bravery and compassion.
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