Instinctively, I shut my eyes before the baseball collided with my nose. Would’ve served me right - staring off into the distance like that, my mind lost in the twisted brambles of another panic attack.

 

The left arm decided enough was enough, palming that baseball maybe two centimeters from my cheek. A loud ding forced my eyes open. Turning the hand over, I let out a sigh of relief once I saw that the ball hadn’t been crushed. Before that could change, I dropped the ball into my real hand.

 

“Dad!” Junie shouted, running over to swat me with my old mitt. “What happened to ‘keep your eye on the ball?’”

 

Like Atlas lifting the sky, I propped up a smile for her. “Just resting my eyes.”

 

“Yeah, right.”

 

“Happens a lot when you get old.”

 

“Where’re your gray hairs?” Junie teased. Her mitt tugged at my beard. I pulled back, more shocked that she could reach me without going on her tip-toes than anything else. She was tall for a nine-year-old.

 

I tried not to dwell on how much I had changed since my last tour. That’s why I was glad Junie still liked my beard. Even though I always shaved it off once I landed at my latest assignment, I would let it grow back over the following months. Junie needed something to hold onto. It helped that we had the same wheat-blond hair. She hadn’t listened to her grandparents this morning, letting her waist-long hair run free instead of braiding it. Easier for me to tousle.

 

Between cussing me out and giggling, Junie was out of breath. As she huffed, I caught a few flashes of her emerald eyes behind chaotic strands of pale hair. She got her eyes from Kait. Her name too. Folks always asked us why we still named our daughter June if she was born in January. Kait would smile, like she had some kinda scheme. Never did let me in on the secret. Took it to her grave.

 

My heart ached, which just made the left arm feel heavier. The weight of it dragged me out of the moment. Junie could tell I was slipping away. Giving her most exaggerated pout, she leaned towards me with her head down. I reached out to her, but didn’t realize it was with the left hand. The sun reflected off a sliver of wrist exposed between my glove and flannel shirt sleeve. Immediately, I yanked it back.

 

Junie sighed. “You’re back in space again.”

 

“No,” I whispered, my voice hoarse. Even when I reached out with my silver hand, she turned around and started walking away.

 

I knew what space felt like - devoid of any warmth. Between growing up a military brat and becoming a Navy officer, I probably spent more time in space than on Earth. The longer I spent above Titan, the more alien my cabin in Maine became. Only when I hugged Kait or picked up Junie would I realize how cold my skin must have felt. After that last tour, I couldn’t shake the chill from my lungs.

 

“You done spacing out?” Junie shouted. She waved her mitt to get my attention, standing back in her catching position between two tall firs.

 

My voice came out rougher than I expected. “Give me a break.”

 

Shaking her head, Junie motioned for me to throw the ball. So, I did. Using my right arm, I bounced the ball onto the turnpike road so she could scoop it up easily.

 

“A grounder?” Junie scowled. “I’m not three!”

 

Her throw was so high that even my left arm barely caught it. A sharp ache seized my shoulder, a familiar pain that ripped me out of our game. Feeling cold sweat building on my forehead, I tossed the ball back before the memories could ambush me. God help me; I used the left arm.

 

Time slowed down, just like it did during the incident – when a pirate lasered off my arm as I tossed a grenade. I couldn’t process anything afterward. I was hopped up on painkillers when I signed that piece of paper. The United Earth Navy erased my medical bills and gave me a new arm. An experimental, titanium-plated weapon wired to my neurons so well that it reacted faster than any other part of me. I didn’t think about it, even days later when my metallic fingers wrapped around the throat of a young pirate. Then, I made the mistake of looking - just when the light left his emerald eyes.

 

Dirt and grass rained down as if an artillery shell had landed. I knelt next to Junie as the debris settled. The ball landed deep into the hill to her right, missing her by a few feet. She furiously brushed clumps of dirt out of her hair. I didn’t dare help. My hands, flesh and metal, covered my face.

 

She did not sob or scream at me. In the silence, I wondered if all this had become routine for her.

 

But Junie just quietly walked over and pulled my right hand away from my face. My metal hand would not come away so easily. So, she started by folding my flannel shirt sleeve inch-by-inch until the whole silver arm was exposed. Then, she tried again. Junie grunted as she pulled on my arm with all the force she could muster. Eventually, it worked - the arm hung by my side.

 

“You feel cold,” she said.

 

“Are you okay?” I whispered, my voice retreating back somewhere dark and familiar.

 

Junie ran over to grab the baseball. Once she had it, she said, “I’m hungry. Can we go back?”

 

“Sure.”

 

Before I stood up, Junie wrapped her arms around my left arm. God knows how frigid it must have felt for her, holding my metal hand the whole way back to the cabin. But somehow, she survived - like a summer day in the dead of winter.