May 1966

Mariah stared at the Virginia countryside whipping past them, dreading the moment they reached their destination. She couldn’t bear the thought of saying a final farewell to her beloved Stephen.

For the entire drive to Washington, she shrank from the knowledge. Hardly able to breathe. Hardly able to accept.

A letter had arrived in the mail yesterday and had broken her heart all over again. She clutched the letter in her lap now, unable to part with it, every word memorized.

Dear Rye,
  I’m counting the days until I get out of this hellhole. 12, to be exact.

Her head rested against the glass of the passenger side window. The rolling hills slid by, giving way to towns, then suburbs.

It had been ten days since the knock at the door. Three men awaited her on the other side. All in Army uniform. All somber. She’d been confused. Had they come to the wrong house?

I’ve met someone, a nurse at the post. Can’t wait to introduce you. I don’t know when I can get back to NC, so you and Gregor should come to California in the fall. Bring the baby.

The rest of the letter had sparkled with hope, his future stretching before him, bright with promise, until…

She wished she could fall asleep and awaken tomorrow with this horrible day behind her.

“My love,” Gregor said quietly and wrapped his big hand around hers, warm and solid. A comfort.

They made it into Washington in good time, then got stuck in traffic crossing the bridge over the Potomac. After passing through the gates at Arlington, they were delayed again while trying to find a place to park.

The rest of her family were already at the graveside. Mitchell and his wife. Duane and Doug. Ma and Pa. They watched in stony silence as she and Gregor drew closer, Ma stealing nervous glances at Pa every few seconds. And well she should. His jaw was so tense and his face so red, it was a wonder he didn’t explode.

Mariah’s hand was tucked securely in the crook of Gregor’s arm. It had been so long since she’d seen or spoken to her family that she hungered for the sight of them.

Were the twins glad to see her? Or disinterested?

What about her mother?

As if in response to her silent question, Ma shifted behind her husband, and for an instant, her expression held longing, but not enough to defy her husband, not even for her daughter. Mariah didn’t make eye contact with him, although she wasn’t naïve enough to believe she would escape whatever verbal poison he would hurl. The tension in Gregor’s body showed he was on the alert, bracing for trouble.

When they were within earshot, her father said through clenched teeth, “Leave, girl. The sight of you sickens me. You don’t belong here.”

Mitchell smirked at Pa’s words. Ma’s eyes glistened with apology. The twins shifted uncomfortably and looked at the honor guard, avoiding a fight. It had always been this way, hadn’t it? The only protection she’d ever had from Pa had come from Stephen—until now. Until Gregor.

Mariah had sent them an invitation to the wedding. It had come back unopened, marked with Return to Sender. Mariah would always love her mother and the twins, but she didn’t miss them in her life.

“Did this one marry you?” Pa asked.

Mariah gave a weary shrug and smiled sadly at Doug and Duane. They were only fifteen. It hurt that they stood there wide-eyed and motionless. It wasn’t fair of her, though, to expect a greeting. They lived within striking range of Pa.

Mitchell, she would ignore. For the rest of his days.

“Are you still whoring?”

Gregor’s teeth bared, and the muscles in his arm tightened to steel. But his voice, when he spoke, was deceptively mild. “You address another word to my wife, and I will lay you out flat.”

Pa shifted his gaze to her husband, who topped him by six inches and fifty pounds of muscle. Wisely, her father closed his mouth and turned away.

Gregor urged her forward. They walked toward the grave site, stopping a short distance away. As the cortege drew even, he slid an arm around her waist, holding her close. She leaned into him gratefully and focused on the casket. It was just a box. She didn’t want to think about what was inside, because that wasn’t her Stephen. He’d moved on. The echoes of who he’d been would never fade.

She’d never seen a military funeral before. President Kennedy’s had been televised, but she’d only had glimpses, as her mind and body recovered from the aftermath of that day. She was glad to be experiencing this for the first time for Stephen.

The servicemen folded the flag, their movements mesmerizing, giving weight to the gravity of the occasion and the sacrifice of the person they were all there to honor. As the flag changed hands, she bowed her head, her gaze on the lush grass. Birds chirped happily. Nature was ignorant of the pain of the people gathered there.

Her father choked out, “No.”

A pair of shiny black shoes entered her line of vision and halted. She raised her head and gasped.

The flag is mine.

Grief churned in her chest, threatening to knock away the firm defenses she’d put in place since she’d heard the news. Stephen had claimed her as his next of kin.

The man offered the flag, and she accepted it between gloved hands. “Thank you.”

“Yes, ma’am.” His lips kept moving, soothing words pouring forth.

She heard nothing.

Gregor pressed her to the solid bulk of his body. Someone official spoke more words. A man garbed in priestly robes said a prayer, made the sign of the cross. “Taps” played.

It wasn’t until the last melancholy notes were echoing over the cemetery that Gregor murmured, “Time to go.”

They’d nearly reached their car when they heard someone call behind them.

“Mariah, wait.”

They stopped. It had taken extraordinary courage for her mother to run after them, and she would honor that. When Gregor frowned at his wife, concern in his expression, she squeezed his arm. All is well.

She faced her mother. “Ma.”

“You look good, honey.”

Mariah nodded, unable to speak over the ache in her throat.

Gregor offered his hand solemnly. “Hello, Mrs. Byrne.”

“Lorraine,” she said with a tremulous smile. “Please.”

He inclined his head. “Gregor.”

Ma turned back to her. “So you live in Raleigh?”

“Yes.”

“What happened to–?”

“Let’s not go over the past, Ma. Stephen always knew where I was. You could’ve asked.” Mariah didn’t want to talk about Texas. She’d never told her husband much about that part of her life. Only the trivialities. Never the important pieces. And she didn’t want her mother raising questions she would have to refuse to answer. “Gregor owns Azarian Construction. We’re in the yellow pages. If you want to find us, you can.”

“Lorraine!” her father shouted from the graveside.

Her mother glanced over her shoulder, then back, her hand reaching to smooth along the flag.

“Stephen loved you, too, Ma, but…”

“I know.” Her mother tried to smile.

Then they were in each other’s arms, the flag between them, sobbing.

“Does Pa let you cry?” Mariah whispered.

“Oh, honey. He’s not a monster.” Ma stepped away, scrubbed at her cheeks, then accepted an embroidered handkerchief from Gregor. “Terrence wasn’t this way before the war.”

How many times had Mariah heard her mother say that? “He came home from the war twenty-three years ago.”

“Some things happen that are so powerful bad, you can’t ever go back.”

“I understand that, Ma, believe me, but your family shouldn’t be the ones you punish.” She looked up at Gregor, saddened not only by the loss of her brother, but by the loss of hope that their child might know her family.

He caught her hand in his. “Ready, my love?”

“I am.” She exchanged regretful glances with her mother. “One day, Ma, I hope you find me again.”