They were in matching navy winter coats. Polished shoes. And small honorary insignia on the lapels, given to them by people in my unit who love them.
I had those coats made. In the October.
Four weeks before that message arrived.
That is a fact I had completely forgotten until Pell said it to me in the fourth week afterwards, in a car park, without meaning anything by it — and it stopped me dead and I did not drive for about eleven minutes.
Isaiah straightened his little officer’s cap for about the fifth time.
“Mom. Are we really gonna meet Grandpa?”
Nia leaned forward over her belt. “What about Grandma? Is she gonna be there?”
And I looked at four hopeful faces at eight thousand feet and I said: “We’ll find out when we get there.”
I wanted to promise them something. All four of them were looking at me.
