I looked at her.
“I told you I could not discuss parts of the mission.”
“You could have said you were there.”
“No. I could not.”
She sat back.
The difference between unwilling and unable had apparently never mattered to my family until now.
At 9:06, I left the ballroom.
Connor followed me onto the terrace overlooking the Potomac. The night air was cold enough to make my eyes water, which was convenient.
For a while, neither of us spoke.
Then he said, “I should not have said that much without checking with you.”
“You stayed inside the release.”
“Barely.”
“You were emotional.”
“So were you.”
“I am an aviator. We pretend that is different.”
He laughed once.
Then the laugh disappeared.
“I have been trying to find you for years.”
I turned.
Connor reached inside his jacket and removed a small folded card protected in a clear sleeve.
My breath caught.
I recognized Owen’s handwriting before I could read a word.
“Where did you get that?”
“He gave it to me during the flight.”
My knees nearly failed me.
Connor held the sleeve carefully between both hands.
“He knew how badly he was hurt. He made me promise that if he did not make it, I would give this to you when I was allowed to talk about the operation.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because the mission remained restricted. Then I lost track of you. When your mother’s foundation invited me this year, I came because I saw your name on the family list.”
I stared at the card.
