“The one who disappeared five years ago.”
My hands remained at my sides.
I had been trained to control breathing under pressure.
Slow inhale.
Hold.
Release.
Rebecca had no idea that humiliation was nowhere near the worst pressure I had experienced.
“You could have called,” she said.
“No.”
That answer startled her.
“No?”
“I couldn’t.”
“Of course.”
She folded her arms.
“There’s always an excuse.”
I looked past her toward the flag-covered casket visible inside the open chapel doors.
Honor guard.
White gloves.
Perfect posture.
My grandfather was less than fifty yards away.
I had survived five years thinking about seeing him again.
Now I had returned only to bury him.
Rebecca stepped closer.
“You know what Grandpa did after you disappeared?”
I did.
My Sister Called Me a Disgrace at Grandpa’s Funeral—Then a Four-Star General Saluted Me
