Chương 12
“You never liked him.”
“He called my tie inexpensive at your retirement party.”
“It was inexpensive.”
“That is not the point.”
She smiled despite herself.
Then the smile left.
“I’m going to testify,” she said.
Marcus’s face remained still. “I know.”
“You said silence is safer.”
“It is.”
“Then tell me not to.”
“I am your attorney. I tell you the risks. I do not decide which person you can live with afterward.”
The grand jury testimony remained secret, but the consequences did not.
Two weeks later, federal agents executed search warrants at Vance Meridian offices in Virginia, Maryland, and Texas. News helicopters hovered above the company’s headquarters. Employees carried cardboard boxes past cameras. Julian resigned as chief executive under pressure from the board but refused to surrender his voting shares.
The company announced that it was cooperating fully.
Its stock, privately held but widely valued in defense circles, became nearly impossible to price. Vendors demanded faster payment. A payroll lender withdrew. Eight hundred employees did not lose their jobs at once, as Julian had predicted, but dozens were furloughed within a month.
Iris saw interviews with them.
A machinist named Dale Rucker said he had worked for Vance Meridian for fourteen years and did not know how he would pay for his daughter’s medication if the health plan collapsed. A project manager cried while explaining that most employees had never heard of Greyhaven.
The story complicated itself, as real stories did.
Julian’s crimes, if proved, would not punish only Julian.
At the same time, families of the soldiers killed at Kestrel Ridge learned that the official review was being reopened. Some called Iris. Some called reporters. Two filed notices of potential claims against the government and Vance Meridian.
Sergeant Ortega’s widow refused to speak with Iris.
Her attorney sent a letter stating that Mrs. Ortega did not consent to becoming part of General Vance’s “public rehabilitation.”
Iris read the phrase several times.
She did not blame her.
Callie came to Washington on a Friday evening without telling either parent until her train had already left Boston.
Iris met her at Union Station.
Callie emerged from the platform carrying a canvas backpack and wearing the same green jacket she had owned in college. Her dark-blonde hair was cut to her jaw. She looked like Julian around the eyes and like Iris when she was displeased.
For a few seconds they stood facing each other while travelers moved around them.
Then Callie said, “You look shorter on television.”
“I’m the same height.”
“I know.”
“Do you have another bag?”
“No.”
“You used to pack three bags for a weekend.”
“I used to bring things to your house.”
The sentence struck before either of them could avoid it.
Iris nodded. “The hotel is this way.”
They walked through the station without touching.
Outside, traffic crawled beneath the evening lights. Callie stopped when a stranger raised a phone toward Iris.
“Was he taking your picture?”
“Probably.”
“Does that happen a lot?”
“More than I enjoy.”
“Should we say something?”
“No.”
“That’s convenient.”
Iris looked at her.
Callie shoved her hands into her jacket pockets. “Sorry.”
“You don’t have to apologize for every sharp thing.”
“Good. I have several.”
At the hotel, Callie stared at the room’s single bed.
“I requested two,” Iris said.
“And?”
“They had one.”
“So the United States Army can move a brigade but you can’t reserve two beds.”
“The Army did not make the reservation.”
“General Vance did.”
“I used an application.”
“That explains it.”
Iris called the desk. A rollaway arrived thirty minutes later, pushed by a tired employee who apologized three times and left after Callie tipped him because Iris had no cash.
They ate takeout noodles at the small desk. Callie removed mushrooms from her food and placed them in the container lid.
“You still do that,” Iris said.
“I still hate mushrooms.”
“You told me you were over it.”
“I was sixteen. I lied about many things.”
Iris separated a pair of wooden chopsticks. “Apparently it was a family tradition.”
Callie looked at her, uncertain whether the remark was allowed to be funny.
Then she laughed.
Iris did too.
The moment ended quickly, but the room changed after it.
Callie glanced toward the closet. “Did you bring the uniform?”
“No.”
“The coat?”
“Yes.”
“Can I see it?”
Iris reached into the closet and handed her the gray coat.
Callie examined the crooked stitching near the cuff. “You did this.”
“Yes.”
“It’s terrible.”
“I had limited tools.”
“You had a needle.”
“I had limited patience.”
Callie sat on the bed with the coat across her knees. “Grandma wore this?”
“Before you were born.”
“Why did you wear it to court?”
“It was long enough to cover the uniform.”
“No. Why that coat?”
Iris considered inventing a practical answer.
“Your grandmother disliked Julian,” she said.
Callie smiled. “That sounds like her.”
“She thought he used charm like counterfeit money.”
“What did you think?”
“That she was being unfair.”
“Was she?”
“Not entirely.”
Callie rubbed the fabric between her fingers. “Did you love him?”
“Yes.”
“Do you still?”
Iris looked at the noodles she no longer wanted.
“Some part of me reacts to him as if the marriage still exists,” she said. “That is not the same as love, but it came from love.”
“That’s unpleasant.”
“Yes.”
“Did he love you?”
“I think he loved being important to me. I think sometimes he loved me too.”
Callie set the coat aside. “That’s not a good answer.”
“It’s the one I have.”
They remained quiet.
In the hallway, an ice machine dropped cubes with a mechanical crash.
Callie said, “I want to see the scars.”
Iris’s shoulders tightened.
“You saw them in court.”
“Not really.”
“Why?”
“Because Dad said they weren’t what I thought. Because you hid them. Because everyone else has an opinion, and I’m tired of looking at pictures strangers took.”
Iris stood.
Callie’s face flushed. “You don’t have to.”
May you like
“No.”
Iris removed her jacket, then unbuttoned the high collar of her blouse. She pulled the fabric aside enough to expose the scars over her shoulder and upper chest. She rolled up both sleeves.
