The Realtor Read One Name and My Stepfather Stopped Laughing

anyway. Pale blue and one awful yellow.

The medals came home to me.

Not metaphorically. Physically.

Victoria shipped them in two insured cases, and when I opened the first one in my quarters that weekend, the smell hit me before the sight did. Cedar. Dust. A faint old-metal scent from the clasps on the shadow box. Richard hadn’t thrown them away. He’d continue reading …