The soldier held the salute long enough for everyone in the driveway to understand that it was not ceremonial.
“Major,” he said, his eyes fixed on me. “The convoy is secure. We are ready to move on your order.”
Julian’s Audi keys stopped turning around his finger.
My father stepped onto the porch with his newspaper still pressed against his chest, while my mother and Harper stood behind him in the open doorway.
None of them spoke.
I returned the salute, then lowered my hand to the curve of my stomach.
“At ease,” I said. “I need one secured case from the bedroom and the cardboard box beside the garage door. Nothing else.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The soldier signaled to another member of the team, who moved toward the house but stopped before crossing the threshold.
“Permission to enter?” he asked.
The question mattered more than anyone in my family understood.
