“He forgave you,” I said. “He didn’t forget.”
“Why’d he never say anything?”
“Because he hoped you’d change,” I said. “That’s what he wrote. He spent a lot of years hoping he was wrong about you.”
Silence on the line.
“Was he?” my father asked. “Wrong?”
I didn’t answer.
After a while, he said, “Okay,” very quietly, and hung up.
We haven’t spoken since.
The promotion list came out in March.
I was in my office on post when an email came through from my battalion commander. Just one line.
Congratulations, Major Hollis.
I read it three times. Then I closed my office door and sat at my desk for a while.
That afternoon, I got another email. From Colonel Brandt.
Kate — Congratulations. You earned it. I’m sorry about the way some of this came to me last fall. I want you to know your packet was judged on your record and nothing else. It’s a very good record. — TB
I printed that one out. I don’t usually print things. But I printed that one.
On a Saturday in April, I finally unpacked the trash bags.
They’d been sitting in the hallway for seven months. I’d take out what I needed, one thing at a time, and just leave the rest. I couldn’t figure out why. It’s not like I didn’t have the time.
Then I realized. I was waiting to feel like the house was mine again before I put my life back into it.
That morning, I realized I’d been waiting for something that wasn’t coming. I had to decide it was mine. Nobody was going to hand me that feeling.
So I started unpacking.
I carried my clothes back up to my bedroom. The master suite. My grandfather’s old room, and then mine. I’d had it repainted the week after Chloe moved out. Not a fancy color. Just the soft white it used to be.
