Part 3
Dana’s fingers pressed into Nathan’s shoulder, then eased.
“I know,” she said.
He looked at her without speaking.
She took her hand back and reached into the front pocket of her sweatshirt. The paper inside had been unfolded so often that it opened almost by itself. She smoothed it against the duffel, keeping a palm over the section nearest Victor.
“These are my travel orders.”
Nathan glanced at the document, then back at her face.
“They authorized you to come?”
“To accompany him.”
The sound from the galley seemed suddenly far away. Dana heard the small intake of breath from the passenger across the aisle.
“He left instructions with his will,” she said. “There was one thing he wanted handled a particular way.”
Nathan was looking at the paper now. His father’s name was printed beneath hers.
“He asked for Rook Three-Two.”
Nathan’s hands came up, then settled uselessly against his knees.
“Wait.” He looked toward the boarding door. “You mean today?”
Dana nodded.
“On this flight?”
She glanced down.
His gaze followed hers to the carpet between them.
“The forward hold,” she said. “The flag’s with him. I’ll stay through the burial at the national cemetery outside Portland.”
Nathan bowed his head. She could see him trying to steady his breathing, trying to do it without anyone noticing.
“It’s my turn to get him there,” she said.
Victor put his closed computer into its sleeve. He missed the opening once, and when he tried again, a tear fell onto the case.
Peter had remained a few feet away, giving them what room the aisle allowed. Now he straightened and saluted toward the floor beneath them.
Nathan took Dana’s hand carefully in both of his.
“Thank you for staying with him.”
She bent closer so he wouldn’t have to strain to hear her.
“I’ll be there until the last goodbye.”
They remained that way until a flight attendant approached with the unhurried care of someone entering a hospital room.
Her name tag said Elaine. She waited for Nathan to look up before speaking.
“The captain’s been informed, Major. He flew for the Navy before he came here.”
Dana began to fold the orders.
“He’d like to tell the passengers who’s traveling with us. Only with your permission.”
Dana’s first answer rose immediately. She wanted the hood, the seat, the bag, the ordinary anonymity she had managed to keep for so long. She didn’t want a cabinful of strangers studying the side of her face.
Nathan released her hand and wiped his cheek with the heel of his palm. He looked embarrassed by that, which hurt her more than the tears.
Dana tucked the paper away.
“Tell them about Ray.”
“And you?”
She looked toward Nathan again.
“Yes.”
Elaine gave a small nod. She helped Dana slide the duffel beneath the seat ahead with its handles within reach, then cleared the aisle. The officers returned to their seats before the boarding door was secured.
The speaker chimed while Dana was fastening her belt.
“This is Captain Thomas Brenner.”
There was a pause, long enough for the last rustling in the cabin to subside.
“Before we leave, I’d like everyone to know that Master Sergeant Raymond Mercer is making his final journey home with us today. He served in Army Special Forces and was awarded the Silver Star. His death was connected to injuries and illness from that service.”
Dana kept her eyes on the belt across her lap.
“His escort is retired Air Force Major Dana Kessler. Fifteen years ago, she protected his team from an ambush. When her aircraft went down, Sergeant Mercer pulled her from the wreck. He specifically asked that she make this trip with him.”
Across the aisle, a woman brought her hands together and held them against her mouth.
“His son, Captain Mercer, is also aboard. Captain, we’ll take good care of your father.”
Brenner cleared his throat.
“We’re working with air traffic control on the most direct routing available and have coordinated the arrival. Major Kessler, thank you for allowing our crew to share this duty.”
The intercom went quiet.
Someone near the front began to clap. Others joined gradually, the sound moving back through the rows until Dana could feel it around her.
She looked at the duffel rather than at the people. Nathan had turned in his seat. He wasn’t smiling, but he was looking at her with an expression she couldn’t quite bear.
Victor reached above them for his jacket.
He laid it around her shoulders, then hesitated, as though only afterward realizing he should have asked.
“You’ve been shivering.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m Victor Alden.” He stopped, rubbed at one eye, and started again. “I was rude when you got here. I’m sorry.”
Dana drew the jacket closer. The lining was smooth against her wrists.
“No harm done, Mr. Alden.”
He sat back, keeping his briefcase upright between his shoes.
After takeoff, Elaine returned without the cart. She carried a ceramic mug on a small tray, the tea still too hot to drink.
Dana wrapped her hands around it. Elaine checked that the duffel’s handles were still within reach before moving away.
Nathan and Peter spent much of the flight turned partway toward row eighteen. When the seat-belt sign went off, Nathan came back for a while, careful this time of the seat arms.
He didn’t ask about the crash.
Instead, he asked whether his father had really been as impossible about music overseas as he had been at home.
Dana let out a small, surprised laugh.
“He could ruin a song before the first chorus.”
Nathan’s face opened.
“He used to tell us he’d been asked to sing for the unit.”
“He was asked to stop.”
Peter laughed, then looked apologetic about it. Dana waved that away.
“During the workups, he’d key his microphone and sing country songs over the radio. The worse the commander hated it, the longer Ray kept going.”
“Saturday mornings,” Nathan said. “You’d hear him from the driveway. Mom would turn on the vacuum just to compete.”
He rubbed at his face, still smiling.
Dana told him about the time Ray had forgotten the words and substituted the names of everyone on his team. Nathan supplied the song title. By the second verse, he said, his father had always been improvising anyway.
Elaine came to collect the empty mug and stood listening for a moment before taking it.
Farther west, as the airliner crossed the broad patchwork of the interior, a controller called the cockpit.
A pair of Air National Guard F-16s were operating nearby. With the necessary coordination, they had requested a brief escort alongside the flight carrying Sergeant Mercer.
Brenner listened, checked with his first officer, and accepted the arrangement.
When he told the passengers what to expect, Dana turned toward Victor. He had already leaned back to give her a clear view through the window.
The fighters appeared off the left side, one beyond the other, gray against a high white layer of cloud.
For several minutes they held their places.
Dana watched the small changes in their position, the easy corrections she could still feel in her own wrist. Her left hand rested motionless on the borrowed jacket.
Nathan had his forehead close to a window two rows ahead.
At last the nearer aircraft lifted one wing, then the other. Its companion followed it away, both diminishing until the cloud took them.
Dana wiped her cheeks with the inside edge of her sleeve.
By the time they reached Oregon, rain covered the windows. The aircraft descended through cloud with a roughness that made the overhead fittings rattle. Her knee had stiffened badly during the flight, and she shifted her heel a fraction at a time, searching for room that wasn’t there.
Beneath the seat, the duffel held her dress uniform. She had folded it on a bed before dawn, smoothing the sleeves until the creases aligned. Her cap was protected inside a clean towel.
The wheels struck the runway. Reverse thrust filled the cabin, then faded as the aircraft slowed.
At the gate, the usual clicks of belts began, but nobody stood. Elaine made a brief announcement asking everyone to remain seated for the escort and the Mercer family’s transfer.
Then she came to row eighteen.
“Major, the aisle is yours…”
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