to the little blue-and-white pin.
I could almost hear the thoughts moving through his head.
He swallowed.
“That’s you?”
I did not answer immediately.
I picked up my spoon and scraped the last little bit of chili from the bottom of my bowl.
It had gone cold.
“Yes,” I said.
The room was so quiet that the serving-line refrigerator seemed unusually loud.
Reese took a step backward.
“That doesn’t make sense.”
I looked at him.
“What doesn’t?”
“You’re…”
He stopped.
Old?
A woman?
A civilian?
Someone who didn’t fit the
picture he had in his head?
I had heard all those things without anyone saying them.
“I was twenty-three when that photograph was taken,” I said.
He looked at the wall again.
The young woman in the photograph had a narrow face and dark hair. There was a tiredness around her eyes that no camera could hide.
I remembered that photograph.
I remembered the day it was taken.
I remembered the smell of disinfectant, wet canvas, and blood.
And I remembered the six people standing beside me.
Only two of
