Melissa placed the envelope on the counter.
“Claire sent me money.”
“I know.”
“I didn’t know where it came from.”
“I’m less certain of that.”
“You shouldn’t be.”
I watched her.
She took a breath.
“Claire told you I disappeared because of criminals.”
“Yes.”
“That’s partly true.”
“Partly?”
“My father helped me leave. But not because someone was hunting me.”
“Then why?”
Melissa looked at the floor.
“Because
of you.”
The room went still.
“What?”
She opened the envelope.
Inside was a photograph.
Fallujah.
Six young men in dusty uniforms standing beside
an armored vehicle.
I recognized myself instantly.
Twenty-four years old.
Lean.
Sunburned.
Alive in a way I had forgotten.
Beside me stood Danny Ruiz.
My best friend.
