sit beside him. No place to put my grief.”
“I was ashamed.”
“You decided again.”
My voice shook.
“You decided what I was allowed to know.”
I pointed at him.
“James made that mistake when he was twenty-three and dying. You kept making it for decades.”
Then I asked,
“Where is he?”
Adrian gave me the name of a military cemetery only a few hours away.
Close enough that I could have visited countless times.
“I can take you,” he said.
“No.”
Then I reconsidered.
“Yes. You can drive.”
He
