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yet. Did Mr Thompson, did anyone, understand how unfair this was?
    Just one more person in front of her. He offered Jennifer the newspaper and she declined, happy to be speaking a little uncomplicated English. She had a powerful feeling now that she shouldn’t have come. She could turn around. Return to Frau Muller’s and pack, use up her credit card on a very expensive flight back to Arizona. This way, she couldn’t possibly betray him. She’d return to her job, continue visiting the embryos in the clinic, start the implantation procedures for Amelia and Brandon Junior. That way, when he came home, they’d all be waiting, just as in Mr Thompson’s picture.
    â€œMrs Tobin?”
    She rummaged around her purse for the credit card with free travel insurance. She had several cards, but wanted the platinum one with the high credit line.
    â€œOr, rather, Ms Petrie?”
    She did come when called, a flaw of proper upbringing. The Military often forgot that she kept her single name. Brandon supported her. He was like that—sympathetic to women’s liberation. Flexible about what she wanted to do. In fact he took the assignment in Germany to please her.
    â€œYes sir,” she spoke to a bald black man in his forties.
    â€œI’m Sergeant Mackie. It’s good to finally meet you, Ma’am.” He held out his palm.
    His handshake was firm, as she expected, but also warm.
    She smiled for the first time since arriving in Germany.
    â€œFrau Muller says you’ve settled in.”
    â€œOh, yes, a very nice place. Thank you for the recommendation.”
    â€œYou’re very welcome. It’s the least we could do.”
    That’s what her brother thought, the least they could offer. He wanted the Army to bring her over First Class. However, Jennifer knew a lot of people died in the service. All you had to do was look around at all those white crosses in the military cemetery three years ago. They couldn’t be flying widows around the globe to visit their husbands’ last stations.
    â€œI’ll be ready to escort you around in about five minutes, if you don’t mind waiting.” He glanced out at the room.
    She followed his glance to the young woman with the boy.
    â€œOn second thought, why don’t you come back here? I have a comfortable chair in my office and I can get you a cup of coffee? Tea? A soda?”
    Soda, she thought, he must be from the East Coast.
    In spite of herself, Jennifer looked back. She found the woman staring through her.
    Sergeant Mackie led Jennifer out the back door and showed her Brandon’s barracks. They took in the sick bay, the shooting range, the laundry.
    â€œIf you don’t mind,” she said tentatively. “I’d like to see exactly where Brandon died, where the truck hit him.”
    â€œHe was a hero, your husband,” Sergeant Mackie declared. “You know that, I’m sure. You would have read the documents about how he pushed another soldier to safety, risking—and losing—his own life in the process. There are all kinds of bravery, Mrs Tobin, I mean, Ms Petrie. And Brandon was a certified hero.”
    She looked into the kind, dark eyes of this stranger. “Brandon wrote about you,” she whispered, taken aback by tears in her throat. “He said you were a very ‘fair’ sergeant.”
    Mackie’s deep, loud chuckle startled her.
    â€œWell, I’m honoured to know that Ma’am. But I doubt he felt that 24/7. We did have our run-ins when he first arrived.”
    â€œOh, yes?”
    â€œWell, he was pretty good on discipline—following orders, keeping his kit right, polishing his shoes. But he had a touchy side, too, you know.”
    â€œI know,” she bowed her head, smiling thinly.
    â€œHe got into a couple of fights about the strangest things.”
    â€œLike what?” She pulled the brim of her straw hat lower on her already too freckled