“Missed you,” Kennet whispered. “Missed you bad.”

“I’m so glad you’re home.”

“Me too.”

“So much to tell you.”

Kennet nodded, mute and helpless. “I know,” he managed. “I know.”

Minor pushed away a little, swiping his face on his shoulder. “Let’s see what you did to yourself…” His finger traced the constellation of tiny shrapnel scars on the side of Kennet’s face, lingering on the one near his eye with a low whistle. “Whoa, that was close. Another quarter-inch and you wouldn’t have been able to see my ugly mug.”

Minor mine, right now you are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

“You make me bawl and I will fucking kill you,” Minor said. “Now before you ask, Astrid’s back at the house. Her boy was waking up from a nap and she didn’t want to take away from the family scene.”

“All right.”

“Are you?”

“I don’t fucking know.”

“Me neither. Goddamn, I thought you’d never get here.”

They hugged again. The rest of the family drifted closer and Kennet held out an arm, gathering them in, kissing heads, squeezing hands.

Home.

In the abstract, at least. It took him nearly an hour to get to the house. Every other step, he was stopped by friends and greeted by neighbors. The crush wasn’t as intense as the New York City scene, but it had the same dizzying effect. It quickly became too much, and it was Little who came to the rescue, deftly and graciously extricating the soldier from all the welcome and well-wishing. Yet as soon as he and Kennet were alone, walking through the hotel gardens toward the Fiskare home, all that smooth, practiced patter disappeared. Little only looked up at him, tongue-tied and overwhelmed. A half-dozen times he looked like he was going to say something, but didn’t.

Kennet slung an arm around the boy’s shoulders. “Kind of feels like you want to say everything, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“We got lots of time now. All right? I’m not going anywhere. Not for a long, long while. Maybe not ever.”

Little stopped walking and hugged him again.

“You took care of everything so good,” Kennet whispered. “I knew you would. Ma knew it too. I didn’t worry about a thing at home, knowing you were here. So proud of you.”

Little sniffed and shook off the moment, managed a wobbly smile. “Astrid’s here.”

“I know.”

“No, I mean…” Little pointed toward the house. “She’s there.”

Kennet looked up at the small back porch.

Behind the railing, Astrid walked slowly back and forth, holding her son. She was barefoot in shorts and a blouse. Her hair was longer—not bobbed around her ears but caught in a clip at the back of her neck, loose strands falling around her face. Her arms gently chugged the little boy.

Little touched Kennet’s back and walked away.