“On a plane, too, I hear. When do you land?”

Gavin huffed a short, quiet laugh. “Not for a while.”

“So . . . overseas? Which was it this time? Afghanistan, Syria, or Iraq?”

“Dad, come on now. Don’t do this to me.”

His father laughed. “Forget it. I’m just messing with you.”

“Although, you’d really like this plane. It’s a private one with lots of room and a very attentive staff.”

“Rich clients, huh?”

“Something like that. What can I do for you?”

“Have you talked to Kaylynn?”

His sister? “Not recently. Been a little busy, why?” More to the point, why would his dad even ask that question? Last time he was home, Kaylynn had had no interest in talking to him.

“Just curious. She’s so focused on getting through her last year of college that we don’t see her very much.”

“She hasn’t moved out, has she?”

His father chuckled. “No, she’s still here. At least when she’s not with a friend who lives on campus.”

“So, what’s going on with her?”

“I’m not really sure anything’s going on with her. Just thought I’d see if she’d talked to you.”

“You know how we left things, Dad,” Gavin said, his voice rough.

“Yeah, I know. I’m only slightly ashamed it was you who confronted her boyfriend and not me. But since I have to live with her, I can live with that shame fairly easily.”

Sadness gripped Gavin, even as his lips curved into a small smile at his father’s words. He wanted to make things right with his sister, but she shunned him every time he tried. She was still angry with him for chasing off her scummy boyfriend. A fact he hated but didn’t know what to do about. If he’d had to do it all over again, he’d do exactly the same thing. “How’s Mom doing?” he asked.

Thankfully, his father allowed the change of subject. “She’s great. Still volunteering at the homeless shelter and reading to vets in hospice. I don’t know how she does it.” His voice roughened before he cleared his throat.

“She does it for Uncle Jordan. It’s his legacy.” His mother’s brother, Jordan Standish, had died of liver cancer after serving his country for thirty years. One year after retirement, he’d passed away, but not before establishing the Standish Literary Foundation for terminally ill vets. Gavin’s mother had been one of his first recruits.

“I know. Jordan was a standup guy, but it tears her up every time she goes over there.”

This wasn’t the first time they’d had this conversation, and Gavin figured it wouldn’t be the last. “Just keep praying for her. She knows how you feel.”

“Course she does. I tell her as often as possible.”