After about an hour of driving, the GPS’s flat voice announced their arrival at her parents’ home in the town of Spring Lake. The split-level brick house looked like many of the others on the quiet, residential street—something Taylor had always resented. After the monotony of base housing, she’d wanted her parents to buy a house with some character. The irony of the square box of a studio apartment she’d moved into wasn’t lost on her.

Her brother-in-law’s F-150 was parked on one side of the driveway. A black Mercedes coupe so new it still had temporary tags occupied the other half. It no doubt belonged to Darwin. Her brother loved to show off his prizes, as he liked to call his cars.

Jamar parked the Lincoln at the curb, just past the mailbox. The door to the house opened at the same time Taylor climbed out of the SUV. A second later, her dad appeared. He wore creased black slacks and a heather-gray sweater. It was so typical of the Colonel. His “downtime” wardrobe was what others would consider business casual.

Taylor wouldn’t have it any other way.

She raced over to him and wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders. It didn’t matter how often they butted heads, nothing could ever take away that initial joy she felt at seeing her dad safe and healthy.

“How’s my little Taylor Renee?” he said, kissing the top of her head.

“Just fine, Daddy,” she said, giving him an extra squeeze. She leaned back so she could look up at him. “Feeling old yet?”

“I don’t turn sixty until tomorrow,” he said. He pinched her side. “Why are you so skinny? I know Texas barbecue isn’t as good as what you get here in North Carolina, but you can stand to eat a little more meat, girl.”

“Ha ha,” she deadpanned.

Her dad tucked her against his side, keeping one arm firmly around her. With the other he extended his hand to Jamar.

“I’m Colonel Powell,” he said.

“Jamar Dixon,” Jamar said, shaking his hand.

“Oh, I know who you are,” her dad said. Taylor stiffened. This could go one of two ways. “I’m a Packers fan, but I keep up with the Bears,” her dad finished.

Thank God. It went the non-apocalyptic way.

Jamar’s brow arched. “A Packers fan in Panthers country? If you don’t mind my asking, how did that happen, sir?”

Oh, good one, Twenty-Three. Tacking that sir on at the end would definitely score him some brownie points with the Colonel. Taylor knew those impeccable manners of his would come in handy.

“I was stationed at Fort McCoy, Wisconsin, a long, long time ago. It’s halfway between Green Bay and Minneapolis. My drill sergeant was a Vikings fan, which explains why I hate them to this day.”