Almost three weeks had passed since the Texas had brought him to England and almost two weeks since he’d undergone the second, reparative, surgery at the 158th General Hospital in Salisbury. It had taken forever for him to learn that the Rangers had held Pointe du Hoc until June 8, when forces from Omaha Beach finally linked up with them.

Hearing that the Rangers had succeeded and the Allies were making progress in Normandy was a benefit of surviving.

Another benefit was being able to report Frank Lyons’s confession to the military police. Now Peggy’s family in Florida would have resolution, and the boyfriend of the girl in Braunton wouldn’t be punished for a crime he hadn’t committed.

The ward door opened, and a Red Cross worker entered the semicylindrical Nissen hut. The tall blonde’s heels clicked on the concrete floor, and patients called out “Hiya, Red Cross” as she passed.

She stopped at the foot of Clay’s bed. “Good afternoon. Are you Cpl. Clay Paxton?”

“Yes, ma’am. Good afternoon to you too.”

She peered at him more closely, then grinned. “Oh, I see it. I hear it.”

A curious thing to say, and he tilted his head.

She laughed and extended her hand. “Pardon me. My name is Violet Lindstrom. I’m with the American Red Cross.”

He could tell by her blue-gray uniform with the Red Cross patch on the sleeve and the Red Cross pin on the garrison cap. He shook her hand. “Right nice to meet you, ma’am.”

Her pretty face sobered. “I’m here on behalf of two officers who are looking for you. Your—your brothers, Adler and Wyatt.”

Just like that, the “Prodigal’s elder brother” part of him didn’t want to be found. He cleared his throat. “They’re doing fine then? After D-day?”

“Oh yes. They each had an adventure, but they’re alive and well.” She held out some envelopes with a hesitant look. “I’ve brought letters from them. They said they’re very sorry for what they did to you.”

Clay’s eye twitched, and he took the letters. Just how much of his embarrassing life story had they shared with this stranger?

Miss Lindstrom twisted her purse strap. “They dearly wish to see you, but they’ll understand if you don’t want to.”

Clay’s brain felt full of mud. He wasn’t ready, wasn’t sure he’d ever be, and he set the letters on the bedside table. “I don’t need to read these.”

“Oh.” Her eyebrows tented, and she blinked a lot. “They’ll understand, but please keep the letters. Maybe someday you’ll be ready.”

Clay sighed and fixed his gaze on her. “That wasn’t what I meant. I don’t need to read the letters to know that I need to see my brothers.”