For an agonizing moment, Gibson tensed as he was led into the suite. If it was an ambush, then this would be the place to do it. He held his breath, half expecting to be greeted by a gun. But, mercifully, Grace Lombard stood alone at the window.

The bright Atlanta sun shone through her blonde hair, which fell in a wave to her shoulders, bangs swept neatly to one side—her trademark. It wasn’t possible, but she looked exactly as he remembered her. Always a petite woman and never known to be dressy, she looked true to form in jeans and a plaid button-up. She appeared as if she’d just stepped off the old porch at Pamsrest. It gave him such a feeling of nostalgia, and he wanted to throw his arms around her, but Grace Lombard made no move toward him. A hug was not in the cards.

“Hello, Gibson.”

“Mrs. Lombard. It’s good to see you.”

“Mrs. Lombard,” she repeated. “You always were such a polite boy.”

“Thank you for seeing me. I know it’s a leap of faith.”

“It is at that,” she said. “I hope I was right to.” She gestured for him to sit but kept her distance by the window. Her eyes looked questioningly at the bruising around his throat.

“How have you been?” she asked cautiously.

He gave her the bullet-point version of his life and finished with Ellie. “I have a daughter. She’s six.”

“Six?” she said. “I imagine you’d do very well with a little girl.”

He found that encouraging, so he held out a picture of Ellie at the National Zoo. Grace approached, took it, and sat on a nearby armchair.

“She looks like a firecracker.” The faintest caress of a smile touched her lips.

“That doesn’t begin to cover it. You should see her play soccer.”

“Is she good?” She handed the picture back.

“No, she’s terrible, but that doesn’t slow her down.”

Grace laughed but stopped herself quickly.

He changed tack. “I want to thank you for the letter.”

“Letter?”

“The letter you wrote me when I first went in the Marines.”

“Oh, of course, yes. It seemed necessary.”

“Well, it meant a lot. It helped. Hearing from you. I always meant to write back. It was just a tough time.”

“It was a tough time for everyone. Not one I think of fondly. But you’re welcome, Gibson. You and your father were very special to my family.”

Were—past tense. There was no edge to it. Simply a statement of fact.

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Especially to Suzanne. She was devastated by everything that happened. Your father. Your . . . difficulties,” she finished diplomatically.

“Yes, I’m sorry I wasn’t there for her. I should have been. She deserved better.”