Chapter 19

“What plans do you have for tomorrow, Quinn?” Mark sat with his back to the passenger door, his left leg folded beneath him.

“I’ll go with Mother to Arlington in the morning.”

“Oh?”

“My father’s buried there.” My hands tightened on the steering wheel as I thought of that Sunday in ‘78 when we’d received the phone call informing us of the crash of the Air India jet Father had been on. Mother hadn’t wept then. She hadn’t wept at the funeral either, but I never doubted the depths of her grief. My parents had been contained in public, but in private…“Mother goes every year, as do I if I’m in town.” Since we hadn’t been able to spend that last Christmas together—he’d been on assignment—we spent every one after that we could. “Otherwise my uncles or Gregor will go with her.”

“Who’s Gregor?”

“He runs Mother’s household.”

“A male housekeeper?”

“Among other things.” I wouldn’t reveal all the many hats he wore.