When Marcus reached him, the retired officer extended his hand.
“Bishop, right?”
Marcus stopped.
“How did you know?”
Whitmore smiled.
“I made some guesses from your squadron history.”
Marcus shook his hand.
“Don’t use that name anymore.”
“Maybe not.”
Whitmore looked toward the cockpit.
“But apparently the guy is still in there.”
Marcus stepped onto the evacuation slide.
Cold Irish air hit him as soon as he reached the ground.
The sky above Shannon was beginning to turn faint gray near the horizon. Ambulances moved around the aircraft while firefighters inspected the engines and landing gear.
Marcus walked until he was away from the crowd.
Then he finally looked back.
The enormous aircraft sat buried partially in the arresting material at the end of the runway. It looked wounded and exhausted.
A little like he felt.
Sarah found him several minutes later.
“You disappeared.”
“Needed some air.”
She stood beside him.
Neither spoke for a while.
Finally Sarah said, “Why did you wait?”
Marcus looked at her.
“When we made the announcement. You waited before standing up.”
He put his hands into the pockets of his sweatshirt.
“My daughter.”
Sarah waited.
“She’s eight. Zoe.”
Marcus stared toward the emergency lights.
“I left the Air Force because I promised her I was finished doing things that might keep me from coming home.”
Sarah nodded slowly.
“My wife died when Zoe was little. After that, every deployment felt different. I’d be sitting in some briefing room thousands of miles away wondering whether my daughter was waking up from a nightmare and asking someone else where her dad was.”
“So you quit.”
“I chose her.”
Sarah looked toward the plane.
“And tonight?”
Marcus laughed quietly.
“Tonight I spent about thirty seconds pretending I still had a choice.”
Sarah understood.
“If you stayed seated…”
“I might never have gotten home anyway.”
His phone vibrated inside his pocket.
When Marcus turned it on, messages flooded the screen.
Twenty-nine texts.
Eight missed calls.
Two voicemail notifications.
And a photograph from Elaine.
Zoe was asleep in bed hugging a stuffed fox.
Beneath the photograph, Elaine had written:
She still doesn’t know. Call me when you can.
Marcus stared at the picture.
His throat tightened.
Sarah glanced at the phone.
“That her?”
“Yeah.”
“She looks peaceful.”
“She always sleeps like the world owes her nothing.”