He took the picture out of his wallet. It showed the three Puller men all in a

row. Puller was the tallest, his father next in height, and his brother, at

six-two, bringing up the rear. Age and deteriorating health had robbed Puller

Sr. of two inches of his stature, so he would now be last in the height pecking

order.

 

But Puller was looking to the left of the picture. Where his mother would have

been standing had she still been with them.

 

This was the only family picture Puller had ever carried with him.

 

In combat overseas, on every mission he had performed on behalf of the U.S.

Army. On every investigation he had carried out as a CID agent.

 

He had no pictures of his mother.

 

He had had no choice in the matter.

 

His father had found and destroyed them all.

 

Puller slowly put the photo away, closed his eyes, and refocused…on that day.

 

The face at the window. Him playing outside. The smile.