They entered the room and saw that he was in bed, his crown of white hair just

visible over the blanket. The brothers glanced at each other before walking over

to stand on either side of the bed. “Dad?” said Robert.

 

The old man didn’t stir. “Dad, it’s about Mom,” added Puller.

 

Now their father blinked his eyes open and slowly turned his head to look first

at Robert and then at John.

 

Robert sat down in a chair and took his father’s large, weathered hand and

gripped it firmly. “We found her. We found Mom.” Puller Sr. started blinking

rapidly. “She didn’t leave us, Dad,” said Puller. “She…she was killed by…

someone. Thirty years ago.” Puller Sr. blinked some more as he turned over to

stare up at them. Then they could both see tears trickling down his cheeks.

 

Robert said, “She’s going to be buried, Dad. We’re going to have a funeral for

her at Fort Monroe. We”—he shot his brother a glance —“we wanted to know if you

would like to come, if you think you can manage it.” The tears kept sliding down

the old man’s face.

 

Robert pulled something from his pocket. It was an old cassette recorder.

“What’s that?” whispered Puller.

 

Robert set it down on the nightstand and turned it on. A moment later they heard