never been close. Michael had a way of taking shortcuts, of finding the easy path, while I was wired to choose the hard right over the easy wrong. Our mother doted on Michael, maybe because he reminded her less of war and loss. I left for basic training the day after high school graduation and, in many ways, never really came back.

I met Sarah McLean at a veteran’s charity event nine years ago. She’d been volunteering, bright-eyed and eager to “support our troops.” Sarah was beautiful in that conventional, curated way: