The grill hissed like an animal learning to breathe again. Beyond it, the blue ridge foothills sloped down toward a neighborhood that slept in cul-de-sacs and woke to lawnmowers. Folding chairs bit into crabgrass. Men who used to salute each other pretended their back pain was weather.
I had not been home in almost a year.
I came straight from a change-of-command in DC, still in service dress whites because I’d run out of time and excuses to stop at quarters. The uniform was a mistake for a barbecue, but I was too tired to change and too stubborn to hide.
