He pointed to the cenotaph, which was bedecked with flowers and ribbons from nations around the world who had paid their respects. President Keating went on.
“These three people are asking us that question right now,” he said. “And I believe we owe them an answer.”
He stepped away from the podium and took a seat between the new First Lady and Vee, who looked elegant and mournful dressed all in black, her emerald eyes rimmed with tears but still stoic and watchful as she looked out over the crowd. As the president sat down, Vee gave him a courteous nod and the First Lady took his hand in hers. Overhead, four fighter jets streaked through the air. Suddenly, the second plane from the right pulled up abruptly, shooting upward into the sky as the other planes continued in the classic missing-man formation. The president and all military personnel stood and saluted as a fife and drum corps played “Amazing Grace.”
In the back of the cemetery, far away from the prying eyes of the press and public, Caitlin Taggart stood and watched the jets soaring above her. She stood at attention and saluted, offering respect and a silent prayer to her fallen friends. She looked over at Vee, but, given the distance between them, couldn’t be sure if her old friend saw her. Not that it would have mattered much if she had, she supposed. Caitlin liked to think that someday, when they’d both had a chance to gain some distance from all that had happened, they might find each other again. It was only a thought, a nice thought, and was enough for now.
Above the planes, Caitlin could make out a sliver of moon hanging indifferently in the midmorning sky. There was a time when she might have looked at the Moon and been plagued with dread, thinking of her yearlong internment there and the tribulation she’d endured to escape it. But now, it was just another object in the sky, worthy of a glance, a passing thought, and little else.
Turning her eyes away from the sky above her, Caitlin looked down, focusing her attention on the person at her side. She reached down and squeezed Emily’s shoulder.
“Ready to get out of here?”
“Almost,” Emily said. “I want to see the Last Campaign memorial.”
“Oh really?” Caitlin asked, realizing how much she sounded like her own daughter when presented with a task she didn’t want to do. “Do we have to?”
“It’ll be quick,” she said. “I told Kyle I’d text him a picture. He thinks it’s really cool that you fought in the war.”
“Who’s this Kyle who thinks I’m cool?” Caitlin asked.
“Just a boy from school.”
“A boy from school? And why am I just hearing about him now?”
“I don’t know.”
“I thought we had an agreement, young lady.”
“What agreement?” asked Emily, genuinely surprised.
“No boys until you’re forty,” said Caitlin. “I think that’s reasonable.”
Emily giggled at her mother’s chiding, and Caitlin squeezed her hand.
“C’mon, kiddo,” she said. “Let’s go get Kyle his picture.”
They began to walk, and Caitlin allowed herself one last look around the cemetery. She sighed, looking around her. How weird, being in the place where so many of her friends, both past and present, were memorialized. With the Moon overhead and her daughter at her side, it was as though she was standing at the nexus point of all the events of her life.
“What are you thinking about, Mom?” asked Emily.
“What?”
“I’ve seen that look on your face before,” Emily said. “It means you’ve got something serious on your mind.”
“I’m just thinking about how much I love you,” Caitlin said.
Emily rolled her eyes. “That’s what you’re always thinking about!”
Caitlin gave her daughter another hug.
“And I always will be,” she said.
She took Emily’s hand, and the two walked reverently into the morning sunlight. It was time to go home.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Every book is a team effort, but this one brought together an incredible group of people, each of whom helped get the project off the ground. First and foremost, I have to thank Bob Lee, who was there every step of the way to answer questions, raise ideas, and challenge me time and again about the science and its accuracy. This book wouldn’t exist without you, Bob! Many thanks also to Chris Dieckman, who offered great advice at the book’s outset that helped the wheels to start turning. Thanks also to Jason Kirk at 47North, who took a chance on this when it was little more than an outline, and to my agent, Jennifer Lyons, who took a chance when it was even less than that. Lots of gratitude must also go out to Chris Mari for his continued friendship and support. Many thanks and much love to my whole family, immediate and extended, who have always shown such support. And a special thanks to every family member who bought a copy of Ocean of Storms (or several!), came to a book signing, or took the time to promote the book on their own. I will be forever grateful. Thanks to William and James for being such good examples of what young men should be and for never objecting when Dad had to spend another night writing. And the greatest thanks of all goes to my wife, Alli, who supported this whole thing from day one, even when it seemed impossible to pull off. The only reason I believe I can accomplish great things is because I see you do it every day.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo © 2016 Alli Brown
Jeremy K. Brown published his first book, Calling Off Christmas, in 2011. His first science-fiction novel, Ocean of Storms, was written with coauthor Christopher Mari and published in 2016. Jeremy has also authored several biographies for young readers, including books on Stevie Wonder and Ursula K. Le Guin. Jeremy has contributed articles to numerous magazines and newspapers, as well as special issues for TV Guide, Newsweek, and the Discovery Channel. He lives in New York with his wife and sons and is working on his next novel.
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