“Nice old guy. I visit with him about every six months. Did he tell you what the reconstruction crew said about the bomb?” Commander Watterson asked.

“Is that the truth or just some bullshit to cover up for me?” Sloan pushed the button to start making a cup of coffee.

“Pure truth. I can even send you the report if you want,” Commander Watterson said. “I hated to lose your team. Y’all were so good at what you did that we still haven’t found another bunch like you. But if you ever want to go back to work in a civilian training capacity, I could sure use you to train new teams. I’ve never had a soldier learn as fast as you did. You’d make an excellent instructor. It would pay well, and you’d still keep your disability benefits.”

“Thank you, sir, and I would like to see the report, and I’ll think about that job offer,” Sloan said. “Did y’all catch the guy who planted the bomb?”

“We did, but he escaped after he confessed. The story I got out of him was that Chris Jones had slept with his sister, Basima, and then dumped her. That had made her unfit for marriage in that culture. The young man was simply avenging his sister’s honor,” the commander said. “If you hadn’t gotten drunk, you’d be dead right along with them.”

“I told him that seeing Basima was asking for trouble.” Sloan groaned.

“You were right,” the commander said.

Sloan carried the phone with him when he heard a knock on the door. “I should go,” he said. “My pizza is here, and I’ve taken enough of your time. Thanks for talking to me.”

“Anytime, son. I’m just glad we got to the bottom of this. Keep in touch, and if you’re ever in Atlanta, look me up. Bye, now,” the commander said.

Sloan touched the “End” button, opened the door, accepted the pizza and handed the kid a bill. “Thank you. Keep the change.”

“Thank you,” the kid said and whistled down the hall toward the elevator.

He’d just taken the first slice out of the box when his phone rang. The picture that popped up on the screen was one he’d taken of Ginger on Easter Sunday. He laid the pizza back in the box and answered on the second ring.

“Hey, how’s things in the Banty House?” he asked.

“Betsy is cranky, but then she’s in a lot of pain. She still has headaches and her arm and leg hurt. I’d be in a pissy mood, too, if I was in her shoes,” Ginger answered. “So where are you tonight?”

“Paris.” He chuckled.

“I would’ve hitched a ride with you if I’d known you were going to France,” she said.

“Paris, Texas.” He laughed out loud. “I had a great day, and I just hung up from a wonderful phone call.” He told her all about Teddy, and Chris and Basima, and that he’d found out the truth behind the whole story.

“Feel better?” she asked.

“I really do, and I’ve got you to thank for it. If you hadn’t made me defuse that bomb, I would have never taken the first step to recover from all this guilt I’ve been carrying around. Now I really believe that it wasn’t my fault. There wasn’t anything I could have done if I’d been there.” Just talking to Ginger made even more of the heaviness leave his heart.

“So what do you do tomorrow?” she asked.

“I’m going to see Creed’s grave, and then I’ll go on up to Hugo, Oklahoma, and find Chris. I imagine Tinker and I’ll stay there tomorrow night and then go on over to Randlett and finish up our circle in John and Wade’s town. Then we’ll come home on Saturday. Seems like we should go get that snow cone we were going for last Sunday as soon as I get home,” he said.

“I’d like that,” Ginger agreed. “Hey, I’m going to put this on speakerphone so the ladies can talk to you, too.”

“Is Tinker doin’ okay?” Betsy asked.

“He’s lovin’ to travel. He’s liable to want to go every time the truck moves from now on,” Sloan answered.

“And how about you?” Kate asked.

“It was tough, but I got through it, and . . .” He went on to tell them about talking to his commander. Talking around the huge lump in his throat wasn’t easy, but he finally got the shortened form of the story out. “I hope he’s telling me the truth.”

“Why wouldn’t he tell you that before they sent you home?” Kate asked.

“They didn’t have all the details, and then I wouldn’t answer his calls,” Sloan admitted honestly, and his heart felt lighter for doing so.

“And your old truck is running fine?” Kate asked. “Too bad the law wouldn’t let me send some shine for you to sell along the way.”

“If I could have, I would.” He realized that she was changing the subject since no doubt she could tell just how emotional he was right then.

“It’s been great to hear your voice,” Connie said. “But we’re going to let you two kids talk now, and we’ll go on out to the parlor and get our movie night ready to go. Safe travels, and it’s good to hear your voice.”

“Y’all enjoy your movies,” Sloan said.

“I’m back, and we’re alone now,” Ginger said. “I miss you, and you’ve only been gone a day. The crazy thing is that I’ve only been here for two weeks, but it seems like I’ve known you and the ladies for years.”

“A wise young lady told me once that everything happens for a reason,” he said. “It’s helped to talk about today, Ginger. And that wise lady was right.”

“Oh, really!” From her tone, he knew that Ginger was smiling. “How could anyone have wisdom when they aren’t even twenty years old yet?”

“Guess they’re born with it,” he told her, “and when will this lady be twenty, anyway?”

“June first,” Ginger answered. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-four last January.”

“Oh, my! You are an old man.” She laughed out loud. “I should be going. I think they’re waiting for me to start the movie night. Will you join us next week?”

“Sure thing, and I’ll bring the candy bars,” he offered. “Good night, Ginger, and thanks again for telling me that I needed to do this.”

“You are so very welcome. Bye now.”

He hit the “End” button and laid the phone to the side. He wished that he was home so he could kiss her good night, but all he had was a box of semi-warm pizza. He got out a slice and sat down in a chair in the corner. Being there kind of reminded him of when he and his buddies would order pizza from the little shop on base and watch a movie. For the first time, he didn’t feel like crawling into a dark hole when he thought of those guys.

Ginger wished that her old friend at the café hadn’t died so she could call her and tell her everything that had happened in the past two weeks. But then, if she hadn’t passed away, Ginger wouldn’t have left and wouldn’t be where she was right then. She would still be working for tips at the café and wondering how on earth she was going to pay the hospital bill when her baby was delivered.

She wasn’t sleepy that evening, and she was a little worried about taking Betsy to the doctor the next day, so when the movie ended, she slipped outside to sit on the porch swing. Crickets and tree frogs were having a competition to see which one of them could make the most noise, and a gentle breeze brought the smell of honeysuckle right up to her.

“Mind if I sit with you a spell?” Flora didn’t wait for an answer but sat down on the other end of the swing.

“Be glad for the company.” Ginger was startled but quickly regained her composure, “Are you out for your evening walk?”

“Yep, and I’ve wandered a little farther than usual. Sometimes when I come this far, I just borrow the swing without asking. I just sit here and swing and try to think about things other than a mother that drives me crazy. I know Betsy and her sisters won’t mind because we’ve been friends since we were kids. We were kind of the misfits around these parts,” Flora said.

“I always made up stories in my mind about my mama,” Ginger told her. “In my stories, she wasn’t anything like the foster mothers, and she always made cookies and had them ready for me when I came home from school. I hope someday I can be a mother like that.”

“Belle Carson was that kind of mama.” Flora pulled a knee up and retied her shoe. “My mama was the opposite. She’s always been self-centered and never had any time for me. I always envied the Carson girls, and anytime they invited me to their house, I was delighted.”

Ginger wondered which kind of mother hers would’ve been if she hadn’t died in prison. She and Ginger’s dad had both been into drugs, either using them, selling them, or maybe both, so it wasn’t probable that she would have been a cookie-baking mama. Would her mother have reformed and really cared about Ginger and the baby? she wondered.

“So your mama didn’t care that you came to the Banty House?” Ginger asked.

“She didn’t even know where I was most of the time.” Flora shrugged. “She had her television programs that she watched all afternoon and into the night, so I was a bit of a bother.”