“Finn, my God . . .”

He pressed a finger to her lips, stopping her words. “But I’d much rather live for you. With you.”

She laid the palm of her hand over his heart. Warm, alive, strong. Suddenly she wanted to tell him everything, but she scarcely knew where to begin. “I’m still afraid to fly.”

“What?”

“Bear with me. Finn, I wasn’t expecting this. I need a moment. But I want you to know I’m scared to fly. But I’m not letting it stop me anymore. When I went to Vermont to find Hank Watkins, I didn’t hesitate. I just did it, even though I was scared.” She moved her hand to his lips, the way he had to hers. “And I’m probably afraid to love you, Finn, but you know what’s even scarier? I thought I’d missed my chance.”

A smile lit his face like the rising sun. “Oh, baby. You’ll never run out of chances with me.”

She knew she was staring up at him with stars in her eyes. “This is not how this day was supposed to go.”

“How was it supposed to go?”

“I . . . forgot.”

The kiss that he gave her was soft and sweet, and beautifully emotional—his closeness, his warmth, his breath. She wanted to melt into his embrace and stay there for the rest of her life. After a moment she didn’t want to end, she pulled back.

“You’re jet-lagged.”

“I’m jet-lagged.”

“Swaying on your feet. I can feel it.”

“Then we’d better lie down,” he said.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

“This is you, jet-lagged?” Camille asked, rolling over in bed and tucking her elbow under her cheek to look at him. She loved his chest—the muscular landscape of it, the whorls of hair, the cadence of his breathing.

“I was. I am. But I rallied.”

Oh boy, did he ever. He’d rallied all over her.

“I’m going to need to spend the night, though. No way I can drive all the way back to . . .” He stopped. “I don’t have anywhere to go. I left my teaching post. I’m homeless. Guess I’ll just find a place right in Bethany Bay.”

She felt a flutter of nervousness. “Finn, I’m not sure you’ve thought this through. How do you know you’ll like it here?”

“Oh, let’s see. There’s a beach. Surfing.”

“Not in the winter. It’s nasty in the winter.”

“A quaint town with a library, at least two bars, and a fisherman’s pub. A hot girlfriend.”

“I have a teenager.”

“I know. She’s awesome, like her mom. And when she’s not being so awesome—”

“Which is a lot of the time, when it comes to teenagers.”

“We’ll deal. You’ll have to trust me on this.”

“My mother and sisters.”

“Can’t wait to meet them. They’re going to love me.”

“How do you know that?”

He brushed a lock of her hair from her neck and kissed her there. “Because I love you. I’ll treat you right, Camille. Swear. I’ll make you so happy they’ll lay flowers at my feet. Beer in my fridge.”

She still couldn’t believe this was happening. “I have exes in town. Guys I used to date. You know, trying to move on.”

“I have a theory about that. You were trying not to move on. That’s why none of those others worked out. Until me. I’m your move-on guy.”

She laughed softly, feeling ridiculously happy. “Still, you’re going to bump into them. It might be awkward.”

“I can do awkward. Hell, you’ve seen me do awkward.” He propped himself up on one elbow and gazed down into her face. “Camille Adams, I love you more than anything else I’ve ever loved in this world. And when you left, I realized I almost missed out on something special because I hadn’t figured out how to put us together.” He brushed the sweetest of kisses over her brow, her lips. “There’s good news.”

“What’s that?”

“I’ve figured it out.”

Epilogue

Springtime swept over the landscape at Arlington Cemetery, a light breeze creating a storm of petals from the blossoming cherry and dogwood trees. The buzz of a military aircraft overhead mingled with the clop-clop of hooves. Four liveried horses drew the caisson, which bore the flag-draped coffin of Sergeant Major Richard Arthur Finnemore, bringing him to his final resting place. The white horses perfectly matched the alabaster markers spreading out in all directions. The solemn procession moved past the rows of headstones before stopping at the burial site on a grassy hill.

A remarkable number of people were gathered for the ceremony—Finn’s mother, Tavia, and all his assorted siblings, nieces, and nephews. Camille reached over and took Finn’s hand, giving it a squeeze. Julie sat beside her, and Michel arrived, pushing Papa in his wheelchair. Some of the survivors—men who had been saved by Richard’s sacrifice—came to pay their respects.

Finn looked over at her, and the emotion in his face touched her heart. She offered a tremulous smile, hoping to convey all the love and grief aching inside her. “It’s okay,” she whispered, placing his hand on the bundle in her lap, the sweetly sleeping baby they’d named after Finn’s lost father.

Two years after Camille had developed the film in Sergeant Major Finnemore’s camera, he had been located. The very last image on the camera—the final image he’d shot—turned out to be the key that unlocked the mystery of his disappearance. Just before surrendering to the enemy, he’d snapped a photo, dropped the camera, and gave himself up, enabling the team to stay in hiding and leaving a clue to his whereabouts. Studying that final image, so painstakingly developed by Camille, they had focused on a tiny detail—a crate bearing a serial number. After months of work, they traced the supply box to Lomphat, Cambodia, a town that had been obliterated by bombs. A local survivor eventually led them to a crude burial site of remains known only to God.

Finn’s own DNA had been used to identify his father’s remains.

Strains of “Amazing Grace” wafted on the air. There was a flyover by military craft. Four men on either side of the flag-draped coffin marched in crisp tandem, sidestepping to the freshly dug cavity in the earth. Eight riflemen, handling their weapons with white-gloved care, shot a salute. The ensemble played taps as the flag was folded into a mournful triangle.

Tavia received the flag in her lap. She looked up at her children and then leaned over, seeming to collapse upon the thick triangle of fabric. Finn and his sisters surrounded her and helped her up. She handed the flag to Margaret Ann and turned to Camille. “I’ll take the baby,” she said.

“Of course.” Camille gently placed the infant in her arms. “He had a remarkable grandfather. I hope you’ll tell him all about it one day.” She walked over to Finn’s side, and they stood together at the grave site. “Are you all right?” she gently asked him.

He took her hand and brought it to his lips. “Yes. Never better. God, I love you so much.” Then he slid his arms around her, and her heart filled with bittersweet emotion—grief and joy, gratitude and regret, pride and melancholy. But most of all, love.

Two years before, she had never imagined a moment like this. Yet here she was, with a man she loved more than the very air she breathed, with her father, who was finally living and loving the way he was meant to, and with her daughter, now poised to take flight on her own adventures.

She looked around at the faces of her extended family. What a beautiful journey they were on, the long, sweet journey that had brought them home.