Fifteen Years After My Father Changed the Locks, He Seated Me at Table Twenty-Two
I lifted the glass, looked him straight in the eye, and took a slow sip of Pinot Noir.
At eight o’clock Saturday morning, David Vance pulled out the vinyl chair across from me in the hotel breakfast room.
He set a thick kraft paper envelope on the Formica table next to my coffee mug.
The upper corner bore a dark blue rubber stamp from the Air Force Personnel Center at Randolph Air Force Base, addressed to Captain Simmons at Scott Air Force Base and forwarded directly to Greenfield by military courier.
“Clare asked for this three weeks ago,” David said.
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