“You’re a good friend, Colonel.”

“You made this week bearable, Brenda,” I said.

“That counts for a lot more than official protocol.”

I lifted the heavy green Army footlocker, carried it out through the screen door, and secured the tailgate against the frame.

At eight o’clock, I sat at the small wooden desk in the temporary officer quarters near the south gate.

The room smelled of floor wax, wool blankets, and fresh paint.

Outside the double window, the night air carried the faint hum of heavy trucks crossing the Bear Mountain Bridge.