Chapter 1 - Grace
My father picked an expensive restaurant on the water in Virginia Beach because he liked being seen winning.
That's how Clifford Merrick thought about birthdays. Not as another year with his family. As proof that time hadn't beaten him yet. He was turning seventy-six. The Tidewater Room had white tablecloths, brass lamps, and waiters who called him "sir" in exactly the tone he liked.
"Merrick party," the hostess said.
"That's us," my father said proudly, and walked ahead without looking back.
My mother, Irene, followed him, holding her cream cardigan closed even though it was warm. My younger brother, Kurt, came next, chewing the inside of his cheek the way he's done since he was nine. I walked in last, beside my friend Quinn.
To my father, Quinn Talbot was "a friend from work." That's all I had told him. Some truths are more powerful when they arrive at exactly the right moment.
My father took the head of the table, of course. Then he tapped the chair next to him. "Sloane. Here."
I'm fifty years old. I've commanded thousands of soldiers. And I still recognized that tone the second I heard it. I sat.
Quinn took the chair across from me. My father looked her up and down. Her plain gray jacket. Her straight back. "What do you do again?"
"Defense administration," Quinn said.
"Paperwork?"
"Sometimes paperwork matters," Quinn said pleasantly. I looked down at my menu to hide my smile.
Dinner went exactly the way I expected. My father lectured us about discipline, about leadership, about everything wrong with young people and with America. My mother laughed at his jokes only after checking his face first. Kurt nodded at the right moments. And I quietly counted the exits. Old habit. I've been doing it in rooms with my father since I was eight years old.
Then, just as the waiter set down the bread, my mother whispered, "Oh, no."
"What is it, Mom?"
"I left the oven on at home. I was warming the rolls for later." Her face had gone pale. Thirty years ago, she'd had a small kitchen fire. She still had nightmares about it.
My father had already folded his hands and closed his eyes. He was getting ready to say grace. Out loud, in the middle of the restaurant. He always does.
"Call Mrs. Lane next door," I whispered to my mother. "She has a key. She can turn it off."
My father's eyes snapped open. "What did you just say?"
"Mom left the oven on," I said calmly. "I told her to call the neighbor."
"We are saying grace."
"I know, Dad."
His hand moved before anyone could react. The slap cracked across my face so loud that the people at the next table turned around. Somebody gasped.
My cheek burned. I stayed in my chair. That made him angrier. It always did.
"You disrespect me?" he hissed. "At my own birthday?"
"Clifford," my mother whispered.
"Stay out of this, Irene!" He grabbed my shoulder with one hand. And then his fist hit my face.
Kurt jumped up so fast his chair fell over. Across the table, Quinn was already on her feet. But I lifted one hand toward her. Just slightly. Wait.
My father sat there breathing hard, staring at me. Waiting for me to cry. Waiting for me to say I was sorry, the way I did when I was ten.
Instead, I slowly wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth with my napkin. "Are you finished?" I asked him quietly.
Then Quinn's voice cut through the whole restaurant. "That's enough."
My father turned on her. "Sit down. This is a family matter."
Quinn didn't sit down. She reached inside her gray jacket, took out her military ID, and laid it on the white tablecloth in front of him.
"Colonel Quinn Talbot, United States Army," she said evenly. "And the woman you just assaulted is Major General Sloane Merrick."
My father's face went completely empty. My mother put her hand over her mouth. Kurt stared at me like he'd never seen me before.
"You're... what?" my father whispered.
Two men in dark suits had stood up from a table near the door. They were walking toward us.
"You've made a very serious mistake, Mr. Merrick," Quinn said.
My father's knees buckled. He slid sideways out of his chair onto the floor. My mother screamed and dropped down beside him.
But Quinn wasn't looking at my father. She was watching the two men in suits. Then she turned to me and said something that made my stomach drop.
May you like
"General," she said quietly, "there's another reason I came tonight."
What do you think the other reason was?
