Even though time is getting short on us, I refuse a ride and instead, holding Dan’s hand, the two of us walk down to the visitor center.

“Nice weather,” he says a couple of times.

It is. The crisp fall air fills my lungs with what strikes me as the refreshing touch from the Almighty himself. Dan never voiced disagreement over taking the slow way down. He knows I needed this interlude to settle myself down, to expel the anguish that overcame me up there. That and it gives us the space, mostly private, to talk things over. To his credit, he lets me bring it up when I’m good and ready.

“Still think I shouldn’t do it?” I say.

“It’s a little late for that.”

“Yeah. We did pay for that fancy airfare and all.”

“You can still take the fifth.”

I sniff, letting my eyes drift over to two trees aflame in red foliage. “We’ve been over that.”

Dan nods and clears his throat to signal that my response suffices. Our prior discussion had our legal counsel bring up the same possibility, only to get snuffed by my objection that taking the fifth amounts to the same thing as hanging a guilty sign around your neck.

To our left, we pass a sign pointing to President Kennedy’s tomb. I’ve seen it once, last time I visited. I picture it in my mind now. An eternal flame burns and sways. When you look up from it you can see what once provided Robert E. Lee’s house. This was his land, after all, until someone turned it into a cemetery after the Civil War. Quite the loaded contrast right there, when you think about the mixed history those two men share between them.

It makes me think of more mixed recent history. Maybe my piece of it sums up to but an insignificant fraction, but it weighs heavy one me all the same.

“You have nothing to be nervous about,” Dan says as we approach the bottom of the hill. “You’ve served your country. You’ve sacrificed for it. Those idiots have nothing on you.”

“Are you sure about that Dan?” I turn to face him, feeling the chill press against a stray tear. “You sure they don’t got plenty on me?”

He swallows and looks away. For all the support he wants to give me, he can’t assure me in full. No one’s righteous, my preacher reminded me in my growing up years. And of all the things I’ve done and stepped in, at least one can cast me for what I am: guilty and ashamed.

A large black SUV awaits us by the visitor center. Already sitting inside, Candice welcomes us with a smile.

“Ready?” she says.

“What do you think?” I punctuate my reply with a deep sigh.

“You’re ready.” She nods. “You’re way ready. Just use your wits and tell it like it is.”

“You sure about that?”

“Like I told you. Hold nothing back.”

As the car pulls away, I look out my window, seeing the last of the cemetery roll by, and for a few seconds I wonder whether she means that in full. Whether she appreciates the full extent of what I’ve done, what I am, and the effect that full disclosure will have.

I look back at her to see in her eyes that she does know. Or that at least someone’s convinced her to that effect.

“Guess we should hope for easy questions,” I say.

She shrugs. “Either way… Down the middle, Jane.” She aims a hand at my chest. “Down the middle.”

Thank you for reading this installment of Wounded Honor. Leading up to and following it’s release on April 21, I will be sharing preview samples for my readers. Keep checking in, and don’t forget to join my Reader’s Club if you haven’t already to stay up to date on future announcements and giveaways.