Click. Crop. Brighten. Save. I remove the same flaw from each of my sister Sadie’s wedding photos. Offering up my backyard and photography skills had me feeling like Sister of the Year until I noticed the blemish in the background of every image. Evidently, my neighbors tied a ragged, ugly eyesore of a red scarf
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6th June, 1944
Twelve miles from shore, we climb into the landing craft.
“Remember,” the coxswain warns, looking at each of us as we set out. “Save no one. We need manpower on the beach.”
No one responds. What could we say? None of us wanted to face the possibility of leaving our friends behind.
For a children’s librarian, the deadliest weapon is the paper cutter. With one wrong slice, important papers such as reading forms can be destroyed. I know, because it happened to me last summer. One June morning, I found everything for the Summer Reading kick-off—from bookmarks to tracking charts—on my desk, cut apart
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I flew up the stairs two at a time, furious. Six more weeks in a cast? That’s my entire baseball season ruined. Flopping into my desk chair, I swept my casted arm across the top of the desk, sending everything either flying or thumping to the floor. Look magazine peeked out from under homework and a tissue box.
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Operation Dynamo. More than 338,000 British and other Allied troops waited on the beaches of France. Surrounded by the Germans, the only way out was on the sea that trapped them.
But the beaches were too shallow for destroyers to reach. So, the British Admiralty sent out the call for small vessels to ferry the men to safety.
Wails.
They pierce through the walls of our cabin. Echo in the hall outside. Like the ship is haunted and full of ghosts. I shiver, bury myself in the blankets. My body slides against the wall of my berth. I scoot back to my warm spot. Slide down again.
Pounding and banging. Slams and thuds.
North Atlantic Ocean, April 14th, 1912, 10:00 PM
“Oi!” Jewell says as he drops onto the deck. “Keep a sharp look-out for ice, particularly growlers.”
“Sea’s calm tonight.” Symons lands beside him and rubs his hands together. “It’ll make it rougher. Keep your eyes peeled, Fleet.”
“Thanks,” I respond tightly. I always dreamed of being on lookout.
“Our band of brothers must be the right age,” I told the three men gathered around me in the quiet darkness of my house—dark save for the single candle. We dared not light the lamp on the table between us, nor any lamp at all. “But then, you already know the truth of this.”
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After my daughter and her husband’s car accident, it was just Carter and me. Then, three years later to the day that I had buried his parents, I laid six-year-old Carter beside them.
Leukemia.
Most of the people at the funeral were my grandson’s friends. A few had tears running down their cheeks as they hugged their parents…
Just a spoiled rich girl! Not a serious archeologist! Was that all they thought of me? If they prohibited my inclusion on this expedition, then I would find it first! They couldn’t ignore my experience and commitment if I stood before them holding the relic!
The university library contained what I needed.
The doorman of the Marriott Marquis drew the doors, revealing a grand crystal chandelier. I smoothed imaginary wrinkles from my royal blue cocktail dress—a far cry from my shabby barista’s apron.
I tucked a lock of my long, dark hair behind one ear. Just breathe. My black heels clicked unevenly across the threshold
“Is this gonna hurt?” A wet bead crept down my neck. I wiped it off. Smeared it across my T-shirt.
“No more than a broken heart.” Magnus gave a boisterous laugh.
I forced a smile. Scary-lookin’ dude. He could do more than hurt me.
The bald behemoth winked, then sat next to me,
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