couldn’t be sure. Tentatively, she reached down, picked up the helmet. The hard plastic was smooth and cool to her touch. She ran her hands over the rounded surface, her fingertips finding a few imperfections: a scratch here, a small indentation there as if it had been hit by something. Or something had hit it.
Steven.
How many pictures did she have of him either wearing his helmet or carrying it tucked under his arm? It had been as much a part of him as the gold wings they’d pinned to his chest on graduation day.
But like so many of his things, it had been packed away and sent to his parents’ house. They’d needed those tangible memories of their son. Jenny had understood, of course she had. But that still didn’t stop her heart from hurting when the boxes had been carried out.
She traced the call sign imprinted on the helmet’s side. But the nickname beneath her finger wasn’t Steven’s.
Blood pounded in her ears, and her breath caught in her throat. The house was eerily quiet as she slowly looked to the man in front of her. “You’re the Ghost.”
It wasn’t a question, but he answered anyway. “Yes.”
“Oh God.” She stumbled back, sank down onto the sofa. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Her voice seemed to come from far away.
“I didn’t think it would matter. It’s just a damn call sign. Nothing more.”
There was something in his voice Jenny couldn’t identify—a distance. Detachment. But she didn’t dwell on it. Too many other things were pressing in against her.
“Your name.” Her mouth was dry. She swallowed, tried again. “When you first introduced yourself at my mom’s restaurant, you asked if I recognized your name. I didn’t. But the Ghost . . .” She trailed off, lost in a hundred different memories, a thousand different conversations she and Steven had had.
Jesus, Jen-Jen. You should see the Ghost fly. In the air, he’s magic. There’s no other way to describe it. No one can catch him. Hell, they can’t find him. I’ve never seen anything like him. No one has, not even the CO.
And then there were other conversations, ones that Jenny didn’t want to remember. Conversations where she’d learned of Steven’s and Jared’s friendship. Only, Steven had never referred to him as Jared. Always by Jared’s call sign. She remembered one call in particular. It had come late at night. She and Steven had been talking for over an hour when his voice had grown weary, threaded with an unfamiliar vulnerability. If not for the Ghost, Jen, I’d never make it. It’s only because of him that I’m going to pass and become a fighter pilot.
Why hadn’t Steven just called Jared by his given name? But Jenny knew. To them, their call signs were everything: their name . . . their identity . . . their life.
The helmet seemed to grow heavier in her lap, and she set it on the coffee table in front of her. Cool air swirled over her legs, marking its absence. “The Ghost, I know,” she said softly, struggling to say the next sentence. “Steven thought you were some type of god in the sky.”
“Don’t believe everything you hear. I had a job to do, just like everyone else.”
She knew he was holding back, not telling her the truth. The admiration and awe that had been in Steven’s voice when he spoke of Jared had held a respect and reverence few men achieved. And Steven didn’t give praise where praise wasn’t due.
She got up and walked over to him, holding out her hand.
He gave her a puzzled look.
“The letter.”
“Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”
Somehow she knew it did. Without waiting for him, she reached out and took the envelope. She was almost certain what she would find, but even knowing didn’t prepare her for the stab of emotion that pierced her when she saw the handwriting.
For several long moments all she could do was stare. The envelope was wrinkled and stained, and the postmark had all but faded, but the bold, heavily slanted writing was unmistakable.
“A letter from Steven.” She was going to lose it. Tears burned the back of her eyes, and she knew it was only a matter of moments before they blurred her vision. “Wh-what does this have to do with me?”
“Read it.”
She thrust it back at him. Was he kidding? Upstairs in her bedroom safely tucked away in shoeboxes were dozens and dozens of letters and cards and notes she’d received from Steven over the