“Hey, Grandma. What was your rank back in.s. the Stone Age?” I didn’t look up. I’d driven forty minutes for that chili. “I’m talking to you, ma’am.”
There were three of them standing over my table. The one doing the talking was maybe twenty-seven. He had a neck like a fence post and arms to match, and a voice that was used to being listened to.
The name tape on his chest said REESE. Three chevrons and a rocker. A staff sergeant.
My name is Quinn Braddock. I’m eighty-one years old. I live by myself in Clarksville, Tennessee, in a yellow house with too many stairs. I was a school nurse at Burt Elementary for thirty-one years.
Before that, a long time before that, I was something else.
That Thursday in October, I was sitting in the big dining facility at Fort Campbell, Kentucky. I had on my good gray wool coat and my church shoes. Every other person in that room was wearing camouflage and was young enough to be my grandchild.
