Chapter 2 - My Father Never Told Me There Had Been Another Rachel
My father answered on the second ring.
“Rachel?”
“Do you know a woman named Rachel E. Kane?”
Silence.
Not confusion.
Recognition.
I walked farther from the staging area.
“Dad.”
“Where are you?”
“Fort Meredith.”
Another pause.
“Who’s there?”
“Colonel David Hale.”
He exhaled through his nose.
That was enough.
“You know him.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“Years ago.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“No.”
My father, Thomas Kane, had been out of uniform for sixteen years.
He was sixty-three now.
Civilian contractor.
Golf on Thursdays.
Complained about his back whenever Mom asked him to carry groceries.
Until thirty seconds ago, I had believed I knew the broad shape of his military life.
Apparently I knew the brochure.
“What was she to you?”
He did not answer immediately.
“Dad.”
“My sister.”
I stopped walking.
“What?”
“Rachel Eleanor Kane was my older sister.”
I looked at the tag.
“You had a sister named Rachel.”
“Yes.”
“Who served.”
“Yes.”
“Who died.”
“Yes.”
“And then you named me Rachel.”
“No.”
That stopped me.
“What do you mean, no?”
“We didn’t name you after her.”
“You gave me her exact first name.”
“Your middle name is Elise.”
“Her middle initial is E.”
He said nothing.
I felt my anger start to move ahead of the facts.
I forced it back.
“Was she Rachel Eleanor?”
“Yes.”
“So why Rachel Elise?”
“Your mother chose Elise.”
“And Rachel?”
Long pause.
“I asked for it.”
“So you did name me after her.”
“I gave you her name.”
“That is what naming someone after somebody means.”
“No.”
His voice changed.
“You weren’t supposed to carry her.”
I almost laughed.
“Then you probably should’ve told me she existed.”
That landed.
He went quiet.
I asked:
“How did she die?”
“Training accident.”
Behind me, Hale had stopped pretending not to listen.
His eyes lowered.
My father continued.
“Fort Avery.”
“What happened?”
“Rachel.”
“No.”
“This is not a phone conversation.”
“Then get on a plane.”
Silence.
He knew me well enough to hear I meant it.
Then:
“What did David tell you?”
“That she was his best friend.”
My father laughed once.
Cold.
“Of course he did.”
Hale looked up.
“What does that mean?”
“Ask him.”
“I am asking you.”
My father said:
“David Hale was the last person who saw my sister alive.”
I looked at Hale.
The colonel didn’t move.
Dad continued.
“And he spent twenty-seven years telling people her death was an accident he couldn’t have prevented.”
Hale’s jaw tightened.
I asked:
“Was it?”
My father’s answer took too long.
“I don’t know.”
There.
Not murder.
Not conspiracy.
Something worse in its own way.
A family that had lived almost thirty years without agreeing what happened.
“When can you get here?”
“Tomorrow afternoon.”
“Good.”
“Rachel.”
“What?”
“Do not let David tell you the story like he’s the only one who remembers it.”
I looked at Hale.
“What does that mean?”
Dad answered:
“It means your aunt was alive long enough to disagree with him.”
Then he hung up.
I lowered the phone.
Hale was staring at me.
“What did he say?”
“You know.”
“No.”
“He says Rachel was alive long enough to disagree with you.”
His expression changed.
Mason, standing several yards away, looked between us.
Hale said:
“She was.”
“About what?”
He looked toward the empty range.
“The decision that ended the exercise.”
I waited.
He continued.
“Your aunt believed I stopped it too late.”
“And you?”
“I thought she stopped it too early.”
I looked at the old tag in my hand.
Twenty-seven years later, one of them had become a colonel.
The other had become a name my father gave his daughter and then refused to explain.
I asked:
“What happened after she stopped it?”
Hale stared toward the far targets.
“One of the soldiers ignored her.”
“Who?”
May you like
He looked back at me.
“Your father.”
