“I didn't say logic.”
She touched one captain stripe.
“Who promoted you?”
“The Navy.”
“Who earned it?”
“I did.”
“Who stitched this uniform?”
“Some contractor.”
She smiled.
“Fine.”
“Who wore it at Naomi’s commissioning ceremony?”
Marcus’s expression softened.
Their daughter had entered Navy JAG after law school, much to Marcus’s mixture of pride and terror.
“I did.”
“Who wore it at Captain Rivera’s funeral?”
“I did.”
“Who wore it when your crew came home?”
“I did.”
Lillian looked at him.
“Then one man does not get authorship.”
Marcus closed his eyes.
“One man does not get authorship.”
He repeated it.
The phrase stayed.
Better than costume.
Naomi learned about that struggle much later.
By then she was Lieutenant Junior Grade Naomi Hayes, JAG Corps, and delighted in reminding her father that her legal opinions were now “military advice.”
He hated it.
At dinner one night she asked:
“Do you still hear him?”
Marcus knew immediately.
“Sometimes.”
“What do you do?”
“Replace it.”
“With?”
He looked at Lillian.
“One man does not get authorship.”
Naomi smiled.
“Mom?”
“Obviously.”
“Dad’s sayings are more boring.”
“Correct.”
Marcus threw a bread roll at her.
Captain behavior.
Questionable.
Family approved.
Sergeant Elena Ruiz became an unexpected part of Marcus’s life.
She had testified during Vance’s administrative proceedings.
Her testimony was uncomfortable.
She admitted she had seen Vance act aggressively before.
Not unlawfully enough, she believed, to force action.
But enough to notice.
She had never filed written complaint.
Why?
“Because he was senior to me for most of my first years.”
Then later:
“Because I thought I could manage him informally.”
That sentence mattered.
Ruiz became lieutenant after McBride retired.
Some people accused airport authority of promoting her for optics.
She hated that.
Marcus understood.
At her promotion ceremony, she invited him.
He almost declined.
Then went.
She wore dress uniform.
He wore civilian suit.
Afterward, they stood near a window overlooking runways.
“You could have worn Blues.”
she said.
Marcus smiled.
“I know.”
“You didn’t because of me?”
“No.”
“Because airports and dress uniform have complicated relationship.”
She laughed.
Then:
“I’m sorry.”
Marcus looked at her.
“For what?”
“I should have stepped in sooner.”
“You stepped in.”
“After cuffs.”
“Yes.”
“Too late.”
“Not too late.”
She shook her head.
“You’re being kind.”