When I got back on the road, the next call came from my mom. For a second, I considered answering, but I knew how it would go. She would defend Megan, say she didn’t mean it, then slip in a gentle suggestion that maybe I should just let Megan handle things. It wasn’t worth hearing. I let that one go to voicemail, too.
Hours later, I was back at my tiny apartment near base. The place was sterile, barely lived in, because I was rarely there long enough to make it feel like home. I dropped my bag on the floor and sat on
the edge of the bed. It was quiet, too quiet. I thought about calling one of the guys from my unit, but what was I supposed to say? Hey, you ever get called a stinking woman by your sister during a will reading? Yeah, that would go over well.
