“I’ve been thinking of little else for days,” Bonnie said.
Grimes walked to the foot locker with the flag folded on top, touching it reverently, “There’s more than a man’s life in that trunk, there’s history here, his speeches, his medals, his decorations. They should be sorted out, looked at, treated with respect. I’m too hurt by all this, it’s like a terminal wound to me. I wouldn’t know where to start.”
“Maybe I would,” Duro Lasari said, and took a packet from his pocket and placed it on the desk, folding back the leaves of tissue paper.
Bonnie Caidin bent close, then touched the object with the tip of her finger. “That’s a Medal of Honor, isn’t it? I never saw one before.”
Lasari put his hand on her shoulder lightly, but he seemed to be addressing someone beyond the shadows of the room. “You’re right, Bonnie, a Medal of Honor. The Army gave that to General Weir years ago, when he was just a kid, a private. The reason you never saw one before, well, there are just too damned few medals around these days. That’s the way I see it.”
John Grimes nodded and Bonnie Caidin said softly, “You’re right, Duro. And that’s the way I see it... far too few.”