“Oh, nonsense,” Mama said, immediately flustered and pleased. “Any friend of Bash’s is welcome here. And you call me Ellen, none of that Mrs. Puller business.”
Dad stepped forward, offering his hand with the kind of straightforward courtesy that had always made me proud of him. “Jim Puller. Welcome to our home.”
“Thank you, sir. I’m looking forward to experiencing a proper American Thanksgiving.”
“Well, you’ve come to the right place.” Dad slung his arm around Mama’s shoulders. “Ellen’s been cookin’ up a storm since yesterday morning. I swear she’s planning on feedin’ half the county.”
“I just want to make sure we have enough,” Mama protested, but she was smiling. “Come in, come in. Bash, get the bags, honey.”
Bash swallowed. “We’re not staying here, Mama. We’re in an apartment on Lee Street.”
“But honey?—”
“We don’t have the space, Mama, and besides, I’m on the job. It wouldn’t be proper.”
Dad nodded, understanding passing between us. He knew as well as I did that Glenn’s room was a shrine now, kept exactly as he’d left it, and that having strangers—even welcome ones—sleeping there would be too much for Mama to handle.
Mama nodded. “Alright, then.”
As I gathered our backpacks from the car—the only bags we would need right now—I caught Eddie looking around, taking in the workshop, the garden, that comfortable shabbiness of a home that had been lived in and loved for decades. His face displayed nothing but interest.
Before I could say anything, Mama was ushering us inside, launching into a detailed explanation of the meal schedule and asking Eddie a dozen questions about his flight, his comfort, his dietary preferences. Within minutes, she’d settled him at the kitchen table with a glass of sweet tea and a plate of her homemade cookies, treating him like a favored nephew rather than visiting royalty. I watched with a smile as Eddie charmed my parents with the same easy grace he showed everyone.
“Your mama raised you right,” Mama was saying to Eddie, apparently approving of his manners. “I can always tell when someone was brought up properly.”
“My grandmother would be pleased to hear you say that. She was very particular about proper behavior.”
It should’ve been awkward—a British prince making small talk with my working-class parents in their modest kitchen—but somehow, it wasn’t. Eddie seemed genuinely interested in their lives, asking thoughtful questions about Dad’s work at the plant, Mama’s garden, the history of their property.
“Bash told me you were in the Marines as well,” Eddie said.
Dad nodded, smiling with pride. “We’re a military family. Every male in our family in the last four generations has served in the Marines, including Bash and his older brother, Glenn.”
The grief descended like a heavy blanket, smothering me and making it hard to breathe. My father’s face tightened, my mom’s eyes filled with tears, and I could only watch, helpless as always.
“I’m so very sorry for your loss,” Eddie said, his voice soft and gentle. “Was he killed in combat?”
I was in awe of him for asking that question. Most people would’ve shut up and changed the subject, too scared of causing more pain, but Eddie seemed to sense they wanted to talk about Glenn.
“He was,” Dad said, pride ringing in his voice. “An IED got him and two others when their truck blew up. But he made us beyond proud, serving his country like that.”
“You should be proud. It’s a selfless thing, to dedicate yourself to defending your country’s honor,” Eddie said, and I could’ve kissed him for how he’d handled that.
“It is.” Dad reached for Mama’s hand, and they shared a look.
“So how are you liking America so far?” Mama asked, letting go of Dad’s hand and refilling Eddie’s glass, clearly ready to change the subject.
“It’s been a wonderful experience so far, and Bash has done a great job of keeping me safe.”
Dad sent me a proud look that I felt into the very marrow of my bones. “We’re very proud of him as well for becoming a Secret Service agent, and even more for being picked for this special assignment.”
We talked a little while longer, and then I checked my watch. Time had flown by, also because of the three-hour time difference, which had not worked in our favor. “We’re heading over to the apartment to drop off our bags and freshen up, but we’ll be back in time for dinner, Mama.”
“You boys drive safely now,” she said, already rising, no doubt to start her preparations for dinner.
Ten minutes later, we were standing in the rental apartment the Secret Service had arranged for us to stay in. It was nothing special, but it was clean, conveniently located, and it had two separate bedrooms, each with their own bathroom. I also liked that it was on the second floor and only had one entrance, which made it easy to safeguard. But it was about as far from the private jet as it was possible to get. Eddie looked around his room with polite interest, taking in the floral bedspread and wood-paneled walls without comment.
“Your parents are lovely,” he said, setting his bag on the bed. “Very welcoming.”
