The first thing Major Rebecca Bennett noticed when she entered the celebration was how much her younger brother had changed.
Tyler had always been tall, but the years had broadened his shoulders and hardened the lines around his mouth. At thirty-three, the newly promoted Marine staff sergeant looked more like their father than Rebecca remembered. He stood near a long table decorated with red, white, and blue ribbons, laughing with a group of Marines while somebody tried to balance a ridiculous plastic crown on his head.
Rebecca stopped just inside the doorway.
For a moment, she allowed herself to watch him.
It had been fourteen months since she had seen him in person. Their telephone conversations rarely lasted longer than ten minutes. Tyler was always preparing for an inspection, leaving for training, or meeting friends. Rebecca was usually traveling, working irregular hours, or recovering from the kind of assignment she could not explain over an ordinary telephone call.
She missed him more than she admitted.
In her right hand, she carried a small gift wrapped in dark blue paper.
Inside was their father's watch.
It was an old silver timepiece with a scratched face and a leather strap that had been replaced so many times Rebecca had lost count. Their father had worn it through thirty years of factory shifts, family holidays, hospital visits, and ordinary mornings when he woke before sunrise to make breakfast for his children.
Before he died, he had asked Rebecca to give it to Tyler when he earned a senior leadership position.
She had waited seven years to fulfill that promise.
Now, standing in the doorway of a private lounge near Camp Pendleton, she felt strangely nervous.
“Rebecca?”
Tyler had spotted her.
His expression shifted from confusion to surprise.
“No way!”
He crossed the room in three long strides and wrapped his arms around her.
She laughed as he lifted her slightly off the floor.
“Put me down, you idiot.”
“You actually came!”
“I said I'd try.”
“You always say you'll try.”
“And sometimes I succeed.”
He set her down, still smiling.
For several seconds, she saw the boy who used to follow her around their childhood home asking questions about airplanes.
Then he looked at her clothes.
A charcoal jacket. A plain white blouse. Dark jeans. Black shoes.
“Seriously?” he asked.
“What?”
“You couldn't dress up?”
Rebecca looked down.
“I thought I did.”
He laughed.
“You look like you're here to audit the place.”
“Maybe I am.”
“Please don't. These people already think I'm boring.”
He took her hand and led her toward the table.
“Everybody, this is my sister, Rebecca.”
Several Marines greeted her warmly.
A young corporal named Ethan Walsh offered her a chair. Another Marine moved a plate so she could put down her handbag.
Rebecca thanked them.
She was accustomed to meeting military personnel from different branches, but she never assumed they knew who she was. She had deliberately worn civilian clothes because the evening belonged to Tyler.
For once, she wanted to be somebody's sister instead of somebody's commanding officer.
Tyler introduced his friends one by one.
Then he reached for his beer and grinned.
“You guys know how I always complain about paperwork?”
A Marine across the table laughed.
“Every single day, Staff Sergeant.”
“Well, my sister's the reason.”
Rebecca raised an eyebrow.
“That's a new accusation.”
Tyler leaned against the table.
“She joined the Air Force and figured out how to get paid for sitting in an office.”
The men chuckled.
Rebecca smiled politely.
She had heard this joke before.
Many times.
When Tyler was younger, it had been harmless teasing. He used to tell their father that Marines did the fighting while the Air Force handled the air conditioning.
Their father would laugh and remind him that no military operation succeeded without people working together.
But their father was gone.
And Tyler had grown increasingly confident in his own assumptions.
A corporal asked, “What do you actually do, ma'am?”
Rebecca answered, “Operational coordination and joint mission support.”
Tyler burst out laughing.
“See? That's exactly what I mean.”
Rebecca looked at him.
“What?”
“That's the most Air Force answer I've ever heard.”
More laughter.
“Come on,” Tyler continued. “Just say you answer emails.”
Rebecca took a sip of water.
She could have corrected him.
She could have explained that her career involved planning and coordinating missions where decisions had to be made in seconds, often with incomplete information and lives depending on the result.
She could have mentioned deployments he knew nothing about.
She could have described the nights when she listened to wounded service members asking for help over failing communications networks.
But she had not traveled across the country to compete with her brother.
She had come to celebrate him.
So she smiled.
“Congratulations on the promotion, Tyler.”
He raised his glass.