Call this a tribute, if you will. I'm sure Jim & Blair, Darien & Hobbes & Adam Reese (if you remember him), and Charlie Eppes feel that way about it.
The crack of canvas in September wind sounded loud even to Blair’s ears.
He glanced up at the flag outside the station, lowered somberly to half-mast, a blur of red, white, and speckled blue against the pale sun-washed sky.
His next step nearly slammed him into his partner. Jim had stopped there on the sidewalk, shoulders straight and back stiff as if at attention. Blair glanced at his friend’s unblinking eyes, and followed their gaze to the flag.
Blair put a tentative hand on his shoulder. “Jim?”
The ex-military cop blinked once. “It’s okay, Chief. Just remembering.”
“Yeah.” Blair sighed.
Subject: FW: So, 9/11. . . .
Crap, Hobbes. He’s never asked me about this before. What the hell should I say?
>Forward from: firstname.lastname@example.org
>Subject: So, 9/11. . . .
>This might sound kinda weird. But I keep seeing all the stuff on >TV, now that’s been 5 years. Everybody at school remembers what >happened, they’ve all got stories about how they heard and how weird >it was.
>I wasn’t even around. I was doing my popsicle impression.
>Maybe you could tell me about it?
>You don’t have to. I just figured you’d remember it pretty well.
“He’s kind of busy.” Megan smiled apologetically at Charlie, who was watching his brother pace the length of the war room while talking on his cell.
Charlie nodded, not taking his eyes off Don. “I guess he was busy then, too. Dad saw the early news, tried to call the Albuquerque office, and couldn’t get through. Mom finally made Dad sit down and eat breakfast instead of ‘cluttering up the phone lines’. That’s when Don called, just long enough to say he was okay.”
“You weren’t sure?” Megan frowned.
Charlie shrugged. “He’d been in DC for a seminar that weekend.”