Now, ten years later, a divorced and single Rory still remembered his trip to Las Vegas as if it were yesterday. While most of his fellow employees had slept during the four-hour flight from Las Vegas back to Columbus, Rory had sat and smoldered, making a promise to himself that he would never go back to Vegas again, even if it meant getting fired.

Rory had also vowed to look for a new job, but as the years passed, he realized with increasing despair that it was out of the question. No one left a good job in the middle of an economic downturn, he had told himself, comforting himself with the knowledge that at least with the latest recession, the company cut out the trips to Vegas. Still, Rory felt like he was stuck in quicksand. Hopeless days turned into miserable years as he stuffed his feelings down like he stuffed his starched shirt into his dress pants, drove his Ford economy car to work, put in his time, and drove back again each night to his meager apartment.

Then the call came, and everything changed.

It was Rory's mother, Donna Justice. She got right to the point.

"Your father has taken a turn for the worse, Rory. He may not make it this time. He wants to see you."

Rory's father, Howard, had pulmonary fibrosis. He was diagnosed with the disease several years ago at the age of sixty-eight and was eventually forced to retire from his position as a special agent in the FBI. His health had deteriorated over the past few years, and he couldn't leave the house without taking his oxygen machine with him, and only then for short periods. Then to make matters worse, while he was hospitalized a few months ago he developed a bacterial infection known as Clostridium difficile, or "C-diff." His doctors had tried to battle it without much success, and the drugs for the infection ended up compromising the blood thinner he was taking, causing a stroke.

And just recently, Rory's mother told him that his father was suffering mild dementia.

"What about Daniel?" Rory asked his mom. Daniel Justice, Rory's older brother and only sibling, was a sergeant in the US Army who was stationed in Afghanistan in one of the last American divisions tasked with helping the post-war government retain its tenuous stronghold before the Americans departed the war-torn country to fend for itself. His mother told him she had called Daniel to tell him about his father's condition, and he was scheduled to depart within the next twenty-four hours.

Rory usually travelled to his parents' home in Bethesda, Maryland, a commuter town for many Washington DC employees, a half dozen times or more a year. Sometimes he felt resentment that his brother didn't have to take on the obligation of attending family gatherings such as holidays, birthdays, weddings, and funerals.

Daniel arrived at the Justice home a little over an hour after their father passed. Donna Justice insisted her husband's body stay where it was until her eldest son got home to see him.

Rory had called his brother to tell him that their dad hadn't made it. Daniel was angry in his anguish.

"Why couldn't he at least wait until I got there?" he wailed into the phone as he drove in the rental car straight from BWI airport.

"I'm sorry, Dan," Rory said. He could feel his brother's pain. "He said he loved you. Those were his last words. We're keeping him right where he is until you get here. Be careful."

Daniel Justice arrived in civilian clothes, immediately brushed past his mother and brother, ignored Pastor Dave, knelt down beside his father's bed, and broke down weeping.

"Dad, this is so unfair. I didn't even get to say goodbye," Daniel said between choked sobs. "Why didn't you wait?"

After a few moments, Pastor Dave broke the grief-strained silence. "Daniel?"

Rory's brother looked up, his tear-streaked face not registering his own name at first.

"I'm Dave Graybeal, pastor at your parents' church." The minister rose and firmly shook Daniel's hand, speaking evenly. "I know you're upset your father passed before you got here. I am really sorry that happened. It doesn't seem fair that God would take him like that. But your father knew you loved him — just like God knows the love in our hearts without us even needing to tell Him — and your name was the last word on his lips. It's hard to say why God chooses the timing He does, but rest assured your father is definitely in a better place, free from pain and suffering, smiling down on you at this very minute."

Those last words registered, and Daniel seemed to give up his anger. He nodded his thanks for the reassurance and smiled through his tears.

This minister is really good, Rory thought. He knows just what to say, and he seems sincere. I wonder if I should ask him about the letter. Rory's musings were interrupted when a driver from the funeral home showed up, ready to transport Howard Justice's body to the morgue.

Pastor Dave and the family held hands in a circle around the deceased and said the Lord's Prayer before they bid a final, tearful farewell.

Donna and her two sons went to the kitchen to have some coffee and to make plans for the funeral.

The funeral service was held following a family wake at Bethesda United Methodist Church. Pastor Dave officiated and talked about Howard in glowing terms, calling him a man of deep convictions who served his country, his community, and his family.

The church was packed full with six hundred people as past and present FBI employees, members of the congregation and a host of friends and family came to pay their respects. A former FBI agent who had worked closely with Howard read a letter from Kathleen Tower, the President of the United States, and Daniel, looking especially sharp in his military dress uniform, delivered the eulogy.

Daniel sat next to his wife and their two sons who were both among the pallbearers in addition to three young men from the church and Rory's son Rick.

Rory sat alone, wedged between his mother and Daniel. He had noticed at one point during the service that Rick was sitting in the back of the church with his mother and sister. Rory had found out from his mom the day before that Rick had accepted her request to be a pallbearer, and that his ex-wife and daughter would also be attending.

Even though Rory knew that Haley would be there, the knowledge didn't lessen the stab of resentment he felt toward his ex-wife as he walked with his mom on his arm behind the casket into the vestibule and saw her standing at the back of the church.

Haley was gorgeous as usual, dressed in a simple navy sheath with a single strand of pearls, her long brunette hair loose on her shoulders.

The look she gave him with her cool gray-blue eyes betrayed the animosity she still felt for Rory, and he quickly diverted his gaze straight ahead, concentrating on supporting his mom and holding it together.

His twenty-year-old daughter Riley had grown to look as beautiful as her mother. She didn't even glance at him but instead looked down and away when he passed by. Rory hadn't seen her or Rick for the past two years, ever since Riley had turned eighteen and decided she no longer wished to see her father again.

It wasn't for my lack of trying. After all these years, Rory still felt the sting of bitterness from his divorce and the estrangement from his kids.

Rory had met Haley in a creative writing class at...