No explanation.
I looked at Mrs. Alvarez.
“How did you know my mother?”
Her expression softened.
“Because of you.”
That answer only deepened my confusion.
General Harrington quietly pulled out a chair for her.
Mrs. Alvarez sat.
Her daughter joined us.
The ballroom continued around us—music, conversation, the faint clink of glasses—but our table seemed to become its own small room.
Mrs. Alvarez looked at me.
“You may not remember what happened after I arrived in Virginia.”
“I remember receiving confirmation that your group cleared processing.”
“That is what the Army needed to know.”
She smiled.
“But I had nowhere to go.”
Her daughter, Sofia, spoke for the first time.
“My husband and I were living overseas then.
I was trying to return to the United States, but flights were disrupted.
My mother was temporarily placed in a hotel with other evacuees.”
I remembered.
Temporary lodging had been arranged for anyone whose onward travel was delayed.
