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trailer with “The Wall” printed in big red letters on the side. Most of the men wore chaps or riding leathers. Their patch-covered vests made them look like a graying motorcycle gang. Grandma Meredith didn’t seem to have anything in common with the ragtag group, but they were gabbing away as if they were old friends.
    After a few minutes, Grandma Meredith shot a look in her direction. Her features creased into a frown. Turning back to the men, she pointed to the car, seemingly indicating she had to leave.
    Jordan scrunched down in her seat after the men’s heads swiveled in her direction. They probably couldn’t see her very well through the tinted glass, but she didn’t feel like being the center of attention. Theirs or anyone else’s. She wanted to crawl into bed and pull the covers over her head until her life began to make sense again.
    Grandma Meredith exchanged handshakes with the men and, in a few cases, heartfelt hugs. Then she began to walk back to the car with the sense of purpose she always displayed whenever she was on a mission.
    Jordan sat bolt upright in her seat and took a quick peek in the rearview mirror to see if she looked like she’d been crying. Her eyes were red and starting to get puffy so she slapped on her sunglasses just before Grandma Meredith opened the door and climbed into the passenger’s seat.
    Jordan took another deep breath and mustered a smile, trying to look as if she didn’t have a care in the world. She and Grandma Meredith talked about everything, but she wasn’t ready to talk about the conversation she’d just had with Brittany. She didn’t want her to feel partially responsible for the breakup. The fault lay with her and Brittany. No one else.
    “Who were those guys?”
    “They’re with the Moving Wall,” Grandma Meredith said. “The miniature version of the Vietnam Memorial that travels from place to place so vets who can’t travel to DC can see it.”
    “Okay, but why were they hugging you?”
    “I dug a bullet out of one’s shoulder after the Tet Offensive. A couple of the other ones spent some time at the evac hospital when I was stationed in Long Binh.”
    “Small world, huh?” Jordan watched as the truck attached to the trailer slowly pulled out of its parking spot. The men she had seen Grandma Meredith conversing with escorted it on their motorcycles. Travelers all over the rest area watched the convoy make its way to the interstate, most doffing their hats and some pausing to salute. “Where are they headed now?”
    “They’ll be in Georgia most of the month. They’re going to spend a week in the major cities like Atlanta, Augusta, and Savannah and a weekend here and there in smaller towns before they head down to Florida. After that, who knows?”
    “Are you going to see it?”
    “I might make a day trip when it reaches Savannah. We’ll see.”
    Grandma Meredith’s eyes dimmed with uncharacteristic sadness. Jordan had visited the actual memorial when her junior class had taken a field trip to Washington, DC, when she was in high school. Even though she hadn’t taken part in the war herself, she had been incredibly moved by the sight of the hundreds of names etched into the stately granite wall—and how much the people behind those names meant to the visitors who came to see them. Papa George could have been one of those names. So could Grandma Meredith. Thankfully, both had made it through with relatively few scars to show for it.
    Jordan started the car and reached for the gearshift. “Are you ready to hit the road?”
    “Not yet.” Grandma Meredith placed her hand over hers. “You seem upset. Did something happen with Brittany?”
    Jordan felt the color drain from her face. “How did you know?”
    Grandma Meredith smiled wanly. “I’ve been around the block a time or two. I recognize the signs. What happened?”
    Jordan hunched over the steering wheel and picked at the walnut inlay with her thumbnail. “She broke up with me on the