Love isn’t meant for men like me. We live in the shadows of other men, content to accept as our accomplishments the piecemeal contributions we have made to their great deeds. We are the sidekicks, aides-de-camp, and expendable crewmen.

This fact did not escape me as I stood in a rain drenched cemetery, finding what little shelter I could under the willow tree. I’ve always liked willows, ever since that night in Vicksburg. But tonight was not like that time. He stood by the grave, bravely stoic as ever. She stood by him, faithful and tragic in her love for the tortured hero. If any one saw me, they made no sign they did.

I checked my pockets, still crammed with implements and possibilities along with my good luck charm. I was there, as asked, not needed but perhaps appreciated if fate would be so kind. I didn’t expect it. I expected to stay under the tree, unseen and alone. Why should today be any different?

With a lightning crash they appeared in the instant of the white flash. They had come.