She called me a liar in front of everyone. Sarah pulled her son close, wrapping her arms around him.
“I know, sweetheart. I know. Some people have a hard time believing things that seem unusual to them.
Your father’s job is special and not everyone understands that. Can’t you just tell her?
Marcus asked, his voice muffled against her shoulder. I tried to explain over the phone, but she seemed convinced you were exaggerating.
She wants to meet during parent teacher conferences next week. Sarah pulled back and looked into her son’s eyes.
Your father might be home by then. Would you like him to come with us?
Marcus’ face lit up for the first time that day. Really? Dad might be back.
He called this morning. His assignment is finishing up and he should be home this weekend.
I’ll see if he can adjust his schedule to come to the school with us.
The next week at school was difficult for Marcus. Word had spread about what Mrs.
Henderson had called his tall tale, and he found himself the subject of jokes and teasing.
Even some of the other teachers looked at him with pity, as if he were a troubled child who needed special attention.
Marcus endured it all quietly, counting down the days until his father would be home.
When General James Mitchell finally walked through their front door that Saturday, Marcus flew into his arms, holding on tight to the tall, dignified men in civilian clothes.
James was in his late 40s, his hair graying at the temples, his bearing upright and commanding even in jeans and a sweater.
But his eyes grew soft when he looked at his son. And his voice was gentle when he spoke.
“Your mother told me what happened at school,” he said, sitting down with Marcus on the couch.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been around more, son. I know it’s hard when people don’t understand what I do.”
