He knelt down at the flat piece of granite. Reached out and gently brushed away a bit of dirt, some loose grass.
He'd only been fifty-six.
It didn't seem right. One man had gone through two families, a fortune, fame and infamy, all in such a short time.
And he sat, only twenty years younger, with nothing to show for it.
Nothing at all.
He heard a soft cough, knew the others were waiting. The General was neither sentimental nor patient. He stood, reluctantly, and looked around the small cemetery. Many of the headstones bore the same names; families, relatives, buried together here.
Not so his father. The graves on either side were strangers. Ellen's mother was in another town, his own mother...somewhere.
A.J. was here, alone.
He turned and headed back toward the van. Looked up at the men waiting, smiling supportively.
Maybe it wasn't nothing, after all.