June 1968
Tommy and Linda got married on a Saturday in June.
Small ceremony at a courthouse, just a few friends. No family—Tommy's was dead, Linda's parents had wanted a traditional Chinese wedding and were not happy with her choice. But Linda was stubborn.
"It's our life. Our choice."
They moved into a larger apartment together. Two bedrooms, so Linda could have a studio space for her architecture work. Still in Burbank, still close to Hawkey.
Married life was good. Uncomplicated. They both worked long hours, came home tired, cooked simple dinners, talked about ordinary things. Building plans. Wing designs. Office politics.
Normal. Stable. Everything Tommy had wanted.
One night, Linda found the box in the closet while organizing.
"What's this? Your things from Ohio?"
"Yeah. Just some old stuff."
Linda pulled out the wedding ring. "Your mother's?"
"Yes."
"It's beautiful. Simple." She tried it on—too small for her finger. "Do you remember her?"
"A little. Not much. I was six when she died."
"How did she die? You've never said."
Tommy hesitated. "Robbery. Random violence. Wrong place, wrong time."
Linda set the ring down carefully. "I'm sorry. That must have been hard."
"It was a long time ago."
Linda started to put things back in the box, then paused. Pulled out the brass key. "What's this?"
"Nothing. Just an old key."
"To what?"
"Safety deposit box. From my father. I've never opened it."
Linda turned the key over in her hand. "Why not?"
"Because I don't want whatever's in it."
"How do you know if you haven't looked?"
"I just know." Tommy took the key from her, put it back in the box. "My father was... troubled. Paranoid. I don't need his problems."
Linda was quiet for a moment. "You sure? Maybe there's something valuable. Or something you should know."
"I'm sure." Tommy closed the box, put it back in the closet. "Some things are better left alone."
September 1968
Linda found out she was pregnant.
They hadn't been trying—it was a surprise, early in the marriage. But a good surprise. Both of them terrified and excited.
"We're not ready for this," Linda said, staring at the pregnancy test.
"Nobody's ready for this."
"We both work full time. We barely have money. This apartment is too small."
"We'll figure it out." Tommy pulled her close. "We always figure it out."
Linda leaned against him. "A baby. We're going to have a baby."
"Yeah. We are."
That night, Tommy lay awake thinking about it. A child. His child. Someone he'd raise, protect, give a better life than he'd had.
No abandonment. No mysteries. No absent father dying in boarding houses.
Tommy would be there. Always. That was a promise.
April 1969
Gerald Price called Tommy into his office on a Monday.
"Forsyth, I need to talk to you about something serious."
Tommy sat down, wondering if he'd made some error, missed some calculation.
"The TriStar is in trouble," Price said bluntly. "We're years behind schedule. Way over budget. Airlines are canceling orders. There's talk of scrapping the entire program."
Tommy felt his stomach drop. "Scrap it? After all this work?"
"Boeing's 747 is already flying. DC-10 is ahead of us. We missed our window." Price pulled out a folder. "But there's another program. Defense side. Advanced development. They need good engineers. I recommended you."
"I told you, I'm not interested in defense work."
"The TriStar might not exist in six months. You'll need a job." Price slid the folder across the desk. "This is just preliminary. Read it. Think about it. No commitment."
Tommy opened the folder. Classified program. Limited information without clearance. Code name: Have Blue. Something about advanced aircraft concepts.
"What is it?" Tommy asked.
"Can't say without clearance. But revolutionary. The kind of work that changes everything." Price met his eyes. "You're good, Forsyth. Too good to waste on a program that's dying. This is your chance to do something that matters."
Tommy looked at the folder. Defense work. The thing he'd been avoiding. But also: a job. A career. A way to provide for Linda and the baby coming in four months.
"I'll think about it," Tommy said.
"Think fast. They're making decisions this week."
May 1969
Tommy accepted the transfer to special projects.
Not because he wanted defense work. But because the TriStar was dying and he had a baby coming and bills to pay.
Pragmatic. Practical. Not idealistic.
The special projects division was in a separate building. Smaller. More security. Badges, checkpoints, NDAs to sign.
His new supervisor was Ben Rich, a man in his forties with the intensity of someone who lived and breathed aerospace.
"Forsyth. Price speaks highly of you."
"Thank you, sir."
"This program is unlike anything you've worked on. We're not building commercial aircraft. We're building something that will change warfare. Make pilots safer. Win conflicts before they start." Rich studied him. "You comfortable with that?"
Tommy thought about Linda's cousin who'd been at Hue. About boys dying in jungles. About whether building better weapons made the world safer or just made killing more efficient.
But he also thought about rent and bills and a baby coming.
"I'm comfortable with it," Tommy said.
Rich nodded. "Good. We start tomorrow. Welcome to Have Blue."
June 1969
Sarah Helen Forsyth was born on June 15, 1969.
Six pounds, eight ounces. Healthy. Perfect. Tommy held her in the hospital and felt something shift inside him. This tiny person depending on him completely.
"She's beautiful," Linda said, exhausted and happy.
"She is."
"What are we going to do? I can't go back to work full time. Daycare costs too much. But we need my income."
"We'll figure it out." Tommy looked at his daughter. Sarah. Named for Linda's grandmother. Helen as middle name for Tommy's mother.
Sarah Helen. A connection to the past Tommy had tried to forget. But also: a new beginning.
Tommy made silent promises to the sleeping baby. I'll be here. Always. I'll provide for you. Protect you. Give you everything I didn't have.
You'll have a father. A present father. Not a ghost.
That's a promise.