Dad’s voice cut in. “That baby is Emily’s child.”
Linda looked at him then, and the panic sharpened. “You think this is only about Ryan.”
The porch went still.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
Linda’s lips parted. For one strange second, I thought she might tell the truth.
Then a phone rang inside her coat pocket.
She flinched.
Not annoyed. Afraid.
She set the casserole dish on the porch step with unnatural care. “Ask your father what he knows about Fort Sheridan,” she said.
Dad froze.
I turned to him. “What is she talking about?”
Linda walked back to her car without another word.
Dad did not chase her. He did not call after her. He stood motionless, staring at the silver sedan until it disappeared around the corner.
“Dad?”
He looked at the casserole dish.
Then at me.
Fort Sheridan was an old name from his military past, one he had rarely spoken aloud. I had heard it only once, years ago, whispered during an argument between him and my mother when they thought I was asleep.
