The butler, Mr. Hale, opened the door before we knocked. He was elderly, dignified, and clearly uncomfortable.
His gaze flicked to June’s pink cap, then to my father.
“Mrs. Pembroke asked that everyone assemble in the sunroom.”
“Thank you,” my father said.
Mr. Hale lowered his voice.
“Mrs. Pembroke also asked that phones be collected.”
A small laugh escaped me before I could stop it.
My father did not laugh.
“No,” he said simply.
Mr. Hale looked relieved not to argue.
“Very good, sir.”
He stepped aside, and the familiar marble hallway seemed longer than before.
Voices drifted from the sunroom, hushed and restless.
I caught fragments.
Overreaction. Embarrassing. Military people. Poor Wesley.
My father heard them too. He did not react.
Dana walked slightly behind me, while Captain Ortiz took in the angles of the room, not suspiciously, but attentively, as if every house told the truth if one knew where to look.
Wesley stood near the doorway when we entered.
His eyes found mine first, then June’s, then the people around me.
He looked as though he had spent the night aging.
“Nora,” he said quietly.
I nodded once.
