His voice was different now. The heavy, flat exhaustion was gone, replaced by that frantic, fluttering panic that always took over when Denise started packing her suitcases in the bedroom. Behind him, through the receiver, I could hear the rhythmic clinking of hangers against an aluminum closet rod and the sharp, high-pitched sobbing of Claire from the living room couch.
“Hannah, listen to me,” Dad whispered, his breath hitting the microphone with a wet hiss. “You have to call the sheriff’s office back. You have to tell them it was a mistake. They have two cruisers sitting at the bottom of the lane, Hannah. They told Claire she can’t leave the county lines until the arraignment on Monday.”
“She kicked me while I was on the floor, Dad,” I said.
“She was upset!” Dad’s voice rose, cracking into that familiar, ragged register of self-pity. “You know how she gets when she feels judged! Denise has been up all night with her blood pressure—she’s talking about selling the house, Hannah! She’s talking about leaving! If Claire has a record, she loses her real estate license! She won’t be able to work the agency!”
Captain Miller didn’t move. She simply picked up her black rollerball pen and clicked the top once with her thumb.
“Dad,” I said, watching the green trace of the audio level jumping on the phone screen. “Did you tell Deputy Miller that you had your back turned?”
A pause.
Three seconds of dead air through the copper wire, broken only by the sound of a door slamming in the Frederick house.
“I had to, Hannah,” Dad said, his tone dropping into a pathetic, wheedling whine. “You have your pension. You have your housing allowance. You’re taken care of by the government. Claire doesn’t have anyone, Hannah. If I took your side, Denise would have cleared the joint checking by midnight. You don’t know what it’s like to be sixty-one years old with two mortgages and an empty bed.”
“I know what it’s like to be eleven years old with an empty bed, Dad,” I said.
The line went completely silent.
“Hannah—”
“The military protective order was signed twenty minutes ago,” I said, looking directly into Captain Miller’s eyes. “If you, Denise, or Claire attempt to make contact with my duty station, my living quarters, or my electronic accounts, the military police will coordinate with the Frederick County Sheriff to execute an immediate bench warrant for violation of a judicial stay-away order. Do not call this number again.”
I reached out with my left thumb and tapped the red icon.
The screen went black.
Captain Miller looked at the yellow pad, then at my face. She didn’t offer a platitude. She didn’t say she was sorry about my family. She had been in the Army long enough to know that when a soldier reaches this point in the process, sympathy is just another form of friction.
“We have an emergency billet cleared for you at the transient barracks on North Post,” she said, sliding a green plastic room key across the table. “Room 214. Bedding is drawn, heating is operational. The physical therapist has you on the schedule for zero-eight-thirty on Monday.”
“Thank you, ma’am,” I said, reaching for my rucksack.
“Hannah,” she said as I reached the door.
I turned back, my hand resting against the door jamb to steady the weight of the pack against my ribs.
“The county attorney won’t divert this,” she said quietly. “I know Higgins. He’s up for re-election in fourteen months. When he sees the command endorsement from the installation commander with the joint security routing slip, he’ll realize that protecting your stepsister’s real estate license is going to cost him every veteran vote between Thurmont and Point of Rocks.”
I nodded once, pulled the heavy wooden door open, and stepped out into the cold, clean night of the post.
