Instead, I reached into the leather portfolio tucked beneath my arm.
“I tried.”
Vanessa’s entire posture changed.
She saw the folder.
And suddenly, she was no longer worried about funeral etiquette.
She was scared.
“Danielle.”
It was the first time she had used my name.
Softly.
Almost pleading.
“Not here.”
Preston turned toward her.
I watched something register in his expression.
“Why not here?”
Vanessa immediately corrected herself.
“Because your father is being buried.”
“No.”
He stared at her.
“You looked at that folder before she even opened it.”
Vanessa’s lips parted.
Preston’s eyes narrowed.
“What do you think is inside?”
“Nothing. I don’t know.”
“Then why are you nervous?”
“I’m not nervous.”
She was.
Her right hand was trembling.
I looked at Preston.
“You asked if I told you.”
I held out the folder.
“The answer is in here.”
He hesitated before taking it.
For ten years, I had carried copies of those records every time I moved.
Texas.
Germany.
Virginia.
Colorado.
Japan.
Back to Virginia.
Different bases.
Different homes.
