“I told them nothing.”
“He knew it before we did,” I said. “He sent Dr. Mercer to our apartment.”
Grace leaned back against the pillow.
For a moment she looked exhausted in a different way.
Not sick.
Cornered by something she had hoped never to explain.
Finally, she said, “Years ago, Dad worked for one of Mr. Whitmore’s companies.”
Arthur lowered his head slightly.
“He managed a regional freight division.”
That surprised me.
I remembered almost nothing about Dad’s work.
In my memories, he smelled like coffee and aftershave and came home after dark.
“Was Dad friends with you?” Annie asked.
Arthur’s expression became complicated.
“No.”
Grace answered instead.
“Dad admired him.”
Arthur flinched at that.
“More than he should have,” Grace added.
I waited.
No one continued.
“What happened?”
Grace looked at me.
“There was an accident with one of the company trucks.”
My stomach tightened.
