A family advocate brought him a blue sweatshirt with a rocket on the front. He sat beside me eating crackers while investigators reviewed the highway footage.
“Are we in trouble?” he asked.
“No, sweetheart.”
“Do I have to go with Grandma and Grandpa?”
I took his hand.
“No.”
At 9:37, my parents entered the station.
My father marched toward the front desk.
“We’re here to report our daughter,” he announced. “She took our grandson and ran away.”
My mother pressed a hand to her chest.
“We only want the child to be safe.”
Then they saw me.
My father pointed.
“There she is. Arrest her.”
Nobody moved.
Major Hensley stepped forward and introduced herself.
My father frowned. “Why does she need an Army lawyer?”
“For Colonel Whitaker,” Major Hensley replied.
The confidence vanished from his face.
“Colonel?”
