Fifteen Years After My Father Changed the Locks, He Seated Me at Table Twenty-Two

It held her neat, rounded handwriting in dark blue ink: Clare Vance, four hundred twelve Maple Avenue, Greenfield, Ohio.

“Marcus Vance stayed at the house until two this morning,” Clare said.

“Marcus,” I said.

“He pulled the state codes on mail interception and document forgery,” Clare said.

“He asked me to find out if you wanted him to file a formal complaint with the county prosecutor tomorrow morning.”

I looked down at the silver class ring on my right ring finger, turning the raised Air Force seal around my knuckle.

“No,” I said.