“No,” he said too loudly.

Then he swallowed.

“Wait.”

His father, Colonel Robert Holloway, retired, appeared beside Evelyn.

Robert had always been kinder to me than his son was, though he had a habit of staying silent when kindness required disagreement.

He studied the boys, then the snow falling behind us.

“Grace,” he said carefully, “there appears to be something we should have known.”

“There is,” I said.