Three Decades of Pretending Come to an End in a Military Holding Cell

“Pull over,” Arthur said.

“Pull your car over this second.”

I steered the sedan onto the gravel shoulder.

The tires crunched loudly over the loose stones and threw up a small cloud of white dust.

I shoved the gear shift up into park.

“I’m stopped,” I said.

The engine idled with a low shudder.

I looked out the driver’s window at the tall pines lining the military fence.