It was not an ordinary memory from his younger days.
I understood that now, from the way his voice sounded.
Somebody had edged closer to us during all of this.
I did not notice until I heard a quiet, strangled sound at my shoulder.
Chad Hollenbeck.
He was looking at my father with an expression that I could only describe as dawning dread.
Then his eyes dropped to the keychain.
“Wait a minute,” he muttered.
He lifted his phone.
I watched his thumbs fly across the screen, typing something into a search bar.
He scrolled.
He stopped.
The color in his face rearranged itself.
He looked at the screen.
He looked at my father.
He looked at the captain.
“No,” he whispered. “No way.”
He spread two fingers on the screen, zooming in on something.
Then he lifted his head, and in a voice I will never forget, thin and
