bracelet that clinked softly whenever she moved.
He stepped around my father, close enough that his sleeve brushed Dad’s arm, and slid into the space in front of us without a word.
Dad moved aside to make room.
He reached for my elbow to steady himself.
“Excuse me,” I said, in a voice that sounded firmer than I felt. “We were waiting here.”
Chad Hollenbeck did not look around.
He kept walking toward the checkpoint, as if we were furniture.
Then his phone rang.
He answered it loudly enough for half the line to hear.
“Yeah, I’m getting through security,” he said. “Had to go around some confused old fellow who couldn’t figure out what he was doing.”
He laughed.
I felt a hot flush climb into my face.
And Dad heard every word.
I know he heard, because I watched it land.
He did not say a thing to
