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“Mom?”

The hug had gone on for some time. “Sorry.” Sara released her. The other children were streaming past. She realized what she was feeling. She was happy; a weight had lifted from her heart. “Go on, kiddo,” she said. “I’ll see you later.”

The records office opened at nine o’clock. Sara waited on the steps in the dappled shade of a live oak. It was a pleasant summer morning; people were striding past. How quickly life could change, she thought.

When the clerk unlocked the door, Sara rose and followed the woman inside. She was older, with a pleasant, weathered face and a row of bright false teeth. She took her time situating herself behind the counter before looking Sara’s way, pretending to notice her for the first time.

“Can I help you?”

“I need to transfer a birthright.”

The clerk licked her fingers and removed a form from a slotted shelf, then placed it on the counter and dipped her quill in a bottle of ink. “Whose?”

“Mine.”

The woman’s pen halted over the paper. She raised her face with an expression of concern. “You seem young, honey. Are you sure?”

“Please, can we just do this?”

Sara sent the form to the census office with a note attached—Sorry! Found it after all!—and went to the hospital. The day passed quickly; Hollis was still awake when she got home. She waited until they were in bed to make her announcement.

“I want to have another child.”

He rose on his elbows and turned toward her. “Sara, we’ve been through this. You know we can’t.”

She kissed him, long and tenderly, then drew back to meet his eyes. “Actually,” she said, “that’s not exactly true.”

* * *

12

Ten moves, and Caleb had Peter completely boxed in. A feint with a rook, a knight cruelly sacrificed, and the enemy forces swarmed over him.

“How the heck did you do that?”

Peter didn’t really mind, though it would be nice to win once in a while. The last time he’d beaten Caleb, the boy had had a nasty cold and had dozed off midway through the game. Even then, Peter had barely eked out the victory.

“It’s easy. You think I’m on defense, but I’m not.”

“Laying a trap.”

The boy shrugged. “It’s like a trap in your head. I make you see the game the way I need you to.” He was setting up the pieces again; one victory was not enough for the night. “What did the soldier want?”

Caleb had a way of changing the subject so abruptly that sometimes Peter struggled to keep up. “It was about a job, actually.”

“What kind?”

“To tell you the truth, I’m not really sure.” He shrugged and looked at the board. “It’s not important. Don’t worry about it—I’m not going anywhere.”

They were listlessly moving pawns.

“I still want to be a soldier, you know,” the boy said, “like you were.”

From time to time, the boy brought this up. Peter’s feelings were mixed. On the one hand, he had a parent’s intense desire to keep Caleb away from any danger. But he also felt flattered. The boy was, after all, expressing interest in the same life he had chosen.

“Well, you’d be good at it.”

“Do you miss it?”

“Sometimes. I liked my men, I had good friends. But I’d rather be here with you. Plus, it looks like those days are over. Not much need for an army when there’s nobody to fight.”

“Everything else seems like it would be boring.”

“Boredom is underrated, believe me.”

They played in silence.

“Somebody asked me about you,” Caleb said. “A kid at school.”

“What was the question?”

Caleb squinted at the board, reached toward his bishop, stopped, and moved his queen one space forward. “Just, what it’s like, you being my dad. He knew a lot about you.”

“Which kid was this?”

“His name is Julio.”

He wasn’t one of Caleb’s usual friends. “What did you tell him?”

“I told him you worked on roofs all day.”

For once, Peter held Caleb to a draw. He put the boy to bed and poured himself a drink from Hollis’s flask. Caleb’s words had stung a little. Peter wasn’t truly tempted by Sanchez’s offer, but the whole thing had left a bad taste in his mouth. The woman’s manipulation was transparent, as it was meant to be—that was the genius of it. She had simultaneously aroused his natural sense of duty and made it clear that she was not a woman to be messed with. I’ll have you in the end, Mr. Jaxon.