“That is all?”
“What do you want, Grant?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then let it be all for tonight.”
He accepted that.
I slept three hours in my office.
The next afternoon, Dad finally called.
I watched the phone ring until it nearly stopped.
Then answered.
“Amelia.”
“Dad.”
His voice was controlled.
“What exactly are you?”
I laughed once.
The sound surprised both of us.
“I am your daughter.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do. That is why the question is a problem.”
Silence.
He tried again.
“What is your rank?”
“Vice admiral.”
The public biography from the previous night would already have told him that. I said it anyway.
Three stars.
Twenty-two years.
Strike-group command. Senior staff assignments. Responsibilities he had dismissed before understanding a single one.
Dad breathed out slowly.
“Why did you hide that from me?”
“I did not.”
“You never told me you were a vice admiral.”
