Page 8 of Ford

She’d have to leave the military. Scarlett leaned back against the bed, scrubbing her hands down her face. Oh, she wanted to punch something.

Gunnar threw the baseball, hard, into the plastered wall. The sound jerked her head up.

The ball stuck there, mortared into the broken plaster.

Outside, gravel crunched, and she walked over to the window, pulled aside the polyester curtain, and spotted the Ferrils’ Caravan.

Now what?

Hopefully they weren’t delivering another casserole. She walked outside and stood on the porch.

A police car pulled up behind the Ferrils, and Scarlett stiffened.

Ellen and Craig weren’t getting out. Instead, an older woman, heavy set, with dark hair climbed out of the cruiser.

A female cop emerged from the driver’s side. She wore her long blonde hair tied back under her hat, had the gait of the law, expecting trouble.

Oh, for crying in the sink, what mess did her mother leave behind?

“Are you Scarlett Hathaway?” This from the heavy-set woman. She carried a manila folder, and something about the way she clutched it in her grip felt like it might be a paper grenade she was about to hurtle Scarlett’s direction.

“What’s going on?” Scarlett asked.

“I represent the State of Idaho, and we’re here to take custody of Gunnar Montrose.”

For a second, the words simply bounced off her, incomprehensible.

“What?”

“I’m a social worker. Anita Benning.” She came up to the porch, holding out her hand. Scarlett didn’t take it.

“Custody? No, that doesn’t make sense. I have custody of Gunnar.”

The woman nodded, as if she were trying to be nice. “I’m sure this will all get sorted out, but we have no record of anyone listed as his next of kin—”

“What? I’m his half sister. Ask them.” She pointed to the Ferrils, who still sat in the car, a couple of cowards.

“They’re the ones who called and alerted us to the child’s situation.”

She had half a mind to step off the porch and give them a reason to be afraid.

Stay. Calm. She wasn’t her mother or Axel or even the person inside who was screaming.

She knew how to put on the right face, find the right words.

Thanks, Mom, for that, at least.

Scarlett smiled. Schooled her voice. “The child’s name is Gunnar, and he’s my mother’s son. It’s true that Axel was not my father—thank God—but Gunnar does have family. Me.”

“And you’re in the Navy?”

“Petty Officer Second Class.”

“Active duty?”

Scarlett just looked at her. “Serving your country, keeping you safe every day, hoo-yah.”

Okay maybe she didn’t need that part, because the woman’s eyes hardened.

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