Page 6 of Unmade

“Can I see the business card you showed Gina?”

She’d mentioned that?

“Um, yeah, sure.” I retrieved it from my pocket and handed it over. “Are you Bo Beckett?”

“I am.” He hummed as he studied the card, and then he shifted his gaze back to me. “I did not give this to you. I didn’t give this to anyone.”

Oh shit. I mean, yeah, sure, he would’ve remembered if he’d given it to me, but it occurred to me that it might be from someone else entirely. What if it was my dad who’d scribbled Bo Beckett on the card?

“No, it was, um… The card was my dad’s,” I admitted. “I’m trying to find his family, and this is one of my few clues. He had that card on him about nineteen years ago. He was in the Army, and at some point, he came here.”I think. It wasn’t like I could be sure of anything.

Mr. Beckett furrowed his brow. “Did you think I gave this to him?”

How should I know? “Maybe?” I asked rather than stated. Then I carefully dug out the folded newspaper article too. “Mostly, I figured I’d ask here first—if anyone knew what this might mean. If maybe he worked here at some point or knew you. He’s in the picture to the left in this article. Jacob Quinn.” I gave it to him.

The furrow deepened, and he returned the card to me but kept the article. “Nineteen years ago, I’d just received my ship date for basic training. Sit down.”

Crap. I’d offended him.

I plopped right down again and felt a noose settle around my neck. “I’m sorry, sir. I don’t think you look very old.”

“Very…” He shook his head and sat down on the sofa across from mine, and he rested his forearms on his knees as he observed the article. “Aren’t you a ray of sunshine.”

It was probably best I kept my mouth shut. I doubted I’d make things better by telling him I’d definitely let him bang me.

He nodded at the card in my hand. “We haven’t used that card design for as long as I’ve been here. When you try to pull a fast one at a private military agency, I’d advise you to do your homework better.”

Duly noted. I didn’t belong here, for countless reasons.

I was a moron.

“What else do you know about your old man?” he asked. “Did he split when you were little or something?”

I shook my head and swallowed. “I never knew him. He and my mom hooked up, I guess… He never knew about me either.”

“I see.” He went back to the article and frowned a few seconds later. “It says here Jacob Quinn enlisted after 9/11.”

“Yes.” I nodded.

He glanced over at me. “That was seventeen years ago. He wasn’t in the Army when he got the business card.”

Oh. Okay…

I scratched the side of my head, trying to find another way for the puzzle pieces to connect.

I guessed it made sense, in that Mom probably would’ve known Dad’s profession when they met. Because that was just one of those things you discussed early on, right?

Oh God, I just didn’t fucking know.

“Hmm. He was at Fort Benning,” Bo murmured. “You know what, kid? I don’t think this is about me at all. My dad’s name was Bo too, and he was stationed at Fort Benning.”

I didn’t know what struck me first, the fact that he’d figured something out that might provide me with more details, or the fact that the Bo sitting across from me was a BJ.

He refolded the article and extended it to me. “My bet? He met my big brother—he’s an operator here too, and it kinda looks like his handwriting—and the two talked about careers. For whatever reason, my brother gave him the business card with our old man’s name on it.” He shrugged. “If Jacob came here looking for a job, he’s just one of hundreds we turn away and welcome back once they’ve completed at least four years in the military.”

Oh. I dropped my stare to the newspaper clipping, my mind spinning with useless questions and zero answers.

“Is your brother here?” I asked. “Can I talk to him? And isn’t the eldest son usually the junior?”

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