bit of it was Mike.
“You tell him the truth,” I said quietly. “Like you asked me to.”
I rose, approached the door, and released the deadbolt.
Mike entered carrying his lunchbox, sawdust in his hair. He wore work boots and a faded Chiefs shirt.
One look at my face stopped him.
He peered past me into the kitchen. Luke sat there in his hoodie, red-eyed, with the document on the table.
Mike lowered his lunchbox.
He was speechless for a moment.
Then he entered the kitchen. He studied the
