"Hum . . . long dark hair. Callum's age. And his buddy said he was in the military."

"Nicholas," my father supplied. "Yes. He's a Sargent."

And to myself I whispered, "Please don't say she's his wife. If there is a God, do not allow him to give up the gag."

But the only words my Pop uttered next were, "You see Officer Stroud, my son keeps good, honorable friends. He's a good student with a bright future. I can understand where you might think there is a weak spot in the nobleness of my family, but I promise you it's only myself, not my son."

Their footsteps paused just below my ear.

"What's up there?" Tim asked.

Every part of me seized.

"None of your concern."

Timothy must have gone for the rope, because there was a scuffle, and then orders to calm down.

"Mr. Trovatto, what's in the attic?" Officer Stroud asked.

"I have allowed you to look around without a warrant, and now I'd like you to leave."

"If you have my daughter..." another scuffle broke out and then my father shouted at him, "It's Julep's attic you bastard!"

Officer Stroud knew us well enough to understand.

"It's all I have left of her. You want to strip me of that too?" He took a breath and then ordered them to leave. "The next time you come back here Timothy-warrant or not-you better be prepared to shoot me dead, because that's the only damn way you're getting in that attic."

I watched from the window as they left our house and reached their squad cars, Timothy's arms flailing as he yelled his frustrations and orders. I turned back to Marta.

"You cannot tell them."

Her face was troubled as she pushed the ladder down. My father's wasn't troubled as much when he saw her at the bottom of the steps, Everly and I lingering at the top. He simply pushed the ladder back up as if he hadn't even noticed us. Just as I turned to Everly the doorbell rang once again. A string of profanities filled the attic as I heard Marta answer the door. My mind started to calculate how difficult it would be to scale the snow-clad roof and climb down to our escape.

I listened as she greeted Officer Stroud. "Oh . . . hello Mrs. Trovatto. I . . . I didn't know you were home, ma'am."

"Yes well," she laughed with a sigh, "I have been a bit feverish today. I was resting and then heard all this commotion."

"Sorry ma'am. We were just trying to help Dr. Brighton locate his daughter. He thought she might be with your son Callum."

"Who is Dr. Brighton?" she asked.

"Um," he must have waved behind him to the mad-man shouting at the other officers. "Everly Brighton is his daughter."

There was a pause. I imagined he had showed her a picture-which only made me laugh to myself. Of all the times to produce one.

"Does she look familiar?"

"Yes," Marta said. "She was with Callum on Fourth of July. She was very sweet."

"Was she here on Thanksgiving by any chance? The doc seems to believe she was."

She paused for a moment before she replied. "You know Officer Stroud, this might seem like gibberish to you, but I've been Callum's mother for many years, and I have to tell you it breaks my heart to say no, she wasn't here on Thanksgiving. I had hope for Callum . . . but I think it's very hard for him to let his heart be vulnerable. I'm sure you can understand why."

"Yes ma'am. I do. But . . . the troublesome part about this is . . . well I did see your son with a girl on Thanksgiving. He didn't seem too heartbroken to me."

Marta laughed. "Callum's never had a problem getting "girlfriends". But that's not the same as allowing yourself to love someone, Officer Stroud, now is it?"

"No ma'am. I guess it's not."

And then Timothy's voice was back at the door.

"What are you talking about now? What has she told you?"

Marta spoke before the cop. "I'm Marta Trovatto, Sir. Nice to meet you."