“The depot,” Harry said. “Here’s the thing, Jack. You wouldn’t remember, because you were away at the war. But Dad had this secretary. Florence. I remember because it was right around the time that we found out about Chase, and Mom was nutty, and I was always trying to get out of the house, right? And sometimes I’d go down to the bank and hang around with her. She always brought in good stuff to eat. She made the best cinnamon rolls.”

“What does this have to do with anything?” Jack said, stopping at the stop sign. No traffic, so he turned right onto First Street.

“Her name was Florence Overby, Jack,” Harry said. “I swear I’m remembering it right. And she was from Tennessee. Had a nifty accent. And here’s the thing: She was a widow. Her husband had died already. And she didn’t have any children, I know for a fact. Because she used to say how much she wished she did. How much she wished she had a son like me. The thing is, it makes sense. Dad trying so hard to get rid of Nick, you know?”

Jack hardly noticed that the car was slowing down; he’d forgotten to keep pressing down on the gas. He looked at his brother, and their eyes locked. “Jesus, Harry. You’re not saying what I think you’re saying, are you?”

“I’m not a hundred percent sure,” Harry said. “But close to ninety-nine. She left that fall. Went back home to Tennessee, as I recall it. To be closer to her family, was the story. I remember because I sure did miss those cinnamon rolls.”

“So she could have been—”

“Pregnant,” Harry said. “Cripes, I don’t like to think it, but—did you notice how much he looks like us, Jack? How much he looks like Chase? Even the smile, for God’s sake?”

“Thought it was a coincidence,” Jack mumbled.

“And why else would Dad have gone to such lengths to get rid of him the first time?” Harry said. “If you think about it, it makes sense.”

Jack clenched his jaw.

“We’d better hurry,” Harry said. “We have to tell them. If we can find out his birthday, then we can figure it out for sure.”

“Yes,” Jack said, and pressed his foot down, felt the car responding.

“Dad will never admit it,” Harry said.

“It will kill Mom,” said Jack, swallowing back the bile that had risen in his throat. “If it’s true.”

Chapter 64

PINE RAPIDS DEPOT
Thursday, November 22, 1945