“Only parts of it. It’s a great book. It’s like fantasy and science fiction and religion all wrapped up together in an epic poem. It’s bonkers.”

“You’re bonkers for teaching it. I remember God was kind of boring. Kept trying to explain to Jesus why He couldn’t be blamed for anything.”

“You read Paradise Lost?”

“I read books too. Satan was pretty cool. I like the part where he’s at the gates of Hell and about to throw down with Death, and his daughter-lover Sin with all the hellhounds in her womb and snakes for legs is like, No, Daddy, don’t hurt your son, don’t you remember me?” I take a sip from a bottle of water I bought at the Sunoco when I paid for the gas. “That’s some fucked-up shit.”

“You’re disturbing.”

“Me? You’re the one teaching this to children.”

“They’re seventeen, they’re not—okay, I gotta go.”

“Good talk, bro. See you tonight.” I disconnect, then from memory I dial the DoD number that was on my parents’ phone bill.

The same crisp voice from yesterday answers. “OIG, this is Manning.”

“Hey,” I say, leaning against the bumper of the station wagon. “I called yesterday looking for Steve Rogers.”

“There’s no Steve Rogers in—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. It would be weird if there were, though, right? Captain America working for the Department of Defense? Or maybe that wouldn’t be weird. Kinda hard to keep track of all the stuff going on in the MCU these days.”

“Ma’am, is there something I can help you with?” Calm, all business, unruffled. He makes me want to ruffle some feathers.

“Yep,” I say. “Sure is. James Faulkner. Captain Faulkner, actually.”

Pause. “There’s no James Faulkner—”

“I know there’s no James Faulkner working there, Manning. Jimmy Faulkner was my dad. He’s dead. But he called this number several times before he died, and seeing as he served his country and was calling y’all about ten million dollars that went missing in Iraq, I kinda figured someone in that office might be interested. You following me, Manning?”

Pause. “Hold, please.”

“No,” I say. “I won’t hold. I’m going to call back in an hour, and I’d like some kind of answer. Otherwise I’m gonna call a lot of other people, including the press. James Faulkner, captain in the National Guard, deployed to Iraq in 2004. Talk to you soon.”

I end the call and drive back to Alice’s house, humming along to Pat Benatar’s “Invincible” on the radio.