Chapter 3

We tried to ignore it. We issued a single, dignified statement through our lawyer, denying the claims and asking for privacy.

It was like throwing a pebble into a hurricane.

Tiffany' s lawyer, a shark from Los Angeles who specialized in celebrity scandals, responded with a legal filing.

It arrived by courier. I signed for the envelope, my hand steady, but my heart pounded against my ribs.

I opened it in the kitchen.

It was a motion to exhume my father's body for a DNA test.

I read the words twice. They wanted to dig him up. To violate his grave at Arlington for this circus.

I dropped the papers on the table. The legal jargon blurred. All I could see was the image of them, tearing apart that sacred ground.

That night, Helen came downstairs. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her face pale. She had the legal papers in her hand.

"I can't," she said. "I can't let them do this."

Two days later, we met Tiffany and her lawyer in a sterile conference room. They wanted to "discuss a resolution before the hearing."

Tiffany sat across from us, the picture of a wronged woman. She looked at Helen with a kind of pitying contempt.

"You can stop all of this, Mrs. Evans," her lawyer said smoothly. "A simple blood test from the child after he's born, compared against a sample from the Colonel's brother. Or we proceed with the exhumation. Your choice."

Helen was silent for a long time. She just stared at Tiffany, at the roundness of her belly under the black dress.

Then she leaned forward. Her voice was not a shout. It was a whisper, a sound so quiet and sharp it cut through all the noise.

"It's impossible."

Tiffany scoffed. "He loved me. You just can't accept it."

"No," Helen said, her eyes locking onto Tiffany's. "You don't understand. It is physically impossible."

She took a breath.

"Marcus was gay."