Twelve
Zach’s phone shrilled. He was driving so he ignored it. Stopped and started again. If a phone could sound insistent, even urgent, then his did.
“Sometimes these dang things…” he pounded a finger on answer and snapped, “What? I’m driving—of course I’m sitting down. Would I drive standing up?—What about Hannah?” His eyes widened. Widened some more. “Listen to me very carefully, Alex. Hannah is sitting right here with me in my car—do you think I don’t know my own daughter?” Another longer pause. “Just because I mix up their names—We’ll be right there—okay. Fair point. Hannah needs to report to work. Meet us there.” He ended the call and looked at her.
Hannah resisted the urge to repeat the “not my fault,” possibly because the look is his eyes was so grim. “What?”
“Someone blew up y
