“You can’t just cut us off,” he said. “We are blood.”

“I am a United States Navy officer,” I said. “My duty is to the service, not to your social calendar. Do not call my phone again. Do not come to my office.”

I turned to Miller.

“Let’s go,” I said.

“Evelyn!” my father called out.

I did not look back.

We walked through the security turnstile and back onto the base.

The metal gate clicked shut behind us with a heavy, final sound.

I could hear the muffled sound of my father arguing with the base police officer about his car.

We walked in silence back toward the staff car parked near the headquarters entrance.

The driver, a young third-class petty officer, ran to open the rear door for me.

“To the airport, ma’am?” he asked.

“Yes,” I said. “Andrews Air Force Base.”

Miller climbed into the front passenger seat and placed my briefcase on his lap.

I sat in the back, looking out the dark tinted window as the car pulled away from the curb.

The gray brick buildings of the Navy Yard slipped past.