“Saturday.”
“And after that?”
“After that,” she said, “the police came.Ammon told them everything.He showed them the phone, the burner, and they took it.They talked about arresting him, but I think they were trying to scare him; they didn’t want him going after Brennon again.They tried to talk to Daniel, but he wouldn’t say anything.”
“He wouldn’t talk to them?”Tean asked.
“He sat there and stared at them.Wouldn’t say a word.I tried to—I told him he needed to talk to them.That whatever had happened, it wasn’t his fault, and we still loved him.And Ammon—Ammon got angrier and angrier.The police finally left, and Ammon—” She ran her fingers along the seam of one of the sofa cushions, gathering crumbs and dust, sweeping them into a neat little pile.“He was angry.At Brennon, I think, but it came out at Daniel.They fought.And then Ammon and I fought.And then I left.”
“Where did you go?”Jem said.
“I know what you’re thinking.I’m a terrible mother, how could I leave?But Ammon gets to run off whenever he likes—” And then she stopped.She was still looking down at the little pile of crumbs she’d made, but Jem could have drawn a line from her to Tean with his eyes closed.
Tean looked frozen, his hands closed into fists so tightly that his knuckles turned white.
It was just chance, Jem knew, that when he looked at that blown-up wedding photo, with Ammon and Lucy young and happy and hopeful, Tean’s reflection hovered over them in the glass.
“Where did you go?”he asked again.
“My mother’s.”
“And how long were you there?”
“I came home Wednesday night.”
“Where was Ammon?”Tean asked.
“Here.”
“With the kids?”
“Yes, with the kids.He’s their father.”She said it like she’d scored another point, and Tean looked away.
“No other adults?”Jem asked.“Nobody came over to help him?His parents, maybe?”
“I don’t know.No.I don’t think so.”
“So, there’s no way to know if Ammon went out at night.Say, after the kids went to bed.”
“I stopped trying to control where Ammon spent his nights a long time ago.”
Tean lurched to his feet.“I can’t do this.I’m sorry,” he mumbled to Jem.And then, again, to Lucy, “I’m sorry.”
A moment later, the storm door was rattling shut behind him.
Lucy’s eyes came up and found Jem’s.Tears.And a challenge.And bittersweet victory.
“I bet you’ve been waiting for that a long time,” Jem said.
“He knew what he was doing.”
Jem nodded slowly.“I want to talk to Daniel.”
“He won’t talk to you.He won’t talk to anyone.”
“We’ll see.”
She stared back, and the challenge lingered in her gaze.But then she stood.The football rolled off her lap and thumped hollowly against the floor, and her steps moved toward the back of the house.A tap on a door.The murmur of her voice—a question, and then more forcefully, an order.The door moved in its frame with the familiar sound of a lock catching.This time, Lucy said, “Open this door!”
