On the other hand, he’d been open enough to show he was upset in the beginning. He and Hallie had both been incredibly distraught the first few days, and then… The emotions had tapered off, with few reappearances here and there.
Nate sighed. “We obviously can’t rule it out, but I struggle to think it’s a reaction to that. He’s been in a good mood lately—hasn’t he?”
That was my impression too. “I think so. I mean…” Our boy was growing up, but in between those moody teenage days, where shrugging and muttering seemed to be his main language, we saw glimpses of a young man in the middle of creating his own path. He and I always had a good time on the golf course or when we went to an indoor climbing place. He still went swimming with Nate some mornings. He wasn’t pulling away like many kids his age did. “He’s doing all right in school, he’shaving fun learning to drive, and he’s got that job now.” Twice a week, he worked at my local AMC.
“He needs to feel this punishment,” Nate stated. “I mean, no need to embarrass him in front of his friends, but I want him grounded at least two weeks. This is a level of lying I don’t care for at all. He told me he was just going to play video games with Steven all night, and he promised me Steven’s parents were going to be home and they were okay with the sleepover.”
I nodded along in agreement. “The little shit gave me a spiel about the house too—said he wouldn’t mind having a set of keys so he could come over and get used to the idea of moving.”
I’d shown him and Hallie the house last month, and their reactions were understandably a mixed bag of not wanting Nate and me in two different places and…well, new house, bigger than the old one, more space for them upstairs, having the freedom to pick out their own furniture, and so on. After painting Dylan’s room gray and Hallie’s room a muted purple, I’d left the rooms alone. The floors had been polished and re-treated, and I’d replaced the baseboards.
“He’s thought this through. He knew you didn’t plan on coming home until tomorrow originally,” Nate said. “Okay, ground him for two weeks, during which he also has to surrender his phone after eight PM every night.”
“Deal.”
When I pulled into my driveway and heard the music blaring and saw the kids on the porch, I was surprised nobody had called the cops. The front door was open too, so they were letting out all the damn heat. Maybe Dylan should pay that bill next month.
Little fucker.
After killing the engine, I pulled out a folder from the glovebox, where I kept my contact information for all the parents of the kids in Dylan’s class.
It was my weapon of choice tonight.
There’s that duck.
I had to ask Nate if Lily played with little plastic ducks. I kept forgetting, but three times now, I’d found those tiny things. Once in my truck, once at work—just randomly on my desk—and once in my jacket pocket. I’d tossed one of them into the glovebox with the mental reminder to ask Nate.
I liked to think I was caught up on all the toy trends.
It was especially easy these days since only two of my kids still played with toys. The other two were insistent on becoming adults.
Fuck, I hated it.
Was I going to find Dylan drunk? So help me God, if anyone was hooking up in my bedroom, Iwouldcall their parents.
I grabbed the printout with a solid list of contact information, and I climbed out of my truck and aimed straight for the house.
For every kid I saw, there was one red Solo cup—and that was too many for the three extra cars I saw parked along the street. Thank fuck not many of Dylan’s friends had gotten their license yet. About eight or nine kids were on the porch, girls with too much makeup, boys trying to look cool.
God-fucking-dammit. I’d watched these little hellions grow up. I’d handed out hot dogs and juice boxes at baseball games, and now my property smelled like a stoner’s paradise.
One of Dylan’s classmates spotted me when I reached the porch steps.
“Oh crap, it’s Mr. Riley.” Sabrina thought she was subtle when she threw her drink over the railing.
“Who?” some boy slurred.
“One of Dylan’sdads, dumbass. We gotta go.”
“Not so fast,” I told the girl. “Who drove here tonight?”
“What?”
I pointed at the cars parked in front of the house. “Those cars didn’t appear by magic. Who drove?”
“Oh, um, probably Martin’s big brother and his friends.”
“Martin Nielsen?”
