"Out where?"
"Does it matter?"
"It matters to me."
Ethan folded his arms. The henley stretched across his shoulders. He was broader than Noah had noticed, filling out in the way boys do at seventeen when their bodies start catching up to their height. But the change wasn't just physical. There was a self-possession about him that hadn't been there before. As if someone had been coaching him in how to hold a room, even a kitchen.
"I was having coffee with a friend," Ethan said.
"Which friend?"
"You don't know her."
Her. Noah kept his face neutral. "Try me."
"Someone I've been talking to. She's been helping me with some things."
"Helping you with what?"
Ethan unfolded his arms and put one hand flat on the counter. "She listens. That's all. She asks me how I'm doing and she actually cares about the answer."
The implication hung between them. Noah heard it clearly. She listens. You don't.
“I phoned the school yesterday. This isn’t the first time, Ethan. How long has this been going on?"
“It’s not a big deal. A few weeks. We've met a couple of times. She reached out after the stuff in the spring. Said she was sorryabout Fiona. Said she knew what it was like to lose someone and not have anyone understand."
He already knew the answer to who it was. Lacey had confirmed it. But he wanted to hear Ethan say it. Wanted to know if his son would be honest with him when it mattered.
"What's her name, Ethan?"
"It doesn't matter."
He wouldn't tell him. That told Noah more than the name would have.
"It matters to me."
"Why? So you can run a background check? So you can treat her like a suspect?" Ethan's voice was calm. Not defiant. Just certain in a way that made Noah's stomach tighten. "She's a friend. That's all you need to know."
Noah let it sit. Pushing harder would only harden the wall. He changed direction.
Noah rubbed his face with both hands and took a breath.
"Listen to me, kid. I'm not saying this as a cop. I'm saying this as your dad." He looked at his son. "Grief makes people vulnerable. When Fiona died, something broke inside you, and I should have done more to help you through it. That's on me. But the people who show up when you're at your lowest aren't always the people who have your best interests in mind."
Ethan stiffened. "This isn't about Fiona."
"Then what is it about?"
Silence stretched out. Ethan looked at the counter, then at the window, then back at Noah. For a moment something moved behind his eyes, something younger and less composed, a crack in the wall he had been building. Then it closed.
“Forget it, I’m going to my room," he said.
"Ethan. Listen to me."
"I already heard you, Dad. I just don't agree."
He left the kitchen. His footsteps were measured, unhurried. The bedroom door closed with a soft click, not a slam. A slam would have been easier. A slam he could have worked with. This was something else.
