“Odd,” Everett observes. “Because your history suggests otherwise. Vandalism. Trespassing. Destruction of property. All documented. All within the past year.”
Tyler glares.
Tammy lets out a breath. “Look,” she says. “We don’t want trouble. I’m sorry about the rock. I truly am. But that wasn’t Tyler. It was one of his friends. He told me so himself.” She looks over at the knot of boys in the other room, her eyes sad. “Tyler is a good kid. He just…he’s got a lot of friends.”
Behind her, those friends start up again—laughter, shoves, a burst of running footsteps as someone bolts through the next room. One of them yells something about cops and chickens. More laughter ensues.
My teeth hurtfrom clenching.
Everett inhales slowly through his nose. I can see a hint of homicidal intentions flickering in his eyes.
“Mrs. Pickens,” he says, working very hard at civility. “Good kids make bad decisions all the time. That’s how they end up with records. Or injuries. Or worse.” His voice drops. “We’re not trying to ruin their lives. We’re trying to keep them from ruining their own.”
Daryl steps closer, his beer can dangling from his fingers like a prop. “What you’re trying to do is scare my boy. And it’s not going to work. You don’t have proof that anyone here did anything to your house. Or his.” He jerks his chin at me. “Or your cupcake girlfriend’s.”
A streak of white-hot anger shoots through me.
Everett’s hand flexes at his side. “Watch it.”
Daryl laughs. “Oh, did I hit a nerve? Look at you two. Co-parenting your feelings.”
I take a slow breath. “We’re done being polite,” I say. “You’re right. We can’t prove, yet, that anyone in this house threw that rock or those eggs. But we can prove harassment. We can pull phone records, social media, and text threads. We can talk to teachers, to other parents, to store owners who sell eggs to groups of teenage boys at ten at night.”
Everett nods. “We can put extra patrols on this street. We can get a warrant for more cameras that may have captured the event. We can make this a very uncomfortable place to be if the vandalism continues.”
Daryl’s eyes flash. “Are you threatening my family?”
“I’m telling you,” Everett says, “that this ends tonight. Either you talk to your son and his friends and get them under control or we start treating this like what it is—criminal activity.”
“Maybe you should just walk on out of here,” Daryl says, stepping closer, invading Everett’s space. “You don’t need to have a sit-down with my kids. Nobody tells me what to do with my family.”
Tammy flinches. “Daryl?—”
“No,” he snaps. “I’m not going to sit here and let these two act like Tyler is some kind of thug. He’s a good kid.”
“A good kid wouldn’t think terrorizing a woman with three small children is a fun hobby,” Everett bites out.
“Or write things on her driveway,” I add. “Or throw eggs at houses.”
“Again.” Daryl spreads his arms. “Proof. You got it, use it. Otherwise, get off my property.”
The air in the room tightens. The boys watch, rapt, like this is the best show they’ve seen in weeks.
Tammy exhales, shoulders sagging. “I’m sorry,” she says quietly. “But Daryl is right. You don’t have proof. And I can’t make the boys confess to something they say they didn’t do.” Her eyes meet mine, weary and sincere. “I really am sorry about the rock. But Tyler swears it was one of his friends. He says he tried to stop it.”
Behind her, a chorus of snickers rises from the other room. Tyler’s mouth twitches.
My patience stretches so thin I can almost hear it collapsing.
Everett’s jaw is locked so tight I’m surprised his molars don’t shatter.
Instead, he straightens his shoulders. “You’re making a mistake,” he says. “All of you.”
“Maybe.” Daryl shrugs. “But it’s our mistake. Now get the hell out of my house.”
Tammy closes her eyes for a heartbeat, then steps aside. She doesn’t dare look at us.
We step back onto the porch. The cold air slaps my face, and behind us, the door shuts with a heavy thunk.
