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“Ethan?” I’m alarmed. She shakes her head no. Puts her phone away and turns to me.

“He left.”

“Ethan left California again?”

“No. Dad checked himself out after the mandatory seventy-two hours.” Thud goes the other shoe.

41

LIAM

My whole life looks different, and I’m itchy for the Vineyard. My house is usually open by April, and I’m settled into the groove by now. But the season is cresting, and I’m here in a unbearable corporate apartment. I’m still hauling my clothes back and forth from Jillien’s in my well-worn duffle. I still feel like a visitor. Something semipermanent. I hitch up my bag and juggle the multiple shopping bags of dinner and my dry cleaning for court tomorrow.

Jill has an event and won’t be home until late, so I’m on dinner duty. I’m going to make steaks for Ethan and me. I hope he doesn’t have too much homework. I feel like playing some PlayStation. I open the door and hear something muffled. There’s way too much clatter in the basement. Ethan’s supposed to be at Meg and Jake’s for another half hour or so.

I panic someone’s broken in. I hope the kid isn’t here with whatever the hell is downstairs. I put everything down and listen. I pull out my phone and spark the app Jillien put on my phone to locate Ethan. He was going to Jake and Meg’s after film camp today. It pings he’s home. Shit. I pull the infamous baseball bat from the closet and creep toward the door to the basement. Then I hear high-pitched giggling. What the hell?

As I descend the stairs, I hear Ethan say, “Oh, shit. Someone’s here.”

Well, that’s never good. I give him a heads-up. I, too, was a teenage boy. I’m hoping it’s alcohol or pot and not a naked situation. I’m in no way ready or prepared or have the authority to talk about sex with Ethan.

“Ethan. Hey. It’s me. I’m coming down. Who’s with you?”

I hear the familiar voice of his best friend, Ben. “It’s me, Mr. Fletcher. It’s Ben Turner who’s down here with Ethan.” This is going to be bad. Ben never calls me Mr. Fletcher, only Fletch.

“Fuck. Fletch. We’re fine down here. Just go back up and do what you do. We’re cool.” There’s another round of snickering.

I know he’s not. I round the corner. They’ve made a really piss-poor effort to hide the bottle of Johnny Walker. There are little puddles where I assume ice cubes have melted and two red solo cups. Their eyes are glazed, their tongues hanging out as they splay themselves over the couches.

“Mr. Fletcher. I don’t feel good.” I grab a garbage can, just in case.

I crouch down in front of him. I prop him up. “Things spinning for you, Ben?”

“Yes.” Then Ben flops back onto the couch as Ethan giggles. They’re so fucked-up.

“Put one leg on the floor and one on the couch.” I look around at Ethan, his eyes are completely glassy. “Ethan, see if you can clean this stuff up and help me get Ben upstairs.” I hope Ethan’s not as bad as Ben.

He salutes me, and I want to wipe the smirk off his face. He reeks of Scotch.

“Did you drink this straight?” I pick up the bottle and it’s three-quarters gone, and now I’m terrified they have alcohol poisoning. They both need to puke. Now. And on cue, Ben obliges my silent request.

“Eww. Dude. You puked. You’re puking,” Ethan mocks as Ben empties his stomach. I’m so grateful he hit the garbage can.

“Ethan. Leave him alone. Ben, you’re going to feel so much better. Let it out.” I go over and adjust the can, and thank God I have a super strong stomach. He retches again, and I rub his back.

Jake’s the better option. Meg will go apeshit and call Jillien. I need male backup in this situation. Men were once dumbass boys like these idiots.

FLETCH: Hey man, are you home? I need you to hit me back. The boys aren’t at your house. They’re here, and we have an urgent situation. Don’t tell Meg.

JAKE: Are they ok?

FLETCH: Drunk.

JAKE: WTF. Ben should be at his mother’s house with his brother. And I’m guessing fucking Ethan told you he was supposed to be here. I’ll bet they told my ex they’d be at your house. I’m going to kill him. Let me strap Pearl into something and be over in a moment. Is he puking?

FLETCH: Very much so.

JAKE: Be there in ten. Thanks for this. Sorry.