Chương 8
The angle was from the front doorway.
Someone had entered the house.
My stomach tightened.
I got out of bed and walked quickly into the hall.
The front door was locked.
The deadbolt was engaged.
Nothing appeared disturbed.
The living room remained intact.
The sign still stood on the counter panel.
Buddy trotted behind me, unconcerned.
Then I saw the security panel near the garage door blinking red.
My parents had a monitored system, but they often forgot to arm it when leaving.
I had not touched it.
I opened the security app on the tablet mounted beside the kitchen.
The log showed an entry at six thirty-one using an authorized code.
KYLE GUEST.
I stared at the name.
Kyle had a friend with an access code?
The front camera history showed a man I recognized after a moment.
Evan Mercer.
Kyle’s old high school friend.
He wore basketball shorts, a gray sweatshirt, and the expression of somebody who had expected to enter one house and discovered another dimension.
At six thirty-one he unlocked the door.
At six thirty-three he came back outside.
At six thirty-four he stood on the porch taking photographs through the open doorway.
Then he made a phone call.
At six thirty-eight he went back inside.
I stopped the playback.
“Seriously?”
Buddy sneezed.
My phone rang again.
MOM.
This time I answered.
“What?”
Her voice hit me immediately.
“Daniel Brooks, what have you done to my house?”
No hello.
No concern.
No explanation of how one of Kyle’s friends had entered before sunrise.
“My house is fine.”
“Do not tell me my house is fine.”
“It is.”
“There is restaurant furniture in my living room.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
I walked toward the coffee maker.
“Because I put it there.”
“Daniel.”
“You asked what I did.”
“Put everything back right now.”
“No.”
I filled the reservoir.
“Then we disagree about the schedule.”
“What is wrong with you?”
That one landed cleanly.
For a second, I was thirty again at New Year’s Eve, standing with a bottle of wine while Mom found me a folding chair.
Then I was twenty-four, being asked why I was wasting my degree.
Then eighteen, sitting over meatloaf after telling them I got into college.
The memories did not arrive dramatically.
They stacked.
One on top of another.
“What did Evan need here at six thirty in the morning?”
Silence.
Mom recovered quickly.
“That is not the issue.”
“It’s an issue.”
“He was picking something up for Kyle.”
“Using a security code?”
“Kyle gave it to him.”
“Why does Kyle’s friend have access to your house while you’re away?”
“Because we trust him.”
The coffee machine began grinding beans.
I looked down at the counter.
That word should not have mattered.
It did.
“You trust him.”
“Don’t twist my words.”
“I repeated them.”
“You know exactly what you’re doing.”
“Actually, I woke up five minutes ago.”
She lowered her voice.
I could hear wind somewhere on her end.
Maybe she was on an exterior deck.
“Daniel, I want this fixed today.”
“It’s temporary.”
“You moved my furniture.”
“It’s in climate-controlled storage.”
“You moved my furniture out of my house.”
“Yes.”
“Without permission.”
I poured coffee.
“That part is fair.”
The admission stopped her.
I took the mug to the kitchen table.
“I shouldn’t have moved it without permission.”
She said nothing.
“I’ll take responsibility for that.”
Her voice returned, suspicious now.
“Then put it back.”
“Before you return.”
“Today.”
“No.”
“Why are you doing this?”
The question sounded different from her earlier accusations.
Not softer exactly.
More confused.
I looked through the kitchen toward the sign.
“Because you left me a dog-feeding schedule after taking my cabin.”
“You keep saying it like that.”
“How should I say it?”
“We made a decision.”
“Without me.”
“Yes, because we knew how you’d react.”
I almost laughed.
“That’s convenient.”
“You’re proving my point.”
“No, Mom.”
I set the mug down.
“You made sure I wouldn’t know until you were already gone.”
“We didn’t want drama.”
“You had me pack a suitcase.”
“That was not intentional.”
“You reacted to my message Friday night.”
“I react to everything in that chat.”
“You knew I thought I was leaving with you.”
She exhaled.
There was movement behind her.
Someone spoke nearby.
I heard Dad’s voice, muffled.
“Robert, give me a minute.”
Then she came back.
“Spencer’s schedule changed at the last minute.”
“And you gave him my cabin.”
“Megan wanted him there.”
“I wanted to be there.”
“You’re thirty-two years old, Daniel.”
That sentence made me blink.
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“You’re acting like a child who wasn’t invited to a birthday party.”
“I paid for the cabin.”
“We said we’d reimburse you.”
“You didn’t tell me before taking it.”
“We were trying to avoid exactly this.”
I looked at the menu display.
She genuinely believed that.
That was the worst part.
Not that she was pretending.
That somewhere inside her version of the world, secrecy had been reasonable because my feelings were inconvenient.
“Was Dad okay with it?”
A pause.
“Your father is standing right here.”
“Then ask him.”
“You can ask him yourself.”
The phone shifted.
Dad came on without greeting me.
“Put the room back.”
“Did you agree to give Spencer my cabin?”
“You heard your mother.”
“I’m asking you.”
Dad breathed out slowly.
He hated direct conflict.
Growing up, he had treated silence as neutrality, even when silence benefited whoever was already getting their way.
“Spencer had limited availability.”
“So yes.”
“It seemed practical.”
“Did it occur to you to call me?”
“Your mother handled the arrangements.”
There it was.
The lifelong escape hatch.
Mom handled it.
Megan wanted it.
Kyle needed it.
Dad simply existed near decisions.
“Okay.”
“Daniel.”
“Okay.”
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“That tone.”
I stared into my coffee.
“Apparently tone runs in the family.”
He ignored that.
“You’ve made your point.”
“No, I don’t think you understand it yet.”
May you like
“I understand that you’re angry.”
“That isn’t the point.”
