Chương 9
“What is?”
I nearly answered.
Then stopped.
Because Marcus had been right.
The room was an argument, but I had not decided exactly what I wanted the argument to say.
Punishment was easy.
Explanation was harder.
“I’ll put everything back before you get home.”
“That’s not acceptable.”
“It’s what I’m offering.”
“You don’t get to dictate terms in our house.”
Dad’s voice sharpened on the last two words.
Something in me sharpened too.
“No.”
I stood.
“But apparently you get to dictate them in my vacation.”
He went silent.
Then Mom was back on the phone.
“Daniel, I swear to God, if anything is damaged—”
“Nothing is damaged.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I documented every piece before it was moved.”
Another silence.
“What?”
“Photographs.”
“Why would you photograph my furniture?”
“Because I knew you’d accuse me of damaging it.”
“That is an insane thing to say.”
“It’s already happening.”
Her breathing changed.
“Who helped you?”
“Why?”
“Because you couldn’t move that sectional yourself.”
“No.”
“Who?”
“That isn’t important.”
“It is to me.”
“Professional movers handled your furniture.”
“You hired movers?”
“Yes.”
“With whose money?”
“Mine.”
“Oh, Daniel.”
She said my name with such exhausted disapproval that I almost smiled.
Not because anything was funny.
Because the predictability of it had become absurd.
“You spent money on this?”
“I spend money on lots of things.”
“You’re trying to punish us.”
“Maybe.”
The word slipped out before I could clean it up.
Mom went quiet.
I did too.
There was no point pretending moral purity.
Part of me absolutely wanted her to walk into that room and feel humiliated.
Part of me wanted Megan to understand that the career she mocked could literally occupy the center of the family home.
Part of me wanted Dad to look at the fixtures and finally have to acknowledge there was substance behind the job he reduced to one word.
Manager.
None of those impulses were noble.
They were still mine.
“Yes,” I said.
“Partly.”
Mom’s voice came back colder.
“At least you admit it.”
“I do.”
“Then put it back.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because for once, you can sit with being uncomfortable.”
The sentence came out calmer than I felt.
“You made me sit with it long enough.”
She hung up.
I looked at the phone for a while.
Then I finished my coffee.
At seven thirty, Owen called.
“I assume the explosion occurred.”
“Evan sent pictures.”
“Who’s Evan?”
“Kyle’s friend.”
“The tall guy who tried to sell us protein powder at your dad’s birthday?”
“That was Trevor.”
“Your brother has too many unemployed friends.”
“Evan has a job.”
“What does he do?”
“No idea.”
“Then I stand by my statement.”
I told him about the call.
He listened without interrupting until I got to the part about admitting I wanted to punish them.
“That was probably smart.”
“Really?”
“No.”
“Helpful.”
“But it was honest.”
I opened the back door for Buddy.
He ran onto the lawn and immediately inspected a shrub with professional intensity.
“My mom thinks I’m unstable.”
“Your mom thinks olive oil causes inflammation.”
“She uses olive oil.”
“Exactly.”
I leaned against the doorframe.
“What if I should just put everything back?”
“You can.”
“I know.”
“Do you want to?”
“No.”
“Then don’t pretend you’re asking me for advice.”
“That’s rude.”
“That’s friendship.”
Buddy disappeared behind a hedge.
“Buddy.”
His head popped out.
Owen asked, “You going home today?”
“Probably.”
“You don’t have to stay there every night.”
“I know.”
“Take the dog with you.”
“He hates elevators.”
“You’re on the third floor.”
“He also hates the parking garage.”
“What kind of Bellevue prince is this dog?”
“The spoiled kind.”
I called him again.
Buddy emerged carrying something beige.
At first I assumed it was a stick.
Then he came closer.
“Oh, no.”
“What?”
“He has a shoe.”
“Your dad’s?”
“Not unless Dad started wearing women’s size seven.”
I took the shoe from Buddy.
It was a cream-colored flat with a gold buckle.
I had never seen it before.
“Probably Megan’s.”
“She’s on the ship.”
“She lives here half the week.”
I turned the shoe over.
The sole was muddy.
Fresh mud.
That got my attention.
It had not rained overnight.
The backyard sprinklers had run.
I looked toward the side gate.
It stood slightly open.
“Hang on.”
“What?”
“The gate’s open.”
I walked across the yard.
The latch was intact.
Someone had opened it and failed to close it fully.
Near the patio steps were fresh footprints darkening the damp grass.
Not dramatic evidence.
Just sneaker prints.
Probably Evan.
I checked the camera app again.
The backyard camera had captured movement at six twenty-nine.
Evan entered through the side gate before going to the front door.
He spent almost a minute near the patio.
Then he disappeared from frame.
When he later entered through the front door, he was carrying nothing.
“Owen.”
“Yeah?”
“Why would someone come through the backyard before using the front door?”
“Maybe checking if anyone was home.”
“At six thirty?”
“That’s weird.”
I rewound the footage.
At six thirty, Evan bent near the patio storage bench.
When he stood, something small was in his hand.
He put it into his sweatshirt pocket.
My annoyance shifted.
“What was Kyle having him pick up?”
“No idea.”
“Ask.”
“I’m not calling Kyle.”
“Then text him.”
“I’m not giving him the satisfaction.”
“Dan.”
“What?”
“This isn’t about your revenge furniture.”
I knew.
That made it more irritating.
I sent Kyle one message.
What was Evan picking up from the house this morning?
He responded less than a minute later.
My headphones.
I looked at the footage again.
Whatever Evan put in his pocket was smaller than headphones.
Maybe keys.
Maybe a small box.
Maybe nothing important.
I typed another message.
From the backyard?
The typing indicator appeared.
Then stopped.
A minute passed.
Two.
Finally his reply came.
What?
I sent him a screenshot from the camera.
This time there was no immediate response.
Owen was still on the line.
May you like
“Well?”
“Kyle’s gone quiet.”
