Chương 2
“You okay?”
Ryan stared at Ethan.
“No.”
Noah had stood up behind his father. He was holding the damaged soccer ball against his stomach.
Ryan pointed at Ethan.
“You put your hands on me.”
Ethan said, “You reached for a metal poker.”
“You came at me.”
“After you threatened an eight-year-old.”
“You think that makes assault okay?”
Margaret closed her eyes briefly.
Megan had her phone in her hand.
Ethan noticed that and felt his stomach tighten.
“Were you recording?”
Megan looked embarrassed.
“I started when you guys were arguing.”
“Which part?”
“I don’t know. After Noah’s ball—after that.”
Ryan glanced toward the phone.
Something calculating entered his expression.
“Send me that.”
“No,” Megan said.
“Megan.”
“No.”
Ryan looked around at the other guests. “Anybody else record this?”
Nobody answered.
He laughed once.
“Unbelievable.”
Then he walked across the grass toward the side gate.
Margaret followed him two steps.
“Ryan, wait.”
He stopped but did not turn.
“I want my keys.”
“They’re on the table.”
He returned to the picnic table, grabbed the keys beside a bowl of potato salad, and knocked a stack of napkins onto the ground.
“You shouldn’t drive angry,” Margaret said.
Ryan looked at her as if she had insulted him.
“You invited me.”
“I know.”
“You begged me to come.”
“I asked you to come.”
“You said family was family.”
Margaret swallowed.
“It is.”
Ryan nodded toward Ethan.
“Apparently not.”
He left through the gate.
A few seconds later, the engine of his black Dodge Challenger started in the driveway.
Nobody at the barbecue spoke until the car had pulled away.
Then Brad said, “Well.”
His wife elbowed him.
“What?”
“Not helping,” she said.
“No, I know. I just—”
“Don’t.”
Ethan turned toward Noah.
The boy was staring at the gate.
“Come here.”
Noah did not move.
Ethan went to him instead.
“You okay?”
Noah nodded too quickly.
“Did he hurt you?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“He didn’t touch me.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Noah looked at the ball in his arms.
“He scared me.”
Ethan closed his eyes for half a second.
“I know.”
“I didn’t hit his car.”
“I know.”
“I wasn’t even close.”
“I know.”
“He said I was.”
“I know, buddy.”
Noah’s face tightened.
“You pushed him.”
The accusation was soft enough that Ethan almost missed it.
“Yes.”
“Hard.”
“Yes.”
Margaret was watching them.
Ethan crouched until his eyes were level with Noah’s.
“I thought he was going to pick up that poker.”
“He did.”
“He reached for it.”
Noah nodded.
“So I stopped him.”
“You pushed him.”
“Yes.”
The boy searched his face.
Ethan could have said Ryan deserved it.
The thought came easily.
Too easily.
Instead he said, “I should have gotten you away from him before it got that far.”
Noah looked down.
“I’m sorry.”
“No.”
Ethan put both hands lightly on his shoulders.
“Noah. No. You do not apologize for this.”
“But if I didn’t kick the ball—”
“No.”
“Dad—”
“Listen to me.”
Noah flinched.
Just a little.
Ethan felt it in his hands.
He lowered his voice.
“You kicked a soccer ball in Grandma’s yard. That is not the same thing as what happened after. Understand?”
Noah did not answer.
Margaret came closer.
“Sweetheart, your dad’s right.”
Noah’s eyes shifted toward her.
“You told Dad not to.”
Margaret stopped.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Nobody had a clean answer.
That was the first thing the afternoon took from them—the belief that grown-ups always did.
Margaret bent to pick up the fallen napkins.
“I was afraid somebody was going to get hurt.”
“Ryan hurt my ball.”
“I know.”
“You didn’t tell him not to.”
Her hand stopped over the grass.
Ethan looked at her.
Margaret straightened slowly.
“I should have.”
A siren sounded in the distance.
For one irrational second everyone looked toward the road.
The siren faded.
Megan exhaled.
“I called my husband,” she said. “He’s out front. He saw Ryan leave.”
Brad frowned. “Why?”
“Because Ryan looked like he wanted to run somebody over.”
“Jesus, Megan.”
“Well, he did.”
“He didn’t.”
“He absolutely looked like he did.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
“Can we not do this?” Ethan said.
Brad raised both hands.
“Fine.”
Margaret stared at the grill.
The soccer ball had left a smear of melted synthetic material on one corner of the lid.
The burgers were burning.
She crossed the lawn, put on an oven mitt, and turned off the gas beneath the grate with hands that shook.
Nobody ate.
Twenty minutes later, Ethan drove Noah home.
They lived twelve minutes from Margaret in a subdivision where nearly every street ended in the same beige stone entrance sign and the same clipped ornamental grass. Noah held the damaged ball in his lap the whole way.
Ethan kept the radio off.
At a red light, he looked over.
Noah was rubbing one thumb along the seams.
“Hot?”
“No.”
“Put it on the floor if it smells bad.”
“It doesn’t.”
It did.
Burned rubber had filled the cab.
Ethan cracked the windows.
Noah said, “Is Uncle Ryan going to jail?”
Ryan was not technically his uncle. He was Ethan’s cousin, but he had been around often enough when Noah was younger that the title had stuck.
“I don’t know.”
“Are you?”
Ethan gripped the steering wheel.
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
Noah noticed.
“You don’t know.”
“I don’t think so.”
“But you pushed him.”
“I did.”
“Could you go to jail for that?”
Ethan glanced at him.
“I don’t think that’s what’s going to happen.”
“That’s not the same answer.”
Eight years old, Ethan thought.
He stopped himself from smiling.
There was nothing funny in the car.
“No. It isn’t.”
The light changed.
They drove.
At home, Noah put the ball beside the garage door instead of carrying it inside.
Ethan noticed but said nothing.
May you like
He made grilled cheese sandwiches even though they had both spent the afternoon beside food. Noah ate half of his at the kitchen island and peeled the crust from the other half.
Ethan’s phone started vibrating.
