Before I let go, I asked one more thing. “If June calls you… will you change your story?”
“No.”
The second the words left his mouth, the phone on the coffee table lit up. A contact photo. June. Her bedroom window faces the yard. She’d seen Frank’s car.
Frank stared at the screen. He reached for the phone. I thought he’d reject the call. His hand hovered over the screen for one beat. Then he picked up.
“Yeah… Yeah, I’m downstairs. No, nothing. Just came to see the kid. Don’t worry. Didn’t say anything.”
When he said “didn’t say anything,” he was looking out the window. Not at me.
He hung up and held the phone tight in his palm. “I’ll be here tonight. I promise.”
“Dad.” I looked at him. “You’re scared of her.”
He didn’t answer. He got up and walked toward the door. I walked him out and watched his car back out of the yard. He drove off. Then he stopped. His tail lights burned red under the streetlight for a while. Then the car backed up.
