Adam could see where he was going with this, but the ride was always a good one with Tripp. “Because they’re corrupt bastards?”
Tripp frowned. “You know that isn’t true. They’re like tobacco company employees. Are they all evil too? Or how about all the pious folks who covered up church scandals or, I don’t know, pollute the rivers? Are they all just corrupt bastards, Adam?”
Tripp was like this—a suburban-dad philosopher. “You tell me.”
“It’s perspective, Adam.” Tripp smiled at him. He took off his cap, smoothed down the receding wisps of hair, put it back on his head. “We humans can’t see straight. We are always biased. We always protect our own interests.”
“One thing I notice about all those examples . . . ,” Adam said.
“What?”
“Money.”
“It’s the root of all evil, my friend.”
Adam thought about the stranger. He thought about his two sons at home right now, probably doing homework or playing a video game. He thought about his wife at some teachers’ conference down in Atlantic City.
“Not all evil,” he said.
Chapter 3
The American Legion parking lot was dark. Only the flashes of light from opened car doors or the smaller bursts from checked smartphones broke the black curtain. Adam got into his car and sat in the driver’s seat. For a few moments he did nothing. He just sat there. Car doors were being slammed shut. Engines were starting. Adam didn’t move.
“You didn’t have to stay with her. . . .”
He could feel his phone vibrate in his pocket. It would be, he figured, a text from Corinne. She’d be anxious to know about team selections. Adam took out the phone and checked the message. Yep, from Corinne:
How did it go tonight??
As he thought.
Adam was staring at the text as though it might contain a hidden message when the rapping of knuckles against the glass made him jump. Gaston’s pumpkin-size head filled the passenger-side window. He grinned at Adam and made a rolling-down motion. Adam put the key in the ignition, pressed the button, and watched the window slide open.
“Hey, man,” Gaston said, “no hard feelings. Just an honest difference of opinion, right?”
“Right.”
Gaston stuck his hand in the window to shake. Adam returned the grip.
“Good luck this season,” Gaston said.
“Yeah. And good luck with the job hunt.”
Gaston froze for a second. The two men stayed there, Gaston looming large in the window, Adam sitting in the car but not looking away. Eventually, Gaston pulled his mitt free and stalked away.
Buffoon.
The phone buzzed again. Again it was Corinne:
Hello?!?
Adam could see her staring down at the screen, dying for an answer. Head games had never been his style—he saw no reason not to give it to her:
Ryan’s on A.
Her reply was immediate:
Yay!!! Will call u in half an hour.
He put away the phone, started up the car, and headed home. The ride was exactly 2.6 miles—Corinne had measured it with her car’s odometer when she first got into running. He drove past the new Dunkin’ Donuts/Baskin-Robbins combo store on South Maple and made a left at the Sunoco station on the corner. It was late when he got home, but as usual, every light in the house was still switched on. A lot of school time nowadays was spent on conservation and renewable energy, but his two boys hadn’t learned yet how to depart a room without leaving on the lights.
He could hear their border collie, Jersey, barking as he approached the door. When he unlocked the door with his key, Jersey greeted him as though he were a returning POW. Adam noticed that the dog’s water bowl was empty.
“Hello?”
No answer. Ryan could be asleep by now. Thomas would either be finishing up homework or claiming the same. He was never in the middle or end of playing video games or messing around on his laptop—Adam always managed to interrupt him just as he was finishing his homework and starting to play video games or mess around on his laptop.
He filled the water bowl.
“Hello?”
Thomas appeared at the top of the stairs. “Hey.”
“Did you walk Jersey?”
“Not yet.”
Teen code for: No.
“Do it now.”
“I just need to finish this one homework thing first.”
Teen code for: No.
Adam was about to tell him “Now”—this was a familiar teen-parent dance—but he stopped and stared up at the boy. Tears pushed their way into his eyes, but he fought them down. Thomas looked like Adam. Everyone said so. He had the same walk, the same laugh, the same second toe bigger than the first toe.
No way. No way he wasn’t Adam’s. Even though the stranger had said that . . .
Now you’re listening to a stranger?
He thought about all the times he and Corinne had warned the boys about strangers, about so-called stranger danger, all the lessons about not being too helpful, about drawing attention to yourself if an adult approached, about creating a safe code word. Thomas had gotten it right away. Ryan was more naturally trusting. Corinne had been wary of those men who hung around the Little League fields, the lifers who had an almost pathological need to coach even when their kids were long out of the program or, worse, when they had no kids at all. Adam had always been a little more lax about all that—or maybe it was something darker. Maybe it was the fact that he trusted no one when it came to his kids, not just those who might normally arouse suspicion.
It was just easier that way, wasn’t it?
Thomas spotted something in his father’s face. He made a face of his own and did that teenage tumble-walk-clump down the stairs, as though some invisible hand had pushed him from behind and his feet were trying to catch up.
“Might as well take Jersey out now,” Thomas said.
He stumbled past his father and grabbed the leash. Jersey was huddled up against the door, ready to go. Jersey was, like all dogs, always ready to go. She displayed her intense desire to go outside by standing in front of the door so you couldn’t open it and let her out. Dogs.
“Where’s Ryan?” Adam asked.
“In bed.”
Adam checked the clock on the microwave. Ten fifteen. Ryan’s bedtime was ten, though he was allowed to stay up and read until lights-out at ten thirty. Ryan, like Corinne, was a rule follower. They never had to remind him that it was nine forty-five or any of that. In the morning, Ryan got out of bed the moment his alarm went off, showered, dressed, made his own breakfast. Thomas was different. Adam often considered investing in a cattle prod to get his older son moving in the mornings.
Tripp frowned. “You know that isn’t true. They’re like tobacco company employees. Are they all evil too? Or how about all the pious folks who covered up church scandals or, I don’t know, pollute the rivers? Are they all just corrupt bastards, Adam?”
Tripp was like this—a suburban-dad philosopher. “You tell me.”
“It’s perspective, Adam.” Tripp smiled at him. He took off his cap, smoothed down the receding wisps of hair, put it back on his head. “We humans can’t see straight. We are always biased. We always protect our own interests.”
“One thing I notice about all those examples . . . ,” Adam said.
“What?”
“Money.”
“It’s the root of all evil, my friend.”
Adam thought about the stranger. He thought about his two sons at home right now, probably doing homework or playing a video game. He thought about his wife at some teachers’ conference down in Atlantic City.
“Not all evil,” he said.
Chapter 3
The American Legion parking lot was dark. Only the flashes of light from opened car doors or the smaller bursts from checked smartphones broke the black curtain. Adam got into his car and sat in the driver’s seat. For a few moments he did nothing. He just sat there. Car doors were being slammed shut. Engines were starting. Adam didn’t move.
“You didn’t have to stay with her. . . .”
He could feel his phone vibrate in his pocket. It would be, he figured, a text from Corinne. She’d be anxious to know about team selections. Adam took out the phone and checked the message. Yep, from Corinne:
How did it go tonight??
As he thought.
Adam was staring at the text as though it might contain a hidden message when the rapping of knuckles against the glass made him jump. Gaston’s pumpkin-size head filled the passenger-side window. He grinned at Adam and made a rolling-down motion. Adam put the key in the ignition, pressed the button, and watched the window slide open.
“Hey, man,” Gaston said, “no hard feelings. Just an honest difference of opinion, right?”
“Right.”
Gaston stuck his hand in the window to shake. Adam returned the grip.
“Good luck this season,” Gaston said.
“Yeah. And good luck with the job hunt.”
Gaston froze for a second. The two men stayed there, Gaston looming large in the window, Adam sitting in the car but not looking away. Eventually, Gaston pulled his mitt free and stalked away.
Buffoon.
The phone buzzed again. Again it was Corinne:
Hello?!?
Adam could see her staring down at the screen, dying for an answer. Head games had never been his style—he saw no reason not to give it to her:
Ryan’s on A.
Her reply was immediate:
Yay!!! Will call u in half an hour.
He put away the phone, started up the car, and headed home. The ride was exactly 2.6 miles—Corinne had measured it with her car’s odometer when she first got into running. He drove past the new Dunkin’ Donuts/Baskin-Robbins combo store on South Maple and made a left at the Sunoco station on the corner. It was late when he got home, but as usual, every light in the house was still switched on. A lot of school time nowadays was spent on conservation and renewable energy, but his two boys hadn’t learned yet how to depart a room without leaving on the lights.
He could hear their border collie, Jersey, barking as he approached the door. When he unlocked the door with his key, Jersey greeted him as though he were a returning POW. Adam noticed that the dog’s water bowl was empty.
“Hello?”
No answer. Ryan could be asleep by now. Thomas would either be finishing up homework or claiming the same. He was never in the middle or end of playing video games or messing around on his laptop—Adam always managed to interrupt him just as he was finishing his homework and starting to play video games or mess around on his laptop.
He filled the water bowl.
“Hello?”
Thomas appeared at the top of the stairs. “Hey.”
“Did you walk Jersey?”
“Not yet.”
Teen code for: No.
“Do it now.”
“I just need to finish this one homework thing first.”
Teen code for: No.
Adam was about to tell him “Now”—this was a familiar teen-parent dance—but he stopped and stared up at the boy. Tears pushed their way into his eyes, but he fought them down. Thomas looked like Adam. Everyone said so. He had the same walk, the same laugh, the same second toe bigger than the first toe.
No way. No way he wasn’t Adam’s. Even though the stranger had said that . . .
Now you’re listening to a stranger?
He thought about all the times he and Corinne had warned the boys about strangers, about so-called stranger danger, all the lessons about not being too helpful, about drawing attention to yourself if an adult approached, about creating a safe code word. Thomas had gotten it right away. Ryan was more naturally trusting. Corinne had been wary of those men who hung around the Little League fields, the lifers who had an almost pathological need to coach even when their kids were long out of the program or, worse, when they had no kids at all. Adam had always been a little more lax about all that—or maybe it was something darker. Maybe it was the fact that he trusted no one when it came to his kids, not just those who might normally arouse suspicion.
It was just easier that way, wasn’t it?
Thomas spotted something in his father’s face. He made a face of his own and did that teenage tumble-walk-clump down the stairs, as though some invisible hand had pushed him from behind and his feet were trying to catch up.
“Might as well take Jersey out now,” Thomas said.
He stumbled past his father and grabbed the leash. Jersey was huddled up against the door, ready to go. Jersey was, like all dogs, always ready to go. She displayed her intense desire to go outside by standing in front of the door so you couldn’t open it and let her out. Dogs.
“Where’s Ryan?” Adam asked.
“In bed.”
Adam checked the clock on the microwave. Ten fifteen. Ryan’s bedtime was ten, though he was allowed to stay up and read until lights-out at ten thirty. Ryan, like Corinne, was a rule follower. They never had to remind him that it was nine forty-five or any of that. In the morning, Ryan got out of bed the moment his alarm went off, showered, dressed, made his own breakfast. Thomas was different. Adam often considered investing in a cattle prod to get his older son moving in the mornings.
