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His demeanor shifts. He squares his shoulders, crosses his arms over his chest and looks like a TV cop deciding what angle he’s going to run a case.

“Wrenny,” he says, voice more stern than I’ve heard it.

Wrenny?My eyes bounce from her to him.Is this about the weed?

I look back to Wren, confused. Her gaze is down, scrubbing the toe of her ridiculous combat boot through the rubble of tile, avoiding eye contact with him or me. Her fingers pinch the cuffs of her sweatshirt. Finally, she lifts her chin and looks at him, shoulders sagging. In a voice so soft I can barely hear it, she says, “Hey, Dad.”

Shit.

Nine

“Sothat’sKidDoe?”I ask as we watch Wren ride her bike down the street toward what I now know is Ford’s house.

Two blocks away.

Where she lives with him.

Because he’s her dad she was supposed to meet at home thirty minutes ago.

“That’s Kid Doe,” he parrots as we step up onto the porch. “How’s she seem?”

I lean against the doorjamb; he stands at the top of the steps with a wide stance and arms folded over his chest.

“Like a judgmental little shit.”

He chuckles. “What else?”

“She told me her mom’s a traveling poet.” I cock a skeptical eyebrow.

A heavy sigh drains from one side of his mouth. “And what did you think about that?”

“At first, I thought it was an interesting lie to conjure up.” I pause, waiting for him to deny it. When he doesn’t, I add, “Now I’m wondering how you ended up with a poet.”

He laughs softly, but it’s hollow. His gaze goes to the lake. “Didn’t end up with a poet. An addict though. In prison.” He lets the words land, and they most certainly do. Right in my sternum, crushing my chest.

My “What?” comes out like a gust of wind.

“I met her at a bar—only saw her a couple of times. Definitely didn’t know about the drugs.” He puffs a sound sadder than a laugh and looks off toward the tree line. My brain feels like a snow globe filled with shards of glass being shaken. “She was high and drunk when she hit another car, killing the other driver—just a college kid—instantly. Part of the reason we’re here.”

“How long?”

“Accident was about two years ago. She went away last year. Sentenced to ten to twenty.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

A heavy silence follows.Wren has a mom in prison.

“How’d your night end with the math teacher?”

I give him adon’t be a dumbasslook.

He chuckles. “Right.”

“How about Anna? Did my little pep talk encourage her to let you get to second base?”

“Far from.” He raises his eyebrows. “She wanted totalk.”