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That’s not what I meant. I think she—
He snaps out of his stupor. What might the boy have said, had Joseph not cut him off? He stares at the empty patch of concrete. Then he looks up at his wife.
Erin’s face is sickly beneath the fluorescent strip. ‘The truth, Joe. You really don’t know where it’s gone?’
‘I really don’t.’
‘Friday night, when you drove over here, did you look inside the boot?’
He shakes his head, not trusting himself to speak.
‘Then we have to talk to the police. We do. Because this … It looks more and more like Max did something. And I know that’s hard to hear because he’s your son, and I know how fiercely you love him, but we have to—’
‘He not a killer, Erin. He’s not. He’s just …’
‘Just what?’
Lost? Are you really going to say it?
Joseph flounders. He gazes around the garage: at the sharp and lethal tools lying on the workbench; at the sharp and lethal garden implements stacked against the wall. He can still hear Dell Stephano’s hedge trimmer, but only faintly. ‘Just a teenage boy.’
‘Teenage boys can do bad things. They do them all the time. I want to be wrong about this, obviously I do. And if I am, I’ll hold up my hands to both of you. But if I’m right, Joe – if I’m right, and Max did something to Angus because he found out about the affair – then who do you think might be next?’
Joseph opens and closes his mouth. He stares at his wife, incredulous, because he can see that Erin’s fear is genuine. Knowing what he does about the events of the last week, he can’t even dismiss it as paranoia. Five nights ago, he wouldn’t have believed his son capable of killing a stranger in cold blood. Three nights ago, he wouldn’t have believed him capable of killing Drew. Only an hour ago, he wouldn’t have believed his wife capable of an affair.
Those fireflies are back, dancing in front of his eyes. His gaze returns to the workbench. ‘We’re not going to the police.’
‘Joe, we have to.’
‘He’s my son, Erin. He’s all I’ve got.’
When Erin’s face crumples, Joseph grimaces.
He hadn’t thought before speaking, hadn’t meant to hurt her with that comment, but there it is, the truth. Eight billion people on this planet – and only one to whom he’s connected by blood; only one to whom he owes a debt too enormous to be paid: a son who lost his mother because of his father’s naïve belief that the world was a better place than it’s proved to be, and that home was a safe harbour where bad things could never happen.
How many of those eight billion souls would he feed into the fire to save Max? More than two, he suspects. Would he ever stop?
‘Joe, think about what you’re saying.’
‘I know what I’m saying.’
‘You can’t simply—’
‘I can rescue this. I just need—’
‘Joe, seriously, this is—’
‘You’re not going to take himawayfrom me!’
Erin recoils. Glancing around the garage, she suddenly seems to grasp how alone they are in here. Dell Stephano might be working across the street, but the guy’s hearing isn’t great. With the hedge cutter buzzing in his ears, he’ll be deaf to everything else.
Joseph lowers his voice, speaks slowly through clenched teeth. ‘Listen to me carefully,’ he tells her. ‘Because I’m not going to debate this any longer. You don’t get to stand here and unilaterally decide my son’s future. You certainly don’t get to do that minutes after confessing your infidelity. We’re going to get back in the car and we’re going to drive home. We’re going to speak to Max, see what he has to say – and then, collectively, we’ll figure this out.’
Something shifts in Erin’s expression, as if her own calculus just changed, too. ‘OK, Joe,’ she says quietly. ‘OK.’
Joseph nods, knows he’s storing up trouble. But right now this is about survival, tackling each crisis as it hits, transitioning from one calamitous moment to the next – as if leaping stepping stones across a raging river.
If he can get Erin outside, if he can get her into the car and get the car on the road, he can win himself a reprieve. She’s not going to throw herself from a moving vehicle. The tension between them is escalating, but it’s not that high, not yet.