“What do you mean by that?” I asked, thinking maybe the comment had to do with more than just underage drinking. Maybe it had to do with Trixie. Paul and Angie confided in each other about a lot of things.

“She’s no angel, Dad. I mean, she’s okay, but if you think she’s always been Little Miss Perfect or something, well, sorry.”

“Does this have anything to do with Oakwood?” I asked. “With people out there?”

“Huh?” said Paul. “Neither one of us want anything to do with that place again. Listen, I have to get ready or I’m going to be late.” And he got up from the table and walked out of the kitchen without even bothering to get his juice.

And Angie walked in.

“Hey,” she said. She gave me a once-over. “Hey! You’re not wearing any of your stuff from last night.” She sounded hurt.

“I’m sorry, honey. I got in real late, I think the bags are still in the car.”

“I don’t believe it. You didn’t even bring in your stuff?” She took a yogurt out of the fridge, peeled off the lid. “Gee, good thing I helped you pick out a new wardrobe. You can’t even bring it inside.”

“It’s not like that,” I said. I told her about Lawrence.

“Are you kidding?” she said. “Is he gonna make it?”

“I’m going to call the hospital in a little while. I’m guessing the first few hours will be pretty critical.”

She was still shaking her head in disbelief. “Man, that’s so freaky.”

“Yeah. Well, so,” I said, thinking that a lot of freaky things were going on around here lately. “Where did you go after we split up last night?” Trying to make it sound like regular conversation, not an interrogation.

Angie shrugged. “Just around. Did some studying with some friends.”

“Oh yeah.” I took a sip of my coffee. “These friends taking the same courses you’re taking?”

“Yep.”

“Uh-huh.” I watched Angie get out a slice of bread, drop it into the toaster, then root around in the fridge for some jam.

My daughter. Doing the small-talk thing with Daddy. Making her breakfast. Talking about homework. Getting ready for class.

And a few hours earlier, she’d spent the evening with a dominatrix. Who was, I reminded myself, my friend.

I decided to try a different tack, come at things from another direction.

“So, have you thought any more about what you might want to do when you finish college?” I asked.

“I dunno. There’s lots of time. I’ve got three more years.”

“Yeah, but, you know, you must have some ideas rattling around in your head. Lines of work you might want to get into.”