“There’s Wendy’s dad,” Tommy said, putting his finger on the image of Wendy’s father in serious conversation with a blonde lady.

“Yep.”

“Who is that lady?”

“That’s Jane Thomas. She runs the women’s center.”

“Did you find the missing lady?”

“No. Not yet.”

“She’s probably murdered,” Tommy said gravely. “That’s what serial killers do.”

“Hopefully not,” his father said, taking a sip of his drink.

Whiskey. Tommy liked the smell and the color of it, but he had once tasted some left in the bottom of a glass on the blotter, and it was gross. He had coughed and choked and gagged on it until he ran into the kitchen and got a drink of water.

“Dad? Did we watch Cosby last week?”

“Last week? I don’t remember. Why?”

“I don’t know,” Tommy said. “Miss Navarre asked me today if we were home last week on Thursday. I think we were.”

“Why would she ask you that?”

Tommy shrugged and winced because it still hurt his ribs to move. His attention was already on to something else. He had started to read the article about the search. He recognized the place in the picture. He and his father had gone there once to look for parts to the old Mustang convertible that sat in the garage in a million pieces. It was a cool place in a kind of a creepy way.

“That’s a strange question,” his father said. “Did she ask the whole class?”

Tommy shook his head. “Nope. Just me.”

“Huh.”

He turned and looked at his father. “Dad, I’m not going to have to go to another school, am I? I like Miss Navarre. She’s a really good teacher.”

And pretty. And she smelled nice. And she really cared about him. But he said none of that to his father. Being married and old and all, he probably didn’t remember what it was like to like a girl.

“No, son. Your mom was just upset about what happened yesterday. She’ll calm down.”

How does she think I felt? Tommy wondered. His mother had been all worried about him at the emergency room after Dennis beat him up—when there were people all around making a fuss—but she hadn’t had much to say to him since then. She was too caught up being mad at people. But Tommy said none of this to his father, either.

“I think the Dodgers’ll win tomorrow, don’t you?” he said instead.

His father got up from the desk, went to the bookcase, and poured himself another drink. “I hope so.”