Then she shooed me out of the way and slammed the door.

I got into the car. My mom pulled out. When we were backing out of the driveway, I looked at Larry’s window. He was there and he waved. I waved back.

No one said anything for a while until my sister spoke up.

“So that went great,” she said.

My mom looked at Kate and then at me in the rearview mirror. “Isbell is right,” she said. “She’s absolutely right. We need to speak to your father. All of us.”

I have to take a break. If I ever write another story, I hope it’s about something easier than this.

Rodney

28

Hey, Larry,

Who am I kidding? Obviously I’m writing to you, even if you never will read it. I guess I don’t blame you if you don’t. I wouldn’t want to read what I’ve written here either. But thanks for texting after that thing at your house. I know you’re not allowed to talk to me because of your mom suing my dad. But I was happy to hear from you. Don’t be sorry about your mom. None of this is her fault.

What happened after we left your house is that we went to my dad’s treatment center. When we all got out, my legs felt funny. My mom knocked on the big wooden door. It didn’t make much of a sound. I was jealous of that door. How solid it was. How no one would be breaking it down or opening it unless it wanted to be opened.

It was starting to get dark, and I was that kind of tired you get when you feel sort of sick and also like you are never going to sleep again as long as you live.

“Ring the bell,” said Kate. Then she got impatient and reached over and rang a little buzzer I hadn’t noticed before.

Silence and then someone opened the door. It was the front desk guy. Derek. He must work about twenty-four hours a day. He didn’t look surprised when he saw us. He seemed like the kind of guy who was never surprised about anything. I’d like to be like him. A combination of him and the front door.

“We’re here to see my husband,” said my mom.

Derek watched us, like he was deciding what to do. When I grow up, I’d like to have smooth skin like Derek, but I’m probably going to have skin like my dad. My dad’s one of those guys who looks like he has to shave all the time. Right now, I’m not sure I want to have anything in common with my dad, including facial hair.

“I’ll have to get a counselor to sign off on this,” he said. “This is well outside regular visiting hours.”