He started the washer and watched it spin, the rough concrete floor digging into his knees. He pulled himself up and headed to the corner of the basement, where he’d set up some office space for himself—a salvaged chem lab table, a few plank shelves, and a chair that would only swivel to the right. Tyler brushed away a veil of cobweb and pulled down his old copy of Chemistry for Teachers. The center pages had been removed, re-bound with a section of blank pages. He let it fall open. Names and dates scrolled down the left page and partway down the right. The last date was over two years ago. He pulled a pen from the coffee-molecule mug on the desk and wrote:

Mandy Thurs 9/10/09 Home, Mandy’s room.

He traced his finger over the old list of names, felt the indentations where his pen had pressed the ink into the paper, and remembered.

The buzz of the wash cycle startled him. He stood stiffly from his chair and moved the sheets to the dryer.

***

Friday linen laundry became a tradition as he filled the page in his book with dates and ditto ticks.

Mandy’s Friday face had become a nightmare mask as she failed quiz after quiz, and all her exams. And the more she failed, the more Karen kept her home, with Tyler.

“What’s wrong with her?” Karen had asked one night as they got ready for bed.

“Hormones, maybe,” Tyler had said. He’d deliberately forgotten the milk at the market that day, hoping Karen would run out to the store and give him a moment alone with Mandy, but she’d shrugged and said she’d stop the next day.

“You don’t think it’s drugs, do you?”

“If it is, she’s getting them at school. She doesn’t go anywhere else.”

Karen huffed. “That school. I wish she could just homeschool here with you.”

“I wish that, too.” He hardened at the thought, and had to tuck himself back.

Karen stalked off to the bathroom to brush her teeth, and Tyler focused his thoughts. Maybe he needed to slow down. Back off. If the change was too noticeable, he could be caught.

He heard Karen yelp, and she came running back into the room gripping a fistful of toilet paper. “Tyler,” she shrieked.

“What? What’s wrong?”

She held the clump of paper out to him. In the center was a pink plastic stick. A blue plus sign showed in the round window on its side.

“Tyler, she’s pregnant. That’s what’s wrong. Oh my God. Tyler, what do we do?”

Icy sweat spread across his forehead and back. Fuck.

“Pull her out of that school. I’ll take care of her here.”

***

Karen blamed a boy from school. She even called his poor parents, screaming at them. Tyler listened from the living room, staring at the dark staircase that led to the bedrooms.