“Dog’s probably got to pee,” Jeremiah said out loud.

The clone walked through the upstairs hallway and opened the door to Parker’s room. The light was off there, too, but Jeremiah could see a swath of typical clutter on Parker’s floor—books, laundry, dog toys—and it made him flinch for a moment to remember how much he missed his son. The clone stood there in the doorway, thinking about God knows what, looked down at Louie again and sighed.

“Where is everyone?” he asked again, as though the dog not only had that information but might somehow answer him.

Back in the kitchen the clone made himself a tuna sandwich and filled the dog bowl with food. Jeremiah noted again that Louie likely had to pee and shook his head. No one was taking care of his dog.

The clone took the sandwich into the living room, slumped back in his chair and turned on the news. For about ten minutes Jeremiah and Brent watched as he sat there, unmoving, Louie lying down unheeded by the front door, and they listened, along with the clone, to the headlines and weather report. When the door opened, Louie jumped up with an exuberant welcome for Parker, who bent down to kiss him on the head and then finally let him out into the yard.

“Is Mom with you?” the clone asked.

“No. Why would she be with me?”

“She’s just later than usual, is all. Second night this week, isn’t it? Where have you been?”

“At a friend’s house, working on a science project.”

“What friend?”

“You don’t know him,” Parker told him. “A kid from class.”

Jeremiah turned away from the monitor when Brent let out an involuntary chuckle.

“What?” Jeremiah asked.

“That kid has been smoking the ganja,” he said. “Look at his eyes. He’s totally wasted.”

“No,” Jeremiah said, and looked closer at the image of his son on the screen. “Parker’s not into drugs. He doesn’t smoke pot. There’s no way he’s stoned.”

“Sure,” Brent said with a grin. “And I don’t drink beer. Look at him!”

“He’s not!” Jeremiah insisted, noting Parker’s glassy gaze with growing concern.

“It’s not that big of a deal,” Brent said. “Tell me you didn’t do the same exact thing at his age.”

“He’s never been into drugs. Who is this kid he was with?” Jeremiah leaned in closer to the monitor and willed the clone to push for information. He didn’t, of course. He wouldn’t. Idiot.

“Did you finish the science project?” the clone asked, clueless.

“Yeah. Is there any dinner?”

“There’s tuna. Have you talked to your mother today?”

“No.” Parker let Louie back in and disappeared into the kitchen. The clone followed, hopefully, Jeremiah thought, to barrage him with questions and accusations, shake him by the shoulders, maybe ground the kid or throw him into a cold shower. Instead, he just stood in the doorway and watched his son make a seriously munchie-size sandwich. Yeah, Jeremiah admitted to himself, he was totally stoned. From the look on the clone’s face, he knew it now, too, and the fact that he still said nothing made Jeremiah want to jump through the wall and just take over. What was he waiting for? Say something! You’re supposed to be his father!