Michelle walked in past him. How many times had her mom been inside this house? It was being renovated the summer he and Edie had been together and once they had sex in a room with no walls or roof. Just the wooden framing and the drop cloths and the stars above. It was the only time he’d brought her here; in the dark.

“I wish I knew,” he said. “Believe me. I’ve been doing everything I can to contain this.

“Contain this?” said Michelle, glowing with rage. “You mean keep Claudia from filing rape charges against your son?”

Ridley was sweating. He was angry, too, but he didn’t take the bait. Gabe shut the door.

“What were you doing at our house?” asked Michelle. “Was she there?”

“If she was she didn’t answer the door.”

“What were you going to do if she did?”

“I was going to talk some sense into her, Michelle!” The volume of his voice startled Edie. The words seemed to detonate inside the room, the blasting syllables knocked around the walls and bounced off the windows. No one responded. Ridley took a deep breath through his teeth, disdain souring his face.

“I was going to make sure she understood her choices,” he said, now studiously somber. “I was going to encourage her to talk to you. And to get some help.”

“And what would you say her choices are?” asked Michelle.

“I wanted her to know how it works in the real world. I wanted her to know what happens after she shows that video to the police. It’s not going to be, oh, poor you, sweet victim, those bad boys go to jail. Not by a long shot. All that video does is open her up to questions. How did you get so drunk that night, Claudia? Why so many shots? Where did you get that fake ID? Why did you go up to his room? Why did you post that selfie? And what about this post from last month, the one with all the cleavage? And what about that TV show? You know, Claudia, it seems like maybe you have a pattern of getting drunk and doing things you don’t remember. Would you call yourself an alcoholic?”

Edie watched Ridley’s performance and bile started to rise in her throat. He was the worst of everything and she’d let him strangle her spirit for almost two years. He was always going to be there, his dismissal, the degradation, the fetus she’d had to have removed from her body because of him. But as she watched him lecture them all, she realized that she didn’t have to hate the eighteen-year-old who let him into her life anymore. Ridley was like the wind: If he wanted in, he was getting in, whether the door was open or not.