washing machine and began dumping dirty clothes in heedlessly.
Irritatingly enough, the door opened behind him. “Uh, Dad?”
His shoulders tensed. Teeth gritted, he stuffed a pair of jeans in. Shit, he’d forgotten to put the laundry soap in first.
“I was wondering.”
“What?” Richard snapped.
“Well, I know I took off not that long ago. So maybe I haven’t earned driving privileges again.”
If he’d been capable of humor, this would be funny. “But you want your car back.”
“Well…yeah.”
He closed his eyes again. The washer began churning. Still no soap. White briefs spun by, tangled in a denim pant leg. Richard sighed. “All right. Fine.” He pulled his keys out of his pocket and tossed them to his kid. “You know which one it is. Screw up again and I’ll be taking it back.”
“Awesome!” Trevor declared with enthusiasm. Keys rattled. “Did you keep up the insurance?”
Richard’s shoulders shook. Okay, a sense of humor was buried deep in there somewhere. Not dead after all. “Yes,” he said. “You’re good to go.”
“Awesome,” Trevor repeated, and went.
Richard stood staring at the clothes swirling in the washer—still no soap—and wondered if he’d always been this lonely.
* * *
“WE HAVE TO GET THEM BACK together,” Cait said passionately. “But Mom is so-o stubborn.”
“Dad is, too.” Trevor took a slurp of his milk shake. He’d called her the minute he left and she’d come running out of her house as he was pulling up. He was always hungry, but tonight even she decided some French fries and a root beer float would be good, so they’d gone to Tastee’s. He almost wished now they had left town, maybe driven to Marysville or someplace, because everyone working the counter went to their school. And they’d all looked funny at Trevor and at Cait especially, and now were whispering and sneaking looks toward their table.
Cait, he saw, wasn’t paying any attention. First he thought she hadn’t noticed, but then he realized that she was probably already used to people whispering about her. He didn’t get it that much, but it must happen to her every day now that the word was out. There was probably even an element of meanness in it, with her mom being Vice Principal for discipline.
“Don’t worry about them,” she said suddenly, jerking her head toward the cretins behind the counter. She stared a challenge at them, and they hurried to look busy.
“I still can’t tell you’re pregnant,” Trevor said.
She shrugged and picked up a French fry. “I’m having trouble with the snaps on my jeans. I’ve had to ditch a couple pairs of skinny jeans.”
“Oh.” While he ate, he made a cautious survey of what he could see of her, sitting on the other side of the table. She had really great breasts—too big, she’d told him in disgust, for a ballerina. She might get by with them in modern dance, but probably not. Would they get even bigger as the pregnancy went along…?
Trevor frowned. He did like Cait. A lot. But the more he thought about it, the weirder the idea of the two of them together seemed. Given the baby, and their parents. He’d pretty much resolved to stay friends, at least until… He didn’t know. Maybe when they were both in college. If the chance came.
“Forget me,” she said impatiently. “What about Mom and your dad?”
“I don’t know.” He vented his frustration on the wrapping he was wadding in his hands. “They’re being stupid.”
“Maybe.” Cait bent her head. “But, see, my father really did a number on Mom. She hasn’t had a serious guy friend since.”
“You’ve never said anything about your dad.”
She jerked her shoulders. “I haven’t even seen him in…I don’t know, like four years? He pays child support because he’s an attorney, and wouldn’t it look bad if the authorities had to track him down as a deadbeat dad. I think he wanted a boy.”
She told him stuff then, about how her father was Colton Callahan the Third, and how once he’d remarried and had a son—Colton the Fourth, believe it or not—he’d lost interest in her. “I guess I didn’t cut it. Unless they’d named me Colton, and I doubt Mom would have gone for that.”
“He sounds like an…” Don’t say it. The guy is her father.
“I don’t like to think about him,” she said quickly. “And he’s not the point, anyway. Only that Mom maybe had a hard time trusting that your father really wanted her. You know?”
Trevor leaned back in the booth, thinking. “It might be the same for my