“Or…” He narrowed his gaze. “I’ll offer to volunteer in your class today. Social studies. Aren’t you guys reading the Constitution?”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.”
She stared at him a long minute, then stomped her foot and marched out of the room. When she returned, she was a real pain in the ass, slamming cabinet doors, muttering under her breath, being mean to Lulu, who cried through most of breakfast and kept asking when Mommy was coming back.
At work, he spent the day catching up on all the work he’d missed in the past few weeks, but there was too much. Between managing the firm and defending his clients, he was overworked, plain and simple. Now, he was dictating a discovery request for Keith Keller’s military record. Something he should have done weeks ago.
He buzzed his secretary. “Ann? Have we heard anything from Keith Keller?”
“No, Michael.”
“Thanks.” He glanced back down at the papers spread out across his desk. As he reached for a pen, his cell phone rang.
“Hi, Michael,” his mother said. “I’m sorry to call you at work, but I just got a flat tire. I’m out by the Tacoma Mall for that gardening gift show. There’s no way I can make it home in time to pick up Lulu and be at your house in time to meet Betsy.”
“Are you okay?”
“Fine. Fine. Just waiting for AAA. Sarah Wheller is doing carpool today—she’ll drop Betsy home after track practice. About five o’clock. And Lulu needs to be picked up by four thirty.”
He looked at his watch. It was 3:33. The next ferry left in twelve minutes. If he missed it, Betsy would come home to an empty house—a no-no according to Jolene’s über list. Although, honestly, why a twelve-year-old needed someone to welcome her home was beyond him. “Okay, Ma. Thanks.”
“Sorry to do this to you. Oh, darn, my phone is beeping. Does that mean my battery is going out? Michael? Did you hear me?”
“I’m here, Ma. No problem. Thanks.” He flipped his phone shut, gathered up what work he would need, and left his office. “I left some dictation on my desk for you. And try Keller’s father again, remind him I really need to speak to his son,” he said to Ann as he passed her desk. “I’ll be on my cell if you need me.”
“Your four fifteen appointment—”
“Cancel it. I have to leave right now,” he said over his shoulder and kept walking.
Outside, a steady rain drizzled from a low-slung sky. Car headlights glowed in the falling rain, looking like an endless stream of fuzzy yellow balls inching down wet streets. As he drove away from his office, blurry neon signs attested to the city’s rough-and-tumble past—gun shops and X-rated bookstores and dark, seedy bars. He followed the stop-and-go traffic to the ferry terminal, cursing at every red light, checking his watch.
He knew he was in trouble when he saw the ticket line. All at once he remembered that today was the Thursday before Memorial Day weekend. The tourists were out in droves, already heading to Bainbridge Island and the beautiful Olympic Peninsula. Tapping his fingers on the leather-covered steering wheel, he inched forward, following the car in front of him until it was his turn to buy a ticket. “Which ferry?” he said tightly.
“Six twenty.”
“Shit.” Michael calculated quickly: if he waited for the ferry, he wouldn’t get home until at least 7:20.
But he could drive around; although the Kitsap Peninsula was only a thirty-five minute ferry ride from downtown Seattle, one could also drive through Tacoma and come into Poulsbo from the mainland. He could drive home in a little under two hours. And it was only three forty-five. He’d be through Tacoma before the rush-hour traffic hit.
“Thanks.” He pulled out of line and drove back through the city. In less than ten minutes, he was rocketing onto I-5 South. He flipped open his phone and called his mom, who didn’t pick up. Her battery had probably gone dead. Then he called the day care and told the teacher that he’d be late picking up Lulu.
Four o’clock.
And yes, he wouldn’t be home when Betsy got there.
He knew what Jolene would say, the disappointed look she’d give him, but he would only be a few minutes late—fifteen or twenty. Betsy was twelve years old, for God’s sake, she could be home alone for fifteen minutes. Thirty at the most.
He cranked up the music—a U2 concert album—and concentrated on driving through the now pouring rain. He was making good time until he came to the Narrows Bridge. The soaring green stanchions looked like huge ladders in the falling rain.