27
By the time Tean got home, it was midmorning.
The questioning might have gone on forever except that Orsino arrived.
The lieutenant had dismissed the other officers, sat, and told Tean that they’d found Amy Graham.
She was dead. Had been dead for at least a day.
She’d been brutally tortured. She had been put into a cardboard box near the furnace.
And Orsino wanted to know everything Tean knew.
Tean told him, not that it was much.
Orsino asked again.
Tean told him again.
And Orsino asked again.
Eventually, the dance was over, and Tean was sent home. His head hurt. His shoulder and back and bottom hurt. Bruised muscles were stiffening, and exhaustion made his eyes itch. When he pulled into the driveway, the morning light was reflected in the front windows, turning the glass white.
Inside, his father was sitting on the couch.
The bedding was bunched up—it was obvious that he’d slept there and then, this morning, couldn’t be bothered to either remake the bed or strip the sheets.
He was reading something on Jem’s tablet—probably one of those news sites that had all the poise and class of a middle-school bully.
He looked up and frowned. “There you are. What happened? Are you okay?”
Tean dropped his keys on a tray near the door. He tried to slip out of his coat, but his banged-up shoulder howled, and so he had to draw his good arm out first, and then let the coat slide off him. “Fine.”
“I thought you were going out to help a friend.”
“I was. It took longer than I thought.”
“You were out all night.”
Tean crouched to unlace the Keens. It was harder than it should have been, and he had to brace himself with one hand on the wall.
“You’re hurt,” Tean’s dad said.
“I fell.”
“What in the world were you doing?”
“Dad, it’s been a long night. Can we talk about this later?”
“I can’t believe your friend would keep you out all night like that.”
Tean got the second Keen off and, muscles protesting, stood again.
He tried to cross the room normally, but his body wouldn’t cooperate, and so it was more of a shamble, one hand pressed against his thigh like he could somehow stabilize himself that way.
As he passed the sofa, he asked, “Did Jem come home?”
“No. Teancum, you really don’t look good. Let me drive you to an urgent care.”
Tean shook his head.
No Jem. No phone call. No messages.
And Kai had been waiting.
Was it possible the wolves had caught Jem when he’d dropped off Daniel?
They’d been watching the boy for months now.
Following him. And now, Tean suspected after that bizarre one-sided conversation with Kai, trying to save him.
If Tean had understood Kai’s implication, the cure might be worse than the disease.
As it had been for Tess. As it had been for Amy.
As it had been for the rest of the people they’d killed and tortured and stuffed into plastic barrels.
We will separate the sick from the whole.
But if something had happened to Daniel, Orsino would have told Tean.
Maybe the wolves had gotten Jem after he’d dropped off Daniel. Maybe they’d simply been watching Ammon’s house, seen an opportunity, and seized it.
Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.
Tean was so caught up in his worrying that he didn’t notice the vow book until he was standing next to it. Jem’s vow book.
“Where did you get this?” Tean turned and asked his dad.
His dad was sitting stiffly now, the tablet forgotten in one hand. “I was looking for a spoon. It was right there in the drawer.”
Tean nodded as though this had been important information. He kept nodding. His brain was trying to catch up, but it was a greased wheel, and it just kept spinning.
“You weren’t going to tell me,” his dad said. And his tone was hurt.
Hurt.
After everything, he was hurt.
Tean turned and limped toward the bedroom.
“But let me guess,” his dad said. “You were going to invite your mother.”
Tean’s laughter sounded bent. He shook his head. “I’m too tired to talk about this with you.”
Silence. And the sounds of his dad shifting on the sofa. And then, in a tone that was both tentative and belligerent in a way that reminded Tean of Daniel, his dad said, “Of course you are. Because you never want to talk about anything that makes you uncomfortable.”
Let it go, Tean told himself. You’re in pain. You’re exhausted. You’re about half a second away from being completely dysregulated. Just let it go, and you can handle him later.
But somehow, he found himself pivoting.
His dad still sat on the sofa, twisted around to face Tean. His face was dark with emotion.
“I don’t want to talk about things that make me uncomfortable?” Tean asked. “Me? I’m the one who doesn’t want to do that?”
For a moment, Tean’s dad wavered. But then something hardened in his expression. “No. You don’t. From the minute you decided you were gay—”
“I didn’t decide I was gay!”
“As soon as you told this family that you were gay, that was it. The end of the conversation. We weren’t allowed to talk about it with you.”
“Because I don’t need you telling me that I’m going to hell and that you’re ashamed of me and that you think I’m disgusting.
I heard it for twenty years, Dad, everything you thought about me before you knew you were talking about me.
I know what you think. So, you’re right: I don’t want to talk to you about that.
It’s not a topic that’s open for conversation. ”
“That’s not what I think about you—”
“Bullshit! Bullshit! That is such fucking bullshit! Don’t you dare try to—try to gaslight me right now!”
“You always know everything, don’t you? You know everything that everyone else thinks and feels. You’re a mind reader.”
“I know what you think and feel because you told me, ‘What’s the hardest part about rollerblading? Telling your parents you’re gay.’ That was when I was twelve, Dad. I don’t need to be a mind reader.”
“And when we went to Vegas. When we were supposed to be having a nice family trip, and everyone was excited for you because you and Ammon were finally figuring things out, you wouldn’t talk about that, either.”
“We weren’t figuring things out. He was afraid I wouldn’t let him keep screwing up my life, so he was doing what he always does: he was manipulating me and controlling me and forcing himself into my life. And nobody would help me except Jem.”
Shock rippled across his dad’s features. And then anger flowed in behind it. “Well, we didn’t know that! How were we supposed to know that when you won’t talk to us about anything?”
“You know what, Dad? You’re right. I won’t let you talk to me about anything. We’re certainly not talking about this.”
He started to turn, but his dad spoke first. “You’re my son. You should have told me you were getting married. This is hurtful, and you’re doing it to punish me.”
“To punish you?” That bent laugh found its way out of Tean again. “You turned off the TV one time—I was standing right next to you—and said, ‘I can’t watch two men kiss.’ And you said it because you knew I was there. Why in the world would I invite you to my wedding?”
“I never said that! All I’ve ever tried to do is be a good father to you. I think you owe it to me—”
“Get out of my house.”
Tean’s dad stared at him.
“Get out of my house,” Tean said again. “Get off my couch, walk out that door, and get out of my house. Right now.” His dad still hadn’t moved. “Get out of my house!”
His dad stood stiffly. He was no longer favoring the ankle he’d twisted—if it had ever really been twisted at all. He opened his mouth, and for several seconds, nothing came out. Then he said, “Teancum—”
“Get out!”
Outside, a horn honked, and a kid bundled up against the cold zipped along the sidewalk on a scooter.
Then his dad grabbed his shoes, marched to the front door, and left.