A police officer called me at work about my 17-year-old son. When I rushed home, what I discovered brought me to tears.

That was why Officer Benny’s call frightened me so badly.

I spent the entire drive home imagining Logan had become involved in something serious.

Instead, when I entered the house, he was standing beside the kitchen counter holding a glass of water.

His gray hoodie was wrinkled.

His hair was untidy.

And he looked nervous.

“Logan!” I exclaimed.

“Mom?”

“What happened?”

Before he could answer, Officer Benny gently placed Andrew on the couch and covered him with a blanket.

Then he turned toward me.

“Rachel, your son hasn’t done anything wrong.”

I stared at him.

“Then why did you call?”

Benny looked toward Logan.

“Go ahead, son. Tell your mother.”

Logan rubbed the back of his neck.
“It’s really not a big deal.”

Benny shook his head.

“It absolutely is.”

I folded my arms.

“Logan, please explain.”

He took a breath.

“This morning, Andrew wanted to go see the Jacksons’ dog.”

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