Three heads snapped toward me. Noah’s face went the color of a boiled shrimp, then drained to chalk. Ethan, behind his thick glasses, looked like a kid waiting for a dentist to say the word cavity.
Kevin pushed himself off the arm of the sofa. He was still wearing his work lanyard. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry. I wanted to do this differently.”
“Do what?” My voice came out thinner than I meant. “Are you boys in trouble?”
Nobody answered. The wall clock ticked. A lawn mower droned somewhere down Alder Street.
Kevin reached for my hand. “Do you have any idea what your sons have been hiding from you?”
My heart began to hammer against my ribs. I looked at Noah, who was studying the carpet like it held the answers to a final exam. Ethan opened his mouth, closed it, and finally whispered, “Should I get it?”
“Get what?” I asked.
