tonight, so what does it matter when it gets here?
Hanging up the phone, Sam goes back to the book he was reading. A few paragraphs in, he hears a distant rumble of thunder and wonders whether it’s supposed to rain—he didn’t think so.
Then he wonders whether he remembered to close the windows on his Trailblazer when he got home a little while ago. The air-conditioning is on the fritz—in the midst of the dog days of August, of all times—and he’s been driving with them down and the moon roof open.
“What do you think, Rover?” he asks the shaggy beige mutt lying on the rug beneath the raised footrest of his leather easy chair. “Did I close them, or not?”
Rover snores peacefully, as unfazed by questions as he is by thunder.
I probably didn’t bother to roll them up,
Sam decides, his open book poised in his hand.
Right, he was most likely thinking he’d just have to go out again later to pick up Katie. She’s swimming in her friend Kelsey’s pool over in Glenhaven Chase, the new development across town, and was supposed to just stay for dinner. But she called a little while ago and asked if she can sleep over. “It’s so hot, and we’re going to go swimming again before bed to cool off.”
He reluctantly said yes, hating that he did it, in part, because he has an early soccer practice in the morning, and it’s impossible to get Katie moving at that hour. Plus, she’ll grumble the whole time about being bored and having to sit on the sidelines while Sam coaches and Ben plays.
Yes, he thinks somewhat guiltily, life will be simpler if Katie spends the night at her friend’s.
But will Kelsey’s mom know enough to get the girls out of the water at the slightest sign of a thunderstorm? Even if it doesn’t actually rain, lightning could still—
Okay, stop it,
Sam warns himself.
Just stop.
He can’t spend the rest of his life worrying that something horrific is going to happen to Katie, who, with her stick-straight brown hair and hazel eyes and boyish build, is the spitting image of Sheryl.
Or to Ben, who is at the moment down at Chelsea Piers hitting golf balls with his uncle Jack, Sam’s younger brother.
Sam gave Ben so many preemptive cautions on his way out the door earlier that Jack finally intervened.
“Stop acting like a mother hen, Sam. He’s fifteen.”
That’s pretty much what Jack said when he convinced Sam that it would be a good idea to put a box of condoms in the bathroom cabinet and let Ben know they were there… just in case.
“He doesn’t have a girlfriend, and he’s way too young for just in case,” Sam protested.
“Really? How old were you when you lost your virginity? And did you tell Mom and Dad about it?” asked Jack, who was well aware of the answer.
Sam was sixteen that summer, and madly in love with older woman Molly Harper. At seventeen, she was a lifeguard—tawny and toned—and on the rebound from her college-bound boyfriend.
Sam and Molly lasted all of one weekend. But what a glorious weekend it was. And no, his parents never knew a thing about it.
“I wasn’t fifteen, Jack,” he pointed out to his brother.
“Yeah, but this is over two decades later. Prices have to be adjusted to account for inflation. So do ages.”
“For
inflation
?” He quirked a dubious brow at his brother.
“You know what I mean,” said Jack.
“Well, Ben doesn’t even have a girlfriend, so…”
“Sam, come on. Molly wasn’t your girlfriend.”
True, that.
“I don’t want to condone my son having sex at this age.”
“You’re not condoning it. You’re just being realistic. I bet you don’t want to rock a grandchild this time next year, either.”
Jack had a point there, too. As a high school teacher, Sam has seen more than his share of unplanned teenaged pregnancies. They usually happen to the nice, naive kids. The ones whose parents are in denial.
“Look,” Jack persisted, “just get the condoms, stick them in the cabinet, mention it to Ben,
Hanging up the phone, Sam goes back to the book he was reading. A few paragraphs in, he hears a distant rumble of thunder and wonders whether it’s supposed to rain—he didn’t think so.
Then he wonders whether he remembered to close the windows on his Trailblazer when he got home a little while ago. The air-conditioning is on the fritz—in the midst of the dog days of August, of all times—and he’s been driving with them down and the moon roof open.
“What do you think, Rover?” he asks the shaggy beige mutt lying on the rug beneath the raised footrest of his leather easy chair. “Did I close them, or not?”
Rover snores peacefully, as unfazed by questions as he is by thunder.
I probably didn’t bother to roll them up,
Sam decides, his open book poised in his hand.
Right, he was most likely thinking he’d just have to go out again later to pick up Katie. She’s swimming in her friend Kelsey’s pool over in Glenhaven Chase, the new development across town, and was supposed to just stay for dinner. But she called a little while ago and asked if she can sleep over. “It’s so hot, and we’re going to go swimming again before bed to cool off.”
He reluctantly said yes, hating that he did it, in part, because he has an early soccer practice in the morning, and it’s impossible to get Katie moving at that hour. Plus, she’ll grumble the whole time about being bored and having to sit on the sidelines while Sam coaches and Ben plays.
Yes, he thinks somewhat guiltily, life will be simpler if Katie spends the night at her friend’s.
But will Kelsey’s mom know enough to get the girls out of the water at the slightest sign of a thunderstorm? Even if it doesn’t actually rain, lightning could still—
Okay, stop it,
Sam warns himself.
Just stop.
He can’t spend the rest of his life worrying that something horrific is going to happen to Katie, who, with her stick-straight brown hair and hazel eyes and boyish build, is the spitting image of Sheryl.
Or to Ben, who is at the moment down at Chelsea Piers hitting golf balls with his uncle Jack, Sam’s younger brother.
Sam gave Ben so many preemptive cautions on his way out the door earlier that Jack finally intervened.
“Stop acting like a mother hen, Sam. He’s fifteen.”
That’s pretty much what Jack said when he convinced Sam that it would be a good idea to put a box of condoms in the bathroom cabinet and let Ben know they were there… just in case.
“He doesn’t have a girlfriend, and he’s way too young for just in case,” Sam protested.
“Really? How old were you when you lost your virginity? And did you tell Mom and Dad about it?” asked Jack, who was well aware of the answer.
Sam was sixteen that summer, and madly in love with older woman Molly Harper. At seventeen, she was a lifeguard—tawny and toned—and on the rebound from her college-bound boyfriend.
Sam and Molly lasted all of one weekend. But what a glorious weekend it was. And no, his parents never knew a thing about it.
“I wasn’t fifteen, Jack,” he pointed out to his brother.
“Yeah, but this is over two decades later. Prices have to be adjusted to account for inflation. So do ages.”
“For
inflation
?” He quirked a dubious brow at his brother.
“You know what I mean,” said Jack.
“Well, Ben doesn’t even have a girlfriend, so…”
“Sam, come on. Molly wasn’t your girlfriend.”
True, that.
“I don’t want to condone my son having sex at this age.”
“You’re not condoning it. You’re just being realistic. I bet you don’t want to rock a grandchild this time next year, either.”
Jack had a point there, too. As a high school teacher, Sam has seen more than his share of unplanned teenaged pregnancies. They usually happen to the nice, naive kids. The ones whose parents are in denial.
“Look,” Jack persisted, “just get the condoms, stick them in the cabinet, mention it to Ben,
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