Yours to Keep by Serena Bell Page B

tongue into his mouth.
    Then those onion goggles had saved him.
    The moment had passed. After her giggle attack, he could see that she’d made a decision. Before, she’d been scared but receptive. After the goggles, something behind her eyes had locked down. And he’d recovered his senses.
    He’d have to keep more physical distance between them. In close proximity to her, he obviously wasn’t a sane man.
    He glanced at the partially chopped onion on the counter. He wished he could go back to chopping it instead of confronting Theo. Last Thursday night he’d docked Theo a month of allowance to punish him for the signature forging. Theo had taken the punishment calmly—in retrospect, too calmly. Now Ethan knew that he’d already been dreaming up the perfect parry.
    There had to be some way to get Theo’s attention without guaranteeing retaliation.Something strong. Something clever. Not like grounding him or taking away his TV privileges, neither of which he was in a position to enforce. Being gone all afternoon put him at a distinct disadvantage.
    Then he knew.
    Perfect.
    He took the stairs two at a time.
    He knocked, and Theo grunted something like assent.
    The room was startlingly neat for a teenage boy—no clothes or books or papers on the floor. Theo’s books were neatly arranged on the shelves, spines outward. Only the unmade bed and still lowered blinds gave a hint that the owner was not perfectly vigilant about maintenance.
    “Hi,” Ethan said cautiously to the lump on the bed.
    Another grunt.
    “Ana said she already made you apologize to the cop and promise him you’d never do it again. That was going to be the first part of your punishment.”
    Theo stirred, and Ethan saw one eye.
    “You know what you did was dangerous and wrong. I don’t have to tell you that. It’s bad enough that you put yourself in danger, but other people could have been hurt. If you’d fallen and someone had swerved—”
    “I know,” Theo said, surprising Ethan. His voice was hoarse.
    Theo’s admission emboldened Ethan. “What made you lie about Ana being your stepmother?”
    Theo turned onto his side, facing away from Ethan. “I saw her there. And she looked nice. And the policeman said, ‘Who’s that sitting on your front steps reading? Is that your stepmom?,’ and I knew it was Ana for tutoring, but I dunno, I just said, ‘Yeah.’ I guess I thought maybe it would be better than having him call you. It was dumb.”
    “She seems nice,” Ethan said. That was the understatement of the century, as far as he was concerned, but fifteen-year-old boys trafficked in understatement.
    “She’s really nice. And smart! She came here in kindergarten and they made her go to school and she didn’t know any English.”
    That was by far the most enthusiasm Theo had exhibited on any subject in the past sixmonths, and Ethan held still, afraid to move, afraid to speak, hoping to prolong the moment.
    Theo only flopped back onto his belly and pulled the pillow over his head.
    Ethan removed the pillow. “Your punishment.”
    “I learned my lesson.” Muffled by the bedclothes.
    “That’s good, but what you did—” For a moment, he saw the image again, of his son skating along the edge of Route 50, slipping, falling, and his voice clenched around the words. “I have to make sure you never try something like that again. So for the next two weeks, on the afternoons Ana’s not here—”
    “Afternoons? More than one? I thought it was Mondays.”
    “Mondays and Thursdays.”
    Ethan could have sworn that he saw the corner of a smile on his son’s face. “On the afternoons she’s not here, you have to take the bus to my office and do your homework at my desk while I see patients.”
    He waited for it. The frustration, the rage. Some sullen, sulky outburst.
    Theo turned onto his back and looked straight at Ethan. “Won’t I be in your way?” No rage, only—if Ethan had to name it—something like eager curiosity.
    Ethan’s