Keep Quiet(12)

“No, for me.” Ryan’s voice softened, pained. “Tell the truth, Dad. You did it for me. You were going to tell the cops that you were driving, for me, before you even knew about the weed.”

Jake waited, not understanding or not wanting to answer, or both. “Is that a question?”

“Yes.”

“Then yes.”

“That’s, like, so unselfish of you.”

Jake felt a surge of emotion that constricted his chest. “Son, I love you and I’d do anything for you. It’s as simple as that.”

“I love you, too.” Ryan paused. “Dad, what are you doing tomorrow? Are you going to the office?”

“No, I’m—” Jake caught himself. “I told your mother I’m going in early, but I have to take care of the car.”

Ryan gasped. “Oh no, I forgot! What about the car? Is there blood on it? Is it dented?”

“I’ll handle it.” Jake had found a dent on the front bumper and on the undercarriage. “I don’t want you to think about this anymore. Let me handle everything. These are my decisions, not yours. The less you know the better, as a general matter.”

“Can I go with you?”

“Where?”

“To the body shop.”

“No. Now lie back, and go to sleep. In fact, make sure you sleep in. You always sleep in on Saturday mornings, and your mother expects that, so don’t change anything.” Jake sensed it would be safer if Ryan wasn’t alone with his mother, in the short run. The boy was too fragile right now, and Pam could cross-examine a rock.

“Dad, how am I gonna sleep late? I can’t sleep now.”

“Stay in bed anyway. I’ll be back before noon, and I’ll come get you. Okay? Don’t worry, let me handle everything. Now lie down and try to rest.” Jake gave him a final pat on his shoulder, then rose to go. “I’ll be down the hall in my office.”

“Why?”

“I have some work to do.” Jake realized he’d just told his third lie of the night and resolved to stop counting. “Try to get some sleep. I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Jake went to the door, taking one last look at Ryan, who was hugging the dog in the dark. He flashed on his son as a child, cradling Moose as a fuzzy puppy, just brought home from the shelter. The memory was completely fresh, and for a moment, Jake felt stunned by its appearance, the sweetness of the past clashing so horribly with the anguish of the present.

Jake thanked God he had a son to put to bed when he knew somewhere there was a family, right now, waiting for someone who would never come home. Jake felt a wave of new shame. Then he slipped out of the bedroom, closed the door behind him, and padded down the hall to his office.

He was a planner, and he needed a plan.





Chapter Five


Jake slipped into his office, flicked on the overhead light, and closed the door behind him, so he didn’t wake Pam up. He blinked while his eyes adjusted to the brightness and crossed the room, making a beeline for his desk, a cherrywood computer table facing the wall between two windows. He moved the mouse to wake up the computer, then sat down while it fired up. He wanted to know the penalty for vehicular homicide in Pennsylvania.

The large monitor came to life, and onto the screen popped his screensaver, which was their official family portrait, posed for his firm’s website and brochure, to show that he was a good family man. Jake felt his chest constrict at the sight. The photograph was taken when Ryan was only in middle school, and both father and son were wearing identical blue oxford shirts that emphasized how much they looked alike, except that Ryan was all unruly hair and big goofy grin, with orthodonture for miles. His son said the same thing, every time he saw the photo:

Quite the grille.

In the picture, Jake stood beaming next to Ryan, and in front of them, seated on some ridiculously ornate chair, was Pam, who wore a light blue shirtdress, her legs crossed demurely at her ankles. She’d chosen the color to complement their outfits and the cerulean backdrop, which was meant to be clear blue sky but came off like a Tiffany’s box, more upscale than anybody intended. Pam had been running for judge at the time and had made her unhappiness known to the photographer.

Don’t you have a different backdrop? We elect judges in this state, and I have to get votes from normal people. I’m not running for Queen.

Jake went online and typed his search request into Google. He clicked through the first few websites and found himself reading one DUI site after another, featuring the crassest sort of brochureware with glossy photos of grave-faced lawyers in three-piece suits, troubled kids in handcuffs, and a six-pack of beer, with one spilled out. He’d wanted to read the actual law, but the DUI bar had evidently bought the neutral-sounding website names. One DUI firm had a pop-up showing a smiling man on the telephone, NEED A DUI LAWYER? above Click Here! or No, Thanks!

Jake kept searching and finally found a website that cited Pennsylvania statutes regarding the juvenile system. He read that if Ryan were charged as a juvenile, he’d go before a judge and there would be a trial that would send him to a juvenile facility for six months, then he’d be under court supervision until he was twenty-one. It was lighter punishment than Jake had thought, but then he saw a sentence that chilled him to the bone: Call now to avoid serious ramifications, such as your child being charged and tried as an adult!