Blended Families
I'm suddenly mad at him. Mad at him for drinking. Mad at him for smoking. Mad at him for taking off on me. Mad at him for not being my father.
I was turning the corner to my street when I spotted the key. Because of the way the sun was shining, it glistened. Someone had left it right in the lock of their front door.
The house was a small red brick cottage that looked a lot like ours. I walked up the front stairs and raised my finger to the doorbell. My plan was to let whoever lived there know they'd forgotten the key.
I didn't ring the doorbell. I turned the doorknob and let myself in.
"No. It's not okay. You're not going." He used the voice.
"Excuse me?" "You can't tell me what to do!"
"Oh yes I can—I'm your father!"
"Since when?"
"He said they want to talk to you, David."
"They?" I said. "The cops?"
She nodded.
"What for?" I don't think I ever worked harder at getting just two words out of my mouth. I tried to sound like I had no idea what the cops would want with me.
