Jack sat up in his seat and looked around.
“Where are we going?”
“You’ll see,” Sandra said, gripping the wheel, with a steely look of determination.
When she turned onto a quiet road dotted with a few houses, Jack figured out their destination and a smile crept across his face.
“Thank you . . . ,” he whispered.
Sandra looked at him and nodded, then turned back, keeping her eyes on the road until they pulled up to a modest single-level house in desperate need of a fresh coat of paint, a yard that hadn’t been mowed in weeks, if not months, and a red rusted Mustang parked out front that hadn’t seen too many more better days than the house.
Jack eagerly flung open the passenger’s side door and jumped out. He ran across the overgrown grass to the front door and rapped on it with his clenched fist. Sandra got out, and by the time she could catch up and join him, the door had slowly creaked opened and Joel Metcalf stood there. His perturbed expression melted away at the sight of Jack.
“Sorry we didn’t call first,” Jack said.
“Don’t be silly,” Joel scoffed. “Kevin will be so happy you’re here.”
He enveloped Jack in a brief bear hug and then stepped aside and ushered him into the house. “He’s in the living room watching TV.”
Jack scooted inside as Joel gave Sandra a half-hearted smile. “Looks like we both have kids at home for the foreseeable future.”
“You already heard?” Sandra asked, surprised.
“News travels fast in these parts.”
“Yes, but we literally just left the school. You should be working as a reporter for the Portland Press Herald.”
“My politics are too conservative for them,” Joel laughed. “Come on in, I’ll put a pot of coffee on.”
As Sandra entered the house and headed to the kitchen, she had to pass the living room, where she spotted Jack sitting on the couch with his buddy Kevin. The boys were already engaged in an intense conversation. Kevin looked rail-thin, drawn, and tired. He had on a pair of grungy gray sweatpants and a wrinkled black T-shirt with the number 83 on it, which was the same number as his football jersey.
“How are you, Kevin?” Sandra asked.
He turned and stared at her with a blank expression, almost as if he had no idea who she was. After blinking a few times, he registered a slight hint of recognition. “Fine, thanks, Mrs. W.”
Joel herded Sandra into the kitchen before she had a chance to say anything else and pulled out a chair for her at the small rickety table. He then moved to the coffeemaker and began pouring a bag of grounds into the top. “It’s been rough going. He got home from the hospital, and I’m supposed to put him in a rehab program, but we have some insurance issues, and it’s not as easy as people think. So basically I’ve been the one helping him get detoxed.”
“On your own? Joel, that’s crazy. You need professional help,” Sandra said, concerned.
“If you know of anybody who works for free, be sure to let me know,” he growled before catching himself and softening his tone. “It’s just hard.”
Sandra stood up and walked over and placed a hand on his shoulder. “If there is anything I can do . . .”
He turned to face her, his eyes moist with tears. “I hate to ask . . .”
She knew what was coming.
She had heard it many times before.
“Stephen . . . ,” she whispered.
Joel nodded. “Yes. People will listen to him. Maybe he can cut through some of the red tape and get us some state aid or something, just speed up the process so Kevin doesn’t fall too far backward.”
“He flew back to DC last night, but I will call him and see what he can do. I promise.”
“I appreciate it,” Joel said, eyes lowered, embarrassed.
“Do you have any idea when Kevin might be well enough to go back to school?”
Joel shrugged. “I honestly think the boy would be better off if he never did go back. I swear, Sandra, if I wasn’t a high school dropout, I’d homeschool him myself.”
“I really don’t think that’s the answer. Kevin would miss out socially. He has lots of friends; look at Jack—”
“Yes, Jack’s a good kid, but have you heard what those other snot-nosed bastards in his class are saying about him?”
“It wasn’t one of his classmates. It was just some dumb player from the visiting team.”
“I’m not talking about what happened at the game on Saturday. Have you seen this?” Joel asked as he scooped up a laptop from the counter and set it down in front of Sandra on the kitchen table.
Sandra stared at the screen. It was the Dirty Laundry website and the latest headline. Just above the salacious allegations about Stephen’s sexual harassment scandal was a teasing story about Kevin Metcalf’s losing battle with drug addiction.
“Go on, read it,” Joel barked. “They’re saying he’s practically dead and buried already!”
Sandra read the first few sentences but could not go on any further. She closed the computer. “You shouldn’t be reading this filth, Joel. We both know there is not a shred of truth to anything this person writes.”
Joel’s fury grew. His face turned a deep red, his eyes were blazing, and the veins on his neck began to pop out. His finger shook as he raised it and pointed it at her. “I swear to you, Sandra, if I find out who is behind this despicable site, whether it’s one person or a dozen . . . I will hunt them down, and, I swear to God, I will wrap my hands around every last neck responsible and squeeze as hard as I can . . . until I hear the last gasps of air come out of their big, lying mouths . . .”
“Joel, please . . . ,” Sandra whispered urgently, not wanting to hear any more.
She shuddered to think he was capable of such violence, but in her gut, she knew he was dead serious.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Maya took the check from her client Jessica Farrow, who sat across from her in a hard-back chair, a satisfied smile on her face. Maya glanced down at the number of zeroes in the amount scribbled on the check and tried hard not to break out into a wide grin.
“Thank you,” Maya said gratefully.
All of the bills were now going to get paid this month.
“It was a job well done. That photographic evidence you captured of Cyrus sucking face with that silicone-infused dimwit he’s been boffing on the side just secured me the house on the cape in the divorce settlement.”
Whatever makes you happy, Maya thought to herself. She folded her hands and rested them
