Maya was surprised.
“Why do we need another apartment?”
“So the locks can be changed, the cameras checked, and the apartment cleaned before you go back.”
“You think they’ll come home.”
“I know they will.”
At 5:40 p.m., my mother sent a voice message.
Her tone was controlled, but I could hear strain beneath it.
“David, I don’t know what game Maya is playing, but you have created a serious situation. The hotel is demanding payment, Ethan is frightened, and Chloe is in tears. Call me before this becomes something you cannot undo.”
I played it twice.
Then I handed the phone to Maya.
She listened without expression.
“What do you think I should do?” I asked.
Maya returned the phone.
“I think you should stop asking me to decide what kind of son you are.”
“That’s not what I’m asking.”
“It is, a little.”
