At three thirty I heard something and got up to see what it was. I peeked in the hallway in time to see Keisha’s bedroom door shut. I let out a breath I feared I’d been holding for hours. She was home. She was safe. Everything else could be dealt with in the morning.
She slept all morning, but I kept checking in on her to make sure she was there, and though John didn’t say anything, I knew he was watching too. Finally, around noon he asked me what time she came in. It was so tempting to lie to him, but I didn’t. “About three thirty.”
I braced myself for his response, but he just nodded and went out to the garage.
Landon was working on a school project at the kitchen table and had watched the exchange but didn’t say anything until John left. “Keisha came home at three o’clock in the morning?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said, opening the fridge to find something for lunch. This was my first day off this week, and I found myself wishing I was working. I hated this tension.
“If I did that, you’d kill me,” Landon said.
“You’re twelve years old,” I reminded him, pulling out the fixings for some turkey sandwiches.
“Even if I were thirty, you’d kill me.”
I clenched my jaw, annoyed with his comment.
I thought John was cleaning the garage—I could understand the need to burn off his stress—until he came inside with a list he put on the table in front of me. I scanned it in confusion and looked up at him.
“Have you seen any of these things?” he asked.
I looked back at the list.
Impact driver drill—Makita
Hand sander—Dewalt
Golf clubs with drivers
When I didn’t say anything—I feared I knew where this was going—he asked again if I’d seen them.
“Mom hates golf,” Landon said, glancing over the list before looking up at his dad.
“I don’t think Mom took them,” John said, taking back the list. “I think Keisha did.”
“John!” I couldn’t believe he would say that in front of Landon.
“Keisha golfs?” Landon said, looking confused.
John looked at me while he answered our son. “I think Keisha sold them to get money for drugs.”
I pushed out from the table and stood quickly while glaring at John. “Stop it.”
“It’s the truth.”
“It’s not the truth. Where is this even coming from?” I stopped, suddenly mindful of our audience. “Can we talk about this in the bedroom, please?”
“Sure,” he said, oozing confidence. I smiled weakly at Landon and then followed John down the hall, closing the door behind me.
“Those things are missing,” he defended, keeping his voice low.
“So maybe they’re at your dad’s house,” I said, staring him down. “You take stuff back and forth all the time.”
“And maybe Keisha stole them and pawned them.”
“My gosh, are you listening to yourself? This is why I didn’t tell you, John, because you overreact and look for the worst.”
He shook the list at me. “Why would I take my clubs to my dad’s?”
“Why would Keisha steal them?” I countered. “She has a job.”
“And yet has only paid you back a couple hundred dollars of the money she owes you. Where’s the money going, Shannon? She’s using again—can’t you see that? That’s why she’s been acting different, why she’s gone so much. I bet she isn’t going to work all these nights she’s gone.”
I blinked. I had wondered myself where her money was going, but I wasn’t going to accuse Keisha of using again. Not after how hard I had worked to create a successful environment for her. “You’re taking this too far,” I said. “You’re looking for reasons to accuse her of this, and you have no proof at all.”
He shook his head; I had to look away from the disappointment on his face. “I’m taking Landon to my folks, but when I get back later tonight, the three of us—you, me, and Keisha—are going to sit down and talk.”
My mind was spinning. “Can we wait until you’re not so upset?”
He glared. “Why do you think I’m going to my parents?”