8 Chapter 8

“Dad!”

He didn’t hear, or didn’t listen. He got to the end of the driveway and put the car into drive, without even a look in my direction.

Then he was gone.

“Fuck!”

I hurried back into the house. In the kitchen, I grabbed Dad’s landline and found Fred’s number written on a pad by the phone. I dialed but had little hope. Sure enough, there was no answer.

God damn him! Dad knew he wasn’t supposed to be driving. First because of his limited mobility—how was he even pushing the pedals? And secondly, his painkillers could make him the equivalent of a drunk. He could hurt himself or someone else easily.

What could I do? I didn’t have a car. The closest taxi would come from Oakland, thirty minutes away. The damage would be done by then.

A little light sparked in my head. Colten. He was closer. Would he be willing to help me out?

I went to my room and unplugged my cell from the wall. I searched through the contacts until I found Colten’s number. With Dad’s landline, I dialed.