* * * *
I’d just walked into my apartment when my cell phone started to ring. I pulled it from my pocket and saw that my mother was the caller. Figuring she was calling to make sure I’d arrived home safely, I took the call.
“Are you home yet?” she asked.
“I just walked into my apartment.”
“What are you doing tonight?”
“Nothing. Why?”
“I want to have dinner with you. Come to the house. There’s something I want to talk with you about.”
The tone of her voice worried me. My first thought was that my father had called her. I dreaded the thought of spending the evening rehashing the whole Carmen thing and defending myself against my father’s bullshit accusations.
“Did Dad call you?” I asked.
“What?”
Maybe he hadn’t called. Maybe I was just being paranoid.
“Nothing,” I said. “Never mind. I’ll be there around seven, okay?”