"Oh, Lisa, I'm sorry. I'm really sorry for what you're going through," Fiona said on the phone the next evening. "Is John of any help? . . . mm-hmm . . . mm-hmm . . . I agree; that's not going to do any good. . . . Your troubles are making our lives with Charlie seem pretty easy in comparison. . . . What's that? . . . Of course, we'd be glad to. . . . I know, I know; he may not listen. But we're quite persuasive. . . . Ummm . . . yeah, Saturday should be fine. Around two? . . . Okay. . . . mm-hmm . . . mm-hmm . . . Well, listen, try to put it out of your mind for a bit. Surely sleep will help a little. . . . Good, then. I'm sure we'll talk before then, but otherwise we'll see you Saturday at two."

From Fiona's side of the conversation, Michael was certain she'd just signed him up for something he'd be better off not doing. "Do I want to know?" he asked when she hung up.

"Jordan again." Jordan was Fiona's friend Lisa's 16 year old son. And he had a penchant for getting himself into trouble.

"Jordan, Jordan, Jordan," Michael sighed, shaking his head. "Maybe it's because he has a stupid name."

"Lisa loved New Kids when she was a teenager."

"Who?"

"New Kids on the Block." Michael stared at her. "Oh my god, Michael."

"Whatever. Probably something I shouldn't waste space in my brain for. So what's the problem this time?"

"Two problems, actually. One, he's failing English. That's something I've never understood. If you can speak English, how can you fail English? And two, he stole a bunch of burners. The store owner got them tracked down, and when the cops found him, he was driving a stolen car."

"Darwin will take care of this problem, Fi. We don't need to do a thing."

"Yeah, that's what Lisa is afraid of. He got a civil citation. Some new thing they do for kids the first time they screw up. And her ex is a lawyer and basically keeps bailing him out of the shit he gets himself into."

"John is the ex?"

"Yeah. His heart's in the right place, but he's in total denial. Lisa said he's always been like that when it came to Jordan. Thinks he can do no wrong."

"And I assume the civil citation is a one-time, get-out-of-jail-free card that now he's used up, so the next time he gets caught, he'll be arrested."

"Yep."

"So what did you sign us up for?"

"He's going to come over on Saturday, and we're going to scare the shit out of him."

"Fi, you and I are not exactly poster children for a well-spent youth."

"We had good reasons. I was in a war zone. Your dad was destroying you. He's just a little snot who lives a charmed life with a fantastic mother."

"All right, well . . . I guess I'll try to think of what would've been effective to tell me at that age. If there is such a thing."

At 2:05 on Saturday, the doorbell rang. Fiona opened the door to find Lisa, looking very tired, and Jordan, looking pissed, though it was hard to be sure due to the disgusting pile of greasy hair falling in his face.

"Come in, come in," Fi said nicely. She'd been practicing for a couple of days. It was easy to be nice to Lisa, of course, but Jordan's existence set off her violent streak. "What can I get you two to drink?"

"You know what, I'm fine," said Lisa. "Jordy, you want anything?"

"If I wanted something, I would've asked for it myself," Jordan muttered snidely. Fiona inhaled deeply through her nose and forced herself to exhale slowly. Lisa looked apologetic.

"You sure you don't want something for the road?" Fiona asked. The plan was for Lisa to drop Jordan off and then get out of the situation. Michael and Fiona were now experienced enough to know kids act one way with their parents and another way without them. Lisa sounded grateful when Fi had suggested the plan the day before.

"I'm sure. Thank you both again. So much. So you'll call later?"

"I will," Fiona confirmed. "Do something nice for yourself. Try to relax." She closed the door behind Lisa as she walked down the driveway.

"Jordan," she began, "make yourself comfortable. Michael's just finishing up a phone call." The phone call was from Sam, who'd been volunteered by Elsa to take Charlie for the afternoon and a sleepover. "I'm going to put on a kettle. Let me know if you change your mind about something to drink." She walked into the kitchen, and then used all the reflective surfaces in the room to keep an eye on him in the living room.

Jordan walked around slowly, hands sunk into the pockets of his skinny jeans. He studied the photos on the mantle, inspected the various laptops and tablets charging their batteries, stared out the window into the unkempt backyard, and finally flopped onto the couch. Fi had been reading last night's interrogation prop – Guns & Ammo – out in the living room earlier, and it was on the coffee table. Jordan leaned forward and was starting to open it when Michael came out.

"Hey, sorry to keep you waiting. Jordan, good to meet you. I'm Michael," he said, extending his hand. Jordan, not a complete clod, shook his hand and mumbled some sort of greeting.

"They okay?" Fiona asked from the kitchen.

"Oh, yeah, though the day has not been without its challenges. Evidently Charlie and a four year old tried to throw down near the family pool."

"Why?"

"They both wanted the same ball. Sam said neither of them would break focus to see there was another ball two feet away."

"Good for Charlie, not backing down. We just need to show him how to use his peripheral vision."

"Anyway," Michael said. "How're you doing, Jordan?"

"Fine," mumbled Jordan.

"I assume you know why your mom wanted you to come here today."

Jordan stared at him.

"I'll take that as a yes. Why don't we talk about you first? Tell us about yourself."

"Nothin' to tell."

Michael smiled his I'm-going-shoot-you smile. "Jordan. You're not stupid. But that's a stupid answer."

"Whatever, man."

"Aaaaand now we're going to do this my way," Michael announced. "Get up."

"What?"

"Get . . . up," Michael repeated slowly.

"Why?"

"Because I told you to."

"Where're we going?"

"To the car. Fi? Wanna come?"

"Yeah, let me just pour my tea into something else," she answered.

"What do you mean, 'to the car'?" asked Jordan.

"I mean the first place we are going is the car. I will tell you the next destination if and when I decide to. After you," Michael said, gesturing.

Two minutes later, they were on the road. Michael didn't trust Fiona not to deliberately scare Jordan with her driving, so he was at the wheel.

"Jordan," Fiona began, "your mom's told me a lot of what's been going on, but I really would like to hear from you."

Jordan sighed dramatically. "It's so stupid. I didn't get busted. It doesn't even matter."

"Why did you steal pre-paid phones?" Fiona asked.

"Doesn't matter."

"I disagree. Were you like Jean Valjean stealing bread?"

"Who?"

"From Les Misérables?"

"I didn't see it."

Fiona closed her eyes as she realized Jordan likely had no idea Les Mis was a book. "My point is, did you have some noble purpose in stealing them?"

"Nah, I just – I don't know. I just did it."

Michael laughed. "What's so funny?" Jordan snapped. "You," said Michael unapologetically.

Fiona continued. "And the car? Why did you steal the car?"

"Pffft," Jordan spat. "I didn't steal it. It's my girlfriend's dad's car."

"Was your girlfriend's dad in the car with you?" Michael asked.

"No."

"Did he say you could take his car?"

"No."

"Did he know you were taking his car?"

"Dude, come on. Fine, no, he didn't say I could, but it's not like I jacked some old lady's car. I mean, I had the keys. And I wasn't going to keep the car, obviously."

"Having the keys doesn't make the car less stolen," Michael told him. "And I don't think it's obvious you weren't going to keep the car. I think you couldn't keep the car because you got caught. And you got caught because you stole things with a built-in tracking system."

Jordan made some more guttural sounds and looked out the window. The three of them were quiet for a few moments. Then Michael said, "Jordan, having been a 16 year old guy myself, I assume you're sleeping with your girlfriend. Yes?"

"What? That's none of your fucking business, man."

"Okay, so that's a yes. And again, having been a 16 year old guy myself, I assume you're not using condoms."

"God, dude! What's wrong with you?"

"Another yes. I'm just keeping a mental list of the things you're doing that can fuck up your life."

"And your mother's," Fiona chimed in. "Michael, wouldn't this be an excellent example about how to detect a lie? Let's use it next week."

"Good idea," he said, turning to smile at Fi. Then he faced the road and continued in his no-nonsense voice. "All I knew was flunking your native language and being a bad thief. Unprotected sex gives you the trifecta of stupidity."

"What the hell is your problem, man? It's none of your business. You're not my dad."

"I know. It's my business because your mom asked us to help, and I like your mom a lot, so I'm going to do my best. If that means pissing you off, well, that's just icing on the cake."

"Is your girlfriend on the Pill?" Fiona asked.

"Probably," answered Jordan. Michael burst out laughing again.

"'Probably'?" said Fiona incredulously. "Either she is or she isn't. And either you know or you don't."

"I mean, she's got an older sister, so probably."

Fiona sighed. "I'll add that to the list to talk about with Lisa."

Forty-five minutes after they left the house, Michael pulled into a Lowe's parking lot in Homestead. "We're here!" he sang.

"We going shopping?" Jordan asked.

"Nope. Give me your phone."

"Why?"

"Jordan, Jordan, Jordan. Must we do this every time? Because I said so. Give me your phone." Jordan did, slowly.

"And your wallet."

"No way, man. I'm not giving you my wallet."

"Really? You really think that's the way to proceed?" Michael asked. Jordan grudgingly pulled his wallet from his back pocket and handed it to Michael. Michael opened it, took out a ten dollar bill, handed the money to Jordan, and put the wallet in the glove compartment.

"There. I'll probably give it back to you later." Michael pressed the button to unlock Jordan's door. "Now, out you go."

Jordan furrowed his brow. "What?"

"Out. Scoot."

"What the hell, man?"

"We're going to see if you have any survival skills whatsoever. You've got ten bucks. We'll see you back at our house."

"You can't be serious. What the fuck?"

"In the short time we've known one another, Jordan, have you known me not to be serious?"

"But what – I don't know – I don't – what am I supposed to do?"

"You're supposed to get out of the car. Whether you get yourself out or have me get you out is up to you." Michael looked at him with that scary, laser-focus face.

Jordan opened the door slowly and stepped out of the car. "Seriously?" he said, leaning back into the back seat.

Scary laser face.

"This is bullshit, man. Whatever." He closed the door, then immediately opened it. "Wait, I don't even know where your house is."

"You've identified one of the obstacles of your mission, then. You get some points for that. Close the door. And you might want to step back so I don't run over your feet." Jordan slammed the door, and Michael drove away. Jordan watched him. Michael could see him in the rearview mirror as he exited the parking lot, still standing there.

"So?" Fiona asked.

"One of us needs to keep an eye on him."

"And the other?" she prompted.

"Gets to tell Lisa." Michael pulled back into the parking lot from another entrance and parked out of Jordan's view. Still just standing there.

Fi groaned. "All right, I'll call her." She found Lisa's name on her phone and pressed the call button. While she waited for her to answer, she turned around in her seat, looking back where they'd come from. "I hope he stays in this area for a while. I want to go back to Lowe's and get flowers."

"All our flowers are dead, Fi," Michael said.

"I know. That's why we need new flowers."

"They're dead because we can't keep flowers alive."

"First time for everything. Hey, Lisa, it's Fi. . . . Yep, everything's fine. . . . No, we're not finished quite yet. . . . How's it going? It's going, ummm, okay. Not great but not terrible. . . . Well, he hasn't said much yet. We decided it'd be better if we got out of the house to talk." Fiona looked at Michael, silently asking for his approval of her misleading and euphemistic statement, which he gave emphatically. "Right. . . . Right, exactly. . . . We ended up driving to Homestead of all places, so I think we'll stay out here for a while. Okay if we bring him back later this evening to you? . . . No, no, don't be silly. You don't need to pick him up. We'll drop him off. . . . Right. . . . And listen, if it's really late and we're having such a good talk and don't want to lose the momentum," and here Fiona looked at Michael again, "he can just stay with us tonight. As a matter of fact, why don't we just plan on that? . . . Lisa, no, it is absolutely no trouble. I think it'd do you both some good to have some time apart. Charlie's with Sam and Elsa, so Jordan can sleep in his room. I hope he doesn't mind dinosaur sheets. . . . Okay. . . . I promise you it's no trouble. Open a bottle of wine and just let all this go for an evening. He's perfectly safe with us. . . . Okay. . . . Okay, we'll speak to you later. Bye bye."

"Impressive, Fi," Michael remarked.

"Just trying to get a couple of drinks in her before I tell her what's really going on."

Jordan walked across the parking lot, hands once again shoved in his pockets, and jaywalked across Campbell Drive to a family-owned pizza place. He went in and sat at an empty table near the door.

Michael parked at a Citgo across the street. He and Fiona each watched Jordan through matching sets of high-powered binoculars. "Right near the door, and he's got his back to the door," Fiona said, shaking her head. "Jesus. You think most regular people are that clueless tactically or just him?"

"Most are pretty clueless. Give him time, though; I'm sure he'll distinguish himself." They saw a waiter come to Jordan's table and hand him a menu. "How much you want to bet he spends his entire ten bucks on lunch?"

"Not taking that bet," she answered. Jordan sipped the water the waiter brought him and didn't seem to do anything else for a few minutes.

"How do we stop this from happening to Charlie?" asked Michael after a while.

"That's exactly what I'm afraid of, too. Lisa did everything right and look where it's gotten her."

Michael thought for a moment. "I mean, genetically, he's . . . Nate had an addictive personality, Ruth is Ruth, my dad was a wife and kid beater. One could stay the odds are stacked."

"He has you in his blood line, too," Fiona said. "That's part of his nature. And we're most of his nurture, at least for now. And your mom."

"I did everything Jordan's probably doing and more. I was just better at it and didn't get caught. And it's a miracle Karen never got pregnant when we were together."

"Tell me about this Karen."

Michael put his binoculars in his lap and looked at Fiona. "She lived down the street. We knew each other forever but didn't start dating until we were sophomores. Though 'dating' may be a stretch."

Fiona smiled.

"You know, we were friendly, she was hormonal, I was desperately hormonal, so we formed a strategic partnership. That's probably the best way to describe it." Michael laughed at the memory. "We were such idiots. We had this unspoken competition to think of the most bizarre things to do."

"What'd you come up with?"

"About the most creative we got was moving to a chair instead of bed. I mean, we had tons of ideas and we had a damn good time imagining what they'd be like, but when push came to shove, she was pretty traditional."

"How long were you in this strategic partnership?"

"Off and on until I left home, really. She got a couple of real boyfriends along the way, but she always made time for an old friend. We were actually pretty good together. And we were each other's first." He looked back to Fiona. "What about you?"

"My first boyfriend?"

"Yeah."

"Brian O'Leary." Fi chortled.

"What's funny?" asked Michael, smiling.

"I remember at the time I thought he was so hot. Now looking back I'm seeing what disastrous taste I had. I mean, he was okay physically, but his personality . . . . I'm glad my standards have improved."

Michael grinned. "What was old Brian like? Violent and fiery like you? Warm and gooey like me?"

She laughed. "Neither. Desperately trying to fit in with the older boys. I think the only reason he was with me was so he could be around my brothers. I'm pretty sure I scared him, actually."

"Being scared can be fun with the right girl."

Fiona's smile left and her voice got quiet. "This was not too long after Claire. I wasn't myself. None of us were. I was trying to prove something, I suppose, though I'm not sure what. Anyway, he let me use his body to do it, and in exchange he got to hang around people in the Army. So maybe it was my own kind of strategic partnership."

Michael rubbed her thigh, then held her hand.

Fiona cleared her throat. "Anyway, Brian O'Leary was my first," she said, her voice still breaking a little. "And talk about miraculous. I had barely heard of birth control, let alone knew how to get any." She paused for a moment. "I try sometimes to imagine what my life would be like if I'd had a baby at 19 or 20 like everyone I knew."

"What do you think?"

"None of the last 25 years would've happened. I wouldn't've joined up with the Army. I mean, of course I would've sympathized and helped how I could, but it just wasn't done, a woman leaving her baby. I wouldn't've met you. Wouldn't've moved to the States." She took her hand back and looked down. "And I probably would've resented the baby every minute of its life." Her voice broke again.

Michael waited a bit. "You okay?" he asked quietly.

"I don't know why I'm tearing up. I didn't want a baby. I don't want a baby. It's good that I never got pregnant. But I still feel, I don't know, sort of . . . I suppose guilty."

"Why?" Michael was surprised by her answer.

"I don't know. Maybe because everyone always told me that's what I was supposed to want? They still tell me that, you know. Some woman in my gynecologist's office a few months ago asked if I was there for fertility treatments. She just assumed I was old and wanted to get pregnant and couldn't." Fiona scowled. "I'm not sure which assumption pissed me off most. Probably that I was old."

Michael made soft, supportive sounds, but didn't say anything.

Fiona picked her binoculars back up. "Still in there. What the hell is he doing?" Michael looked through his as well. "Still just has water. Maybe he won't blow his ten bucks after all." After a couple of minutes, Jordan left the restaurant.

"If he has any brains at all," Fiona said, and Michael snorted, "he'll go figure out how to get home on public transit." She tapped the screen on her phone a few times. "Look. He can get from here to Miracle Marketplace on buses and the Metrorail for . . . three bucks or so. That's less than a mile from his house." This time she snorted. "I certainly don't expect him to find our house. It'll take him a couple of hours but that's the way to do it."

But that wasn't what Jordan appeared to be doing. Jordan appeared to be walking east along Campbell sticking his thumb up.

"He's hitchhiking. Of course he's hitchhiking," Michael sighed. "He's only in one of the more crime-ridden neighborhoods around." They watched as he slowly walked. Within a couple of minutes, a mid-90s model Ford F-150 stopped near him. The truck was white once upon a time, but now it was dirt with accents of rust. The left rear tire wobbled. Jordan opened the door and got in. Michael and Fiona sighed in unison as Michael began tailing the truck. A couple of blocks later, the truck turned right on Newton.

"You've gotta be kidding me," Michael said. "They're gonna go south on 821. Arghhhhhhhh." Michael let out a deep, primal scream and banged his fists on the steering wheel.

"Do we think Jordan knows he's supposed to be going north?" Fiona asked. "Do we think he even knows he's going south?" She chuckled.

"Fi, you may enjoy chasing this kid all over South Florida tonight, but I can think of way better things to do. Amputating my own toe, for example. That little shit. Because now this is serious. Jordan's a moron, but we've got to assume the driver knows where Miami is, and the driver knows he's not driving to Miami, and the driver knows Jordan doesn't know the driver's not driving to Miami. Which means we have to ask why the driver's doing that, and none of the answers I can think of end well for Jordan."

"I'll call Jesse," Fiona said. "He can run the plates." She did, and he did. Five minutes later, they had their answer.

"Eduardo Tuscano," Fiona announced. "Aggravated assault in '92, grand theft auto in '98, and currently on parole for another aggravated assault in 2005." Now Fiona switched into her no-nonsense voice. "Pull over."

"What are you thinking?" Michael asked as he did just that.

"I'll drive, I'll clip him, I'll get out and play the hot, dumb, girl driver, and you get Jordan."

"Sounds good." Michael put the car in park. They quickly changed seats. Fiona took off before Michael could buckle his seat belt. She kept the truck in sight but stayed a few car lengths behind. A couple of miles down the road, traffic had cleared out enough that she decided it was safe to bang into the truck. She pulled up next to him on the left, then sped up slightly and changed lanes to the right abruptly, clipping him on the left front bumper. Eduardo blared the horn as Fiona pulled onto the right shoulder. He parked just behind her.

"What the fuck?" he screamed as he got out of the truck.

"Oh my goodness, I'm so, so sorry!" Fiona cried in the highest voice she could muster. "I didn't even see you there! Oh, no," she said, bending down to inspect the damage while making sure the back of her jeans revealed the top of her violet underwear. "Oh, just look what I've done." She continued to lean down and point at this and that on the bumper, pulling her shirt to reveal her matching bra as well. "Hey, I wonder if my car has any damage," she giggled. "Maybe we could just call it even. Oh, no, wait, that wouldn't be fair! I messed up both cars!" More giggling. "My purse is in the car. I'll go get my insurance information. You can come with me if you want to make sure I don't do a hit and run. Wouldn't that be funny?" Eduardo walked behind her, saying something Michael couldn't make out but sounded lascivious, and draped his arm around her shoulder.

Michael got out of the car right as Fiona and Eduardo started walking towards the driver's door. He crouched down as he ran along the passenger side, keeping his head out of view. Three seconds later, he pulled open the passenger door of the truck, clasped his hand over Jordan's mouth, pulled him out, and put him in a near headlock as they walked quickly to the rear of the truck. Michael pulled him down, and they both squatted. "Do not scream," he ordered. "It's a long story that I'll tell you soon, but right now you have to not make a sound. You understand?" Jordan nodded. Michael took his hand off the kid's mouth but kept his arm crooked around his neck, just in case. He had a momentary sense of déjà vu.

"Okay, we're going to walk, slowly, to the car. Stay low. Not a sound." They squat-walked back to the passenger side of the car. Michael opened the rear door and shoved Jordan in. "Get down on the floorboards and stay there," he instructed in a whisper. "Do not get up until I tell you to." Michael closed the door silently. He took a deep breath, then yelled, "Eddie!" Eduardo turned his head toward the sound, which gave Fiona enough time to pull her gun from her purse and point it at Eduardo's chest. "Don't move," she growled in the lowest voice she could muster.

Michael sprang up, gun also pointed at Eduardo. "Lie down," he commanded.

"She told me not to move!" Eduardo whined.

"I changed my mind. Lie down," Fiona ordered. He did. Michael went back to the truck, pulled the keys out of the ignition, and grabbed a roll of duct tape he found in the glove compartment. He also found a pistol in there, which he decided Eduardo should not have, so he took that, too.

"When was the last time you bathed, Eduardo?" Fiona snapped. "I'm going to have to take a hazmat shower to get rid of the stench."

"How do you know my name?" he yelled, though his voice was muffled since face was on the pavement.

"I'll leave that as one of life's great mysteries."

Michael threw the keys as far as he could across the highway. "You're in luck, Eduardo," he said. "We're not even going to take your truck. But you need to remember that we know who you are. You think your name's all we know? One more call and I'll find out which side of the bed your grandma used to sleep on. Give me your hands." Eduardo straightened his arms and held them out to the sides. Michael pulled them together behind Eduardo's back and wrapped a few layers of duct tape around his wrists. Then he threw the duct tape in the same direction as the keys. "All right, we're going to take off. Nice meeting you. Oh, one more thing. I figured you're probably not supposed to have a pistol when you're on parole, so we'll take care of that for you as well. Consider it our public service of the day."

"Fuck you, man," he yelled, twisting all around.

"Take care. Ooooooh, wait a minute. Grand theft auto. Not having your keys isn't going to slow you down, is it? Don't worry. We'll grab something from under the hood." Michael gestured to Fiona, who dashed to the truck, popped the hood, and started removing parts. "Eduardo, I'm truly sorry I didn't think of that before. I'm off my game 'cause I didn't get much sleep last night. Now you don't have your house keys, either. You can send me the bill if you end up needing a locksmith." Michael surveyed the area around him. "All right, now we're good. See you around, Eduardo."

Michael and Fiona left Eduardo twisting on the shoulder of the turnpike and walked briskly to their car. They could see Jordan shaking on the floor of the backseat. "Rock paper scissors for who has to console him?" Michael said hopefully. To his surprise, Fiona did the 1-2-3 shoot, and to his greater surprise, she formed scissors with her fingers, which she used to cut Michael's paper hand. "Fuck me," he groaned. "Since when don't you do rock?"

"I don't always have to bash something, Michael. I've become more surgical in my violence."

Sighing, Michael opened the rear right door and kind of shoved Jordan over to the area behind the driver's seat so he had room to sit. "All righty, up you go." Jordan didn't move, except to keep shaking, so Michael found his armpits, stuck his hands through them, and heaved him up. He held him against the seat as he buckled the shoulder/lap belt around him. When Fiona heard the click, she peeled off onto the main lanes.

"Okay, Jordan, you're fine," Michael said. "Try to stop shaking. And please stop breathing like that or you're going to hyperventilate." Jordan seemed to try to calm down, but he couldn't. Michael said, "Jordan, I want you to slow down your breaths. One little breath every five seconds." His breathing didn't slow at all. "All right, do this. Close your mouth. Good. Now pinch one of your nostrils. Good. Now breathe through just the other nostril." Jordan complied, and it started to work. "There you go. You're doing great. Just through that one nostril." After a minute, Jordan's breathing was back to normal and he'd stopped shaking. "Good. You're all right. Okay? You're fine."

He'd stopped shaking and hyperventilating, but now Jordan was crying. His eyes showed genuine, primal fear. It reminded Michael of how Charlie looks when he gets scared. And that, in turn, made Michael's eyes water. He dried them quickly with the butts of his hands. "It's okay, man. You're safe. We're going to take you back to our house, all right?" Jordan sniffed and finally nodded. Michael clapped him on the shoulder a couple of times. He knew Jordan needed a hug. But he wasn't there yet.

The three of them were home by 5:00, though it felt like a full day had passed. Jordan had calmed down considerably on the drive. Hadn't said anything, though. Now he was sitting, motionless, on the couch. Fiona sat next to him and rubbed his back while Michael made him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He put the sandwich and a big tumbler of iced tea on the coffee table. Jordan didn't move.

"Jordan," Fiona began, "Neither Michael nor I were perfect kids. Not in the slightest. We did what you've done and much worse. The fact that both of us are still alive and not in prison is due somewhat to skill and a lot to luck. I think your mom thought we might be able to help you because we've been where you are. We're not trying to preach to you from on high."

"Who was that guy?" Jordan asked, almost inaudibly.

"I'm sorry?" Fiona said.

He cleared his throat and spoke just loud enough to be heard. "Who was the guy driving the truck?"

Fiona hesitated a few seconds before she answered. "He was a man with a criminal record, and we were worried he would hurt you."

"How did you know he had a record?"

"We've got some friends in law enforcement. They ran his license plate and that's how we found out."

Jordan looked at his lap. After a while, he spoke. "What were you guys even doing there?" Fiona looked to Michael, letting him know it was his turn to handle some of this.

Michael took a deep breath and sat down on the coffee table across from Jordan. "Jordan, we took you out there because you needed to feel for yourself what it means to be scared. To have no idea what to do. We dropped you in a suburban parking lot and kept an eye on you so you could experience that fear in safety, even though you didn't know you were safe. 'Cause at the rate you're going, man, you could've easily first felt that fear in jail. Or staring down the barrel of a gun.

"Now, I know you think stealing cell phones and joyriding in your girlfriend's dad's car is no big deal. And you're sort of right. It's not as bad as hurting someone. Certainly nowhere near as bad as killing someone. But that's irrelevant. They don't have different jails for stupid crimes and evil crimes, Jordan. You go to jail, you go to jail. And jail is a horrible place. It's lonely and it's scary."

Jordan played with his hands while still looking down. Soon he reached for the iced tea and took a few sips.

"You're not unique, Jordan, in not seeing how good you have it," said Michael. "Pretty much every kid lucky enough to be in a stable home with a stable parent is just as clueless. It takes living in a crazy home with fucked up parents to see the alternative."

"Your mom loves you so much, Jordan," Fiona said. "Your dad, too. Do you understand what all this has done to your mom?"

"I told her it's fine," said Jordan. "It'll be fine."

"It won't be," Michael said firmly. "Not if you keep going like this. Take English, for example. What happens if you flunk English?"

"I don't know. Probably just do it in summer school."

"All right. Let's say that's true. Why are you flunking now? Do you not get what they're teaching you?"

"No, I didn't hand in a bunch of crap and I blew off this project that counts for, like, 15% of the grade. It's so boring. I can't deal with it."

"And you have English, what, an hour a day?"

"Fifty-two minutes."

"Fifty-two minutes. Even better. If you can't deal with it for 52 minutes a day now, what makes you think you're going to deal with it any better when it's all day long over your vacation? When all your buddies are picking up girls on South Beach and you're stuck in school?"

Jordan was silent.

"So what happens if you flunk it in summer school?"

Silence.

"I don't know what happens, but I'm not the one flunking," Michael said. "My point is you need to know. You need to figure out the consequences of whatever you're thinking about doing. If you're going to flunk English, you need to figure out what will happen if you flunk it. Make an informed decision." Michael drank some of his own iced tea. "And the cell phones, man. The cell phones," he said, shaking his head. "If you're going to steal, you've got to learn to steal better. I'm not saying you should steal. I'm saying that if you suck at it, you shouldn't do it. And Jordan, you suck at it."

Jordan chucked under his breath. "I know. I didn't even need them, man. I don't know why I did it." He reached forward to get the sandwich and began eating. "My mom said you guys have a kid?" he said through a mouthful of peanut butter.

"Not exactly," Fiona answered. "Charlie is Michael's nephew."

"And he lives with you guys?"

"Yep," she replied. "For the next little while, at least."

"Cool." He kept working on his sandwich, and then he said, softly, "What kind of record did he have?"

"The guy you were with?" she asked.

"Mm-hmm."

"Grand theft auto and a couple of assaults."

"What kind of assaults?" he asked, even more quietly.

"They weren't sexual assaults, if that's what you're asking," she said gently.

Jordan looked down and nodded. His eyes started to water again. He tried to hide it, but it was obvious.

Michael cleared his throat. "How about this. There's plenty of bad ass stuff you can do that's not criminal. You want to learn some?"

"What?" Jordan asked, furrowing his brow.

Fiona answered for Michael. "Jordan," she began, "you may not know it to look at me, but I'm a living legend in my field. I'd be glad to teach you some stuff. Michael's not bad, either."

"What's your field?"

"Okay!" Michael interjected loudly, standing up and clapping a few times. "Jordan, why don't you call your mom and let her know you're okay. And she doesn't know any of what happened today, so you might want to tread gently. Fi was trying to get her sloshed before we told her."

Jordan laughed. A real laugh.

Author's note: This chapter felt more textural to me than anything. A departure. Hope you enjoyed it. Please leave a review!