"Where's Connor?" Henry asked, interrupting my brief moment of happiness.

"Not here," I replied.

"Something you'd like to share?"

"Don't like sharing. You know that."

"Is it over?"

Long pause.

"Yep."

"What happened?"

"Bernie crawled into bed with him while I was locked in the file room."

Henry sat down next to me and choked back laughter. He put his arm around me and said, "I'm sorry."

"That's okay," I replied. "It was over long before that. Do me a favor, though. Don't tell my mom. I'm not in the mood to watch her celebrate."

"It's a deal."

PHONE CALL.

FROM THE EDGE #28.

After Henry left, I devoured Rae's unnatural food stash and watched bad TV. My evening was broken up by Morty, finally returning my call: MORTY: What's new, Izzele?

ME: If I told you, you wouldn't believe me.

MORTY: Never stopped you before.

ME: I wouldn't know where to begin.

MORTY: It's true. You tell stories funny. You always start in the middle.

ME: Here's a headline: Rae committed a felony and might actually have to do time in a juvenile facility.

MORTY: That is news. What did she do?

ME: Something very bad.

MORTY: Usually felonies are. Feel like sharing?

ME: I'm not ready to talk about it. Let's switch subjects.

MORTY: Okay, how's your Harkey investigation going?

ME: Nowhere.

MORTY: Your brother still seeing the hooker?

ME: I explained this to you before. She's not a hooker.

MORTY: Sorry, I got confused. I'm not even going to ask about your Irish boyfriend.

ME: Good. Don't.

MORTY: I didn't. That's what I just said.

ME: Don't you have some news for me, Morty?

MORTY: That's right, I haven't told you yet. We're moving back to San Fran.

ME: Say San Francisco, not San Fran.

MORTY: Why? Life's short. No point wasting it on extra syllables.

ME: It makes you sound like a tourist.

MORTY: You're grumpy today.

ME: You have no idea what the past few days have been like for me.

MORTY: True, because you haven't told me.

ME: Later. You'll hear all about it later.

MORTY: Don't wait too long. I'm old.

ME: I am well aware of that.

MORTY: I got the shirt, by the way.

ME: What shirt?

MORTY: The blue shirt that says "Free Schmidt."

ME: I didn't send you that shirt.

MORTY: Who did?

ME: Rae.

MORTY: It came with instructions. A typewritten note that told me I should wear it in public at least twice a week. Who is Schmidt?

ME: A man inadvertently responsible for one of the most traumatic events of my life.

MORTY: So, I take it we don't want to free him?

ME: No, we want to free him. Definitely.

MORTY: Should I wear the shirt?

ME: Wear it, don't wear it, I don't care. I just don't want to talk about Schmidt anymore.

MORTY: Okay. How's the weather?

ME: Excuse me, isn't there some real news to discuss?

MORTY: Are you referring to my forthcoming return to San Fran?

ME: Ahem.

MORTY: Cisco.

ME: Yes. Give it to me straight, Morty. How on earth did you convince Ruthy to move back to the city?

MORTY: Let's call it divine intervention.

BRIDE OF.

SUNDAY-NIGHT DINNER.

Rae was in Spellman lockdown when the guests arrived, and there she would remain for the rest of the evening and for several days to follow. I was surprised to find my parents persisting with their rigorous punishment regimen. I say that because the last time I'd tried to get Rae arrested1 (for grand larceny of my car), my parents forced me to drop the charges. This time around, there would most likely be a plea bargain and serious probation--which might interfere with her college applications, which would most definitely interfere with my mother's dreams for Rae's future.

Maggie found Rae a defense attorney named Zack Frank. Rae tried to fire him because she didn't like his two first names, but my mother rehired him and informed Rae that she would be making no decisions of her own until she turned eighteen (five months from the date of Rae's arrest).

When David and Maggie arrived, my mother and father's behavior got me thinking that they had heard about the anxiety drugs as well--that and the new rule on the whiteboard.

Rule #55--Be extra nice to Maggie Within the first five minutes, my mother asked Maggie if she was comfortable, if she could get her something to drink. When Maggie said no, my mom said she'd get her a lemonade, rendering the previous exchange moot. My father then suggested that they light an incense stick and do a pre-dinner meditation together. Maggie found this all very amusing, despite the scowl on David's face. When Maggie sat down on the couch, Dad slid over a footstool and suggested Maggie put her feet up. David's scowl remained.

"Such a nice face," Mom said to David, "and that's what you do with it?"

David turned to Maggie and said, "You tell them, or I'll tell them."

Maggie merely rolled her eyes and put her feet up.

"We are not getting sucked into their world," David said.

None of us knew precisely what he was speaking of, but we gathered it was a general dis on the Spellman clan.

"Hey!" said my dad, not really knowing what he was saying "hey" to.

My mother served Maggie her lemonade and turned to my brother for an explanation.

Maggie sipped her drink and said, "I'm perfectly healthy."

"We're very happy to hear that," my mother replied.

"And?" David said, coaxing her.

"And those pills Rae found in my desk were planted there. Okay? Sorry. I did it so she wouldn't turn on me like she does with you guys."

It seemed that Maggie's stress had imparted stress to my parents, who feared that they or their spawn were the cause of it. So once Maggie's confession was made, the barometer of stress in the room dipped considerably.

"No harm done," my father casually replied. "What's for dinner?" he asked.

In case you're curious, dinner was an only slightly less bland offering than the prison food upstairs (salmon, steamed vegetables, and brown rice vs. a can of generic chicken noodle soup and stale bread).

After dinner, David got up to use the restroom. The doorknob was missing and the latch was taped flat. You could open and close the door by looping your finger through the hole. My parents had attached a temporary flip sign for privacy that said OCCUPIED/NOT OCCUPIED.

"What's happening to this house?" David said at full volume.

"Nothing," Mom casually replied. "We're just doing some home improvement."

"Then why is everything unimproved?"

I studied my parents as David questioned them. Their deceit was taking on an unusual form. It was vague and uncalculated, as if they weren't sure exactly what they were hiding.

"We've been busy. We haven't had time to go to the hardware store."

"Then why didn't you just leave the old doorknobs where they were?" David asked.

"Excellent question," I added. "It's not just the five doorknobs, either. There's a missing light fixture, a towel rod, kitchen drawer handles, and the curtains in the upstairs bathroom. What are you hiding?"

The unit cleared the table and ignored all further inquiries.

Briefly, David and I convened and agreed to investigate the missing hardware matter more thoroughly. The couple departed shortly after that, but for me, the night was still young.

Over coffee and sliced pineapple Dad said, "In light of your troubles with Rae, we thought we should do something to make it up to you."