No going inside strangers’ houses. Keep his phone charged. Tell me where he was going.
Within a few weeks, people knew him as the lawn kid.
At the time, those rules felt sensible enough. I never imagined the problem would be the things he didn’t mention.
He agreed.
Mostly.
Within a few weeks, people knew him as the lawn kid.
I was ridiculously proud of him.
One Thursday in August, Justin said he had one last yard to finish.
Then summer started winding down.
One Thursday in August, Justin said he had one last yard to finish.
“Whose?”
He was tying his shoes.
“Dorothy’s.”
“Be home by lunch.”
I vaguely recognized the name.
“Where does Dorothy live?”
“The blue house near the end.”
“Be home by lunch.”
He gave me a dramatic salute.
He even complained that the bread had burned on one side, which somehow made the whole afternoon feel painfully ordinary.
“Yes, commander.”
He came back about an hour later.
Nothing seemed wrong.
He even complained that the bread had burned on one side, which somehow made the whole afternoon feel painfully ordinary.
My stomach dropped so fast I actually grabbed the kitchen counter.
He showered, made two grilled cheese sandwiches, ate both, and spent the next hour complaining because I made him organize his school supplies.
Then two police cars pulled up outside.
My stomach dropped so fast I actually grabbed the kitchen counter.
“Justin.”
He looked up.
Two officers were already coming up our walkway.
“What?”
“Stay here.”
Of course, he followed me anyway.
Two officers were already coming up our walkway.
Both looked serious.
“Ma’am, is your son the boy who’s been mowing lawns around the neighborhood?”
I opened the door before they could knock.
“Can I help you?”
The older officer glanced past me.
“Ma’am, is your son the boy who’s been mowing lawns around the neighborhood?”
Every horrible possibility entered my head at once.
“Have you been visiting a small blue house near the end of Hawthorne Street?”
“Yes. Why?”
Justin stepped beside me.
“I haven’t broken anything.”
The officer looked at him.
“What’s your name?”
My hands started shaking.
“Justin.”
“Have you been visiting a small blue house near the end of Hawthorne Street?”
Justin nodded.
“Dorothy’s house?”
My hands started shaking.
And something about that hesitation terrified me more than the police cars.
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