Chapter Seven

“Did you have a nice time at the conference yesterday?” Dad asks.

He comes and joins me at the small kitchen table, coffee cup in hand. He's almost ready for work, his suit pressed and perfect. There are no wrinkles on his pants and his vest and jacket hang neatly from a hanger by the door. They're perfectly pressed, too.

“The conference was fine,” I tell him. It's not a total lie. The conference itself wasn't bad.

“You sure? You look exhausted this morning.” Dad raises one eyebrow, the coffee mug halfway to his mouth. He has the paper in the other hand.

“I've just got a lot on my mind,” I reply. I spent most of the night tossing and turning, thinking about Jonathan and Christopher. I still don't know what I want to do. I don't know what the right thing to do it.

“Okay. Well, I'm off to work. Apparently there's been some sort of incident today. It's going to be a busy day.” Dad loses the stern look and smiles at me. He gets up and rinses his mug in the sink before putting it in t