He had made his daughter a promise that he would always be there.

Now he was preparing to do something he hoped would not put that promise at risk.

Chapter 16: The Last Ordinary Friday

Friday morning arrived with cold sunlight and a sky so clear the houses across the cul-de-sac seemed outlined in ink. Joseph woke before his alarm and lay still, listening for the heavy bag next door. It remained quiet. For the first time in days, he could hear a bird singing in the maple outside the bedroom window.

He should have been relieved. Instead the silence felt like the moment before someone opened a door.

Khloe came downstairs with two different socks and a folder of schoolwork. She was excited about a class presentation and had temporarily replaced her worries about Trent with worries about forgetting the names of the animals she had drawn.

“How do you pronounce ecosystem?” she asked.

“Exactly like you just did.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m very sure.”

He made oatmeal, which she regarded as an insult to the memory of the blueberry pancakes. They argued cheerfully about whether raisins were acceptable breakfast fruit. At the bus stop she leaned against his arm, then looked up.

“Can we get pizza tonight?”

“Maybe tomorrow. I have an errand this evening.”

“The hardware store?”

He hesitated. He could have answered honestly: I’m considering doing something I told you I wouldn’t do because I’m angry at the man next door. Instead he allowed the older plan to become a convenient explanation.

“I need some things for the hallway repair,” he said.

Khloe accepted it. The ease with which she trusted him made the lie feel heavier.

After the bus left, Joseph drove to a local auto body shop and asked about the estimate Trent had delivered. The manager confirmed that the quoted price was within range for the work, though the final cost would depend on how the panel looked after inspection. Joseph gave his contact information and asked that the payment be made directly to the shop rather than through a dispute between neighbors.

“It’s an accident involving my daughter,” he explained. “She needs to know that when you damage something, you help make it right.”

The manager nodded. “That’s a better lesson than most people teach.”

Joseph wished the rest of the situation were as simple.

He spent the middle of the day replacing the cracked drywall compound above the hallway door. He spread the material carefully, sanded the seam, and cleaned the white powder from the floor. The task demanded just enough attention to keep his mind from rehearsing the evening. When his knee began to ache, he stopped and drank water rather than pretending he didn’t need a break.

At three he picked Khloe up from school because her class presentation had finished early. She climbed into the truck flushed with triumph and announced that Maya had mixed up an otter with a beaver.

“Completely different animals, Dad. One has a flat tail.”

He listened to the full account, asking questions where appropriate. It would have been easy to spend the drive in silence, thinking about the gym. He refused. This was his daughter’s afternoon, not Trent’s.

At home he prepared dinner early. He baked chicken with potatoes and carrots, setting aside a plate to warm later. Then he called Mary Gable and asked whether she could watch Khloe for a couple of hours.

“Of course,” Mary said. “Everything all right?”

“I have something I need to deal with.”

She was quiet for a moment. “You going to that gym?”

Joseph could have been startled by her knowledge. Instead he remembered that she had watched Trent tape the flyer to his door.

“Yes.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Neither do I.”

“Then why?”

He did not have a good answer. He gave her the imperfect one about ending the harassment and setting a boundary. She heard him out, then said, “Boundaries are supposed to make it easier for your child to sleep. Think about whether this one will.”

He promised to call if anything changed.

At six-thirty he helped Khloe pack her overnight bag even though she was only staying until nine. She insisted on bringing Captain Buttons, her astronomy book, and an extra pair of socks in case Mary wanted to watch a movie.

“You can’t watch a movie without socks?” Joseph asked.

“You can. But it’s better with them.”

He laughed, then looked at the small pile of belongings and felt the sharp awareness that childhood depended on adults continuing to return home from their errands.