The receptionist sounded confused. “Friday open mat’s public, sir. People invite friends all the time.”
“This isn’t a friendly invitation.”
“You’d need to talk to Coach Barnes. He’s teaching until six.”
“Please give him my number.”
No one returned the call that evening. Joseph did not interpret that as a conspiracy. Gyms were busy places. People forgot messages. Still, the flyer sat in his drawer, an object proof that Trent’s attention had moved beyond an angry afternoon into something deliberate.
He tried again that night to make the conversation with Khloe ordinary. They watched a nature documentary about ocean animals. She complained that octopuses were too smart to have such short lives. He gave a thoughtful answer, then realized he had been staring past the television into the dark window.
“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re not really watching.”
“You’re right. Sorry.”
She moved closer on the sofa. “Are you worried about the gym?”
He wanted to say no. But she had become too observant for easy reassurances, and Sarah had always warned him that children recognized dishonesty long before they understood why an adult was being dishonest.
“I’m thinking about how to keep this from becoming something bigger,” he admitted.
“Can you just not go?”
“That’s my plan.”
She settled against him, relieved. Joseph turned up the documentary and watched an octopus squeeze through a narrow opening beneath a rock. It escaped a predator by moving where the larger animal could not follow.
Later, when the program ended, Khloe fell asleep against his shoulder. Joseph carried her upstairs and tucked her beneath Sarah’s quilt. He was halfway down the hall when he heard the distant sound of a sports car accelerating through Oak Creek.
He paused by the window. Red taillights disappeared around the bend.
For the moment, he could still choose not to answer the challenge.
He wished the young man next door would let that be enough.
PART TWO: A DOOR THAT SHOULD HAVE STAYED CLOSED
Chapter 10: The Line Across the Driveway
On Wednesday afternoon, Joseph returned from the pharmacy to find Trent’s BMW parked at an angle across the lower half of his driveway. The vehicle blocked enough space that the Tacoma could not enter the garage without clipping a bumper. Two young men sat on the hood drinking fluorescent energy drinks. Trent stood between them, laughing at something on a phone.
Joseph stopped at the curb and waited a moment, hoping one of them would notice the truck. None did. They had positioned the car so perfectly across the drive that accident was not a reasonable explanation.
He rolled down his window. “Trent. Move the car, please.”
Trent turned slowly. He had a bruised cheek from training and a thin strip of athletic tape across his wrist. He smiled when he saw Joseph.
“Oh, there he is. The neighbor.”
One of the friends lifted his phone. The other leaned back on his hands and watched with eager interest.
“I need to park,” Joseph said.
“No problem, man. You can park on the street.”
“This is my driveway.”
“You’re getting awfully territorial for a guy who didn’t want a fight last weekend.”
Joseph switched off the engine. He did not want to raise his voice over the idling truck. He stepped out and walked around the front bumper, stopping a generous distance from the three young men.
“Move the vehicle. I’m asking once.”
The friend with the phone gave a low whistle. “He sounds serious.”
Trent grinned. “You going to make me?”
Joseph looked at each boy in turn. They were young, not children but not yet fully separated from the reckless certainty of adolescence. One wore cauliflower ears and a training shirt. The other had a split lip and kept glancing toward his camera as if the presence of an audience reduced his responsibility for whatever happened next.
“I’m going to ask you to stop blocking access to my property. Then I’m going inside to make dinner for my daughter. That’s all.”
“Where is your daughter?” the camera boy asked, careless and curious.
Joseph’s face changed. The question had been asked lightly, yet it carried a weight the speaker did not understand.
“You don’t need to know that.”
Trent laughed. “Easy, tough guy. Nobody’s after your kid. We just want you at the gym Friday.”
“I told you no.”
“You keep saying that like anyone cares.”
Joseph held his gaze. He could have turned back to the truck and called a tow service. He could have called Richard. He could have raised a phone and recorded the entire performance. Instead he stood still, trying to determine whether this was another provocation they would eventually abandon or the beginning of something more sustained.
