I JUMP BACK FROM THE DOOR AS DAD COMES stomping out of his office. “Son, were you waiting to see me?” he asks distractedly.
“Nope, just dropping off the mail,” I say, and hold up a couple of envelopes as proof.
“I’m leaving in a few hours for that weekend conference in Denver that I couldn’t get out of,” he says, already walking away. “And after that, there’s some business elsewhere I have to take care of, so I’m not sure when I’ll be back. But I’ll be checking in with you, and I asked Mrs. Kirby to stay at the house.”
“But Dad!” I protest. “I’m eighteen freaking years old. I don’t need a babysitter.” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I feel about eight.
Dad turns and gives me the eye. “It is precisely because you are eighteen years old that you need a chaperone. I’ve got enough on my plate at the moment. I don’t need you getting into any more trouble.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I say, but he’s already gone.