“Why would he do that?”
Natalie took both of Caleb’s hands. “Because Jordan has learned that sometimes keeping other people calm feels safer than proving he is right.”
Caleb stared at her. “That’s not fair.”
“No.” Natalie squeezed his fingers. “It isn’t.”
They were reaching the front door when Jordan appeared at the end of the walkway. Natalie saw his dusty knees, sweat-darkened shirt, and hands still streaked with automotive cleaner. She started toward him.
Jordan lifted one hand. “I’m okay.”
“That is not what I was going to ask.”
“I fixed most of it.”
Natalie stopped. “You should not have had to fix any of it.”
Jordan looked toward Barbara’s house. “Can we just go inside?”
Natalie wanted confrontation. Every protective instinct she possessed demanded that she walk across the street and make Barbara listen. Then she looked at Jordan’s face and understood that forcing another public scene would make the afternoon about her anger rather than his needs.
“Okay,” she said. “Inside first.”
Jordan reached the porch and stopped.
The package was sitting beside the front door.
The anger and exhaustion in his face disappeared so quickly that Natalie’s heart hurt. Jordan smiled the way he had when he was eight and first realized Natalie had remembered exactly which dinosaur cereal he liked.
“There it is,” Caleb said.
Jordan crouched beside the box. His fingers traced the shipping label before touching anything else. JORDAN HAYES — 284 ALDER GROVE LANE.
His name. His address.
Both correct.
For one wonderful second, the afternoon became smaller. Jordan reached for the package.
A police cruiser turned onto Alder Grove.
Natalie saw it first.
The cruiser slowed beside Barbara Caldwell’s house, paused, then continued toward them. Jordan stood slowly while the vehicle stopped at the curb.
Officer Daniel Rourke stepped out. He was thirty-seven, tall, white, broad through the chest, with mirrored sunglasses clipped near the center of his vest. He shut the door and immediately looked from Jordan to the package.
“Hey.”
Jordan’s fingers tightened around the edge of the box. “Hi.”
“What are you doing?”
Jordan looked toward the front door, then back at the officer. “Getting my package.”
Rourke approached the driveway. “Put it down.”
Jordan stared. “It’s mine.”
“I told you to put it down.”
Natalie was still inside the partly open front door, but Jordan’s body blocked her view. She heard the tone before she understood what was happening.
Jordan carefully placed the package onto the porch bench. “I live here.”
Rourke came closer. “We got a report involving a juvenile matching your description who damaged property down the street, refused to cooperate, and is now taking packages from residences.”
Jordan’s chest tightened. “Mrs. Caldwell called.”
“So you know what this is about.”
“She lied.”
Rourke’s expression hardened immediately. “Careful.”
“My brother hit her car with a football.”
“Your brother.”
“Yes.”
Rourke looked toward the Hayes house, then toward Jordan. “What’s your name?”
“Jordan Hayes.”
Rourke glanced at the shipping label from several feet away but never stepped close enough to read it. “You expecting me to believe that box has your name on it?”
Jordan pointed. “Read it.”
Rourke did not.
“Back away from the door.”
Jordan froze. “Why?”
“Because I said so.”
“This is my house.”
“Back away.”
Jordan took one small step backward until his shoulder touched the siding beside the door. “My mom’s inside.”
Rourke’s voice sharpened. “Do not start yelling.”
Jordan’s breathing changed. “Can you knock?”
“I’m talking to you.”
“My mom can tell you.”
“Hands where I can see them.”
Jordan raised both palms immediately. “They’re here.”
Rourke moved another step closer. “Walk down off the porch.”
Jordan stared at him.
“What?”
“Down.”
“This is my porch.”
Rourke’s jaw tightened. “You’re not going to keep arguing with me.”