Marriage, Interrupted. Karen Templeton

from his far-too-close encounter with current pop culture. More than his humming head, however, he’d regretted that the noise had precluded conversation. Now, as he tossed his overnight bag into the car before returning to the house, he decided to get the conversation going before his son made any musical requests.

      “So…how’s school?”

      The sardonic smile seemed far too old on a fifteen-year-old’s face. “Dude—” he buckled up, adjusted his shoulder strap “—you sound like every lame father in every lame movie, you know, when the father is, like, trying to ‘relate’ to his estranged kid.”

      Blake tried not to tense. Or get defensive. Or ask if Shaun wanted the music back on. “I see. Well, unfortunately I really am interested in how you’re doing in school. Lame though that may be.”

      “’S’okay,” the kid allowed, and Blake felt a muscle or two relax. “I made Honor Roll last nine weeks.” He leaned forward, index finger poised to send Blake over the edge. Blake caught his wrist.

      “Forget it. My brain cells are still staggering around in my head, thudding into each other. They need some time to recuperate, okay?”

      Shaun was giving him that odd, pitying look again. Then he scrunched down in his seat, his arms folded over his chest. “Yeah. Whatever.”

      They pulled out onto I-40, headed back toward Albuquerque’s Far Heights. “Good for you. About the Honor Roll, I mean.”

      “Yeah, but like, Mom is still on me about everything.” The words tumbled out in a rush. “Where am I going? Who am I going to be with? Crap like that.”

      The reprimand fell out of Blake’s mouth before he could catch it. “Watch your mouth, Shaun.”

      “God.” The word came out on a groan. “Not you, too.”

      “Yep. Me, too.” Blake checked his side mirror before pulling into the left lane to pass a truck. “A regular tyrant. In any case, your mother has every right to know where you are and what you’re doing. In case you missed it, you’re not legal yet. She’s responsible for you. If you screw up, she gets blamed.”

      Shaun shifted in his seat, his brow beetled. “Why does everyone assume I’m going to screw up?”

      Remembering what it was like to be his age should have helped. Instead, thinking about the Dark Ages of his youth only made Blake feel old and tired and woefully inept. For a split second he envied his partner, Troy, and his three-year-old twins. Three-year-olds, even those three-year-olds, he could deal with. A Happy Meal and the zoo and you were good to go. Teenagers…?

      His heartfelt sigh earned him yet another of Shaun’s looks. “No one does,” he said quietly. Hopefully. “But kids do mess up, you know. And she—and I—just want you to be careful.”

      “Geez, man…” The lanky arms twisted more tightly across his chest. But there were no further comments. Blake wasn’t sure if this was a good sign or not.

      “So…” Fool that he was, Blake refused to let the silence gain a foothold. “Next lame question…” That got a sideways glance and a cocked eyebrow. “Any girls in your life?”

      “You mean, like a girlfriend?” Shaun gave a sharp, short laugh. “Uh, no. Chicks are way too expensive. Besides, with no wheels, it’s like, pointless. I mean, whuttami s’posed to do? Ask Mom to drive me on a date?”

      He decided not to go anywhere near the “wheels” topic. “Whoa. Chicks?”

      Bam! Up went the wall again. “Hey. Lighten up. It’s not like they care or anything.”

      “Well, I care. And your mother would probably boot you clear into next week if she heard you say that. Let me fill you in, if you expect to get anywhere with the female sex, ever. ‘Girls’ is okay until they reach about seventeen. After that, they’re ‘women.” ’

      Silence. Then, “You going to criticize everything I say?”

      Damn.

      “That wasn’t my intention, Shaun. Look, I didn’t come down here to argue with you—”

      “Why did you come down, anyway?”

      Puzzled, Blake flicked his son a glance. “Because I thought you wanted me to.”

      “Oh, right. Like that made any difference before.”

      Careful…

      “Meaning?”

      “Meaning…” The kid hit the automatic window button, lowering the tinted glass. Raised it again. Lowered it. Slouched even farther down in his seat. “Meaning how many times did I ask you to come down this past year, and you were too busy? Now, suddenly, Alan’s dead, and look who’s here.” The boy punched his knee with his fist. “Oh, hell, man…this really, really sucks.”

      His own stomach churning, Blake spoke without thinking. “Shaun. Language.”

      “Oh, come on, man. This is way kids talk nowadays. Get with the program, geez.”

      “I’m not naive, Shaun,” Blake snapped, angry that they were skirting the issue. Angrier because he wasn’t sure what the issue was. “This is the way kids have always talked. Around each other. Not around their parents.” He leveled his gaze at his son. “Got it?”

      A sullen glare was his only response.

      Several seconds passed before Blake spoke. “I apologize. I didn’t come all this way to hassle you about your language. But I guess…I’m not very good at this.”

      He caught Shaun’s frown. “Good at what?”

      One hand on the steering wheel, Blake gestured ineffectually with the other. “Knowing what to say when someone dies. To make them feel better.” At the boy’s blank stare, Blake pushed on, “About Alan’s death. I imagine you’re upset about it—”

      Shaun’s harsh laugh startled him. “Why would I be upset about that? I mean, yeah, it was a shock and all, but upset?” He shook his head.

      Now it was Blake’s turn to look blank.

      The kid blew a disdainful “pffh” of air between his lips. “The man didn’t care Jack about me. Oh, he made noises at first like he was going to, I don’t know, fill some gap in my life or something…” Shaun propped one foot up on the dashboard, banging his fist against his knee. “Give me a break.”

      Blake didn’t know what to say to that, although a vague anger suffused his thought. “I had no idea. I’m sorry.”

      Shaun rubbed his hand over his thigh, then picked at a loose thread from a hole in the denim. “It had nothing to do with you. No big deal.”

      “But it does have something to do with you, which makes it a very big deal.”

      The boy’s sad shrug made him feel like slime. But his confession sparked more than a few other questions in his brain, all of which centered on Cass’s relationship with her second husband, none of which were any of Blake’s business.

      He told himself.

      “I really am sorry I wasn’t able to come down before,” Blake said quietly, needing to justify himself somehow while still skirting the truth. “But it wasn’t as if we didn’t see each other. Besides, I thought you enjoyed coming up to Denver. Getting way from the house.” He glanced over. “Going to Broncos games.”

      The boy went through his hat-off, shove-fingers-through-hair, hat-back-on routine. “Yeah, I guess. It was okay.” Since that’s what you want to hear, Dad, his expression said, that’s what I’ll give you.

      “But it wasn’t what you wanted.”

      That merited a grunt.

      “I told you,” Blake persisted,