Micah was quiet in the car on the way home. At first Rick thought maybe he’d fallen asleep—there was no telltale noises from the iPad to indicate he was playing a game or anything. On school nights, Susan usually liked to have him in bed by nine, and here it was already pushing nine-thirty. He would be good and tired by the time his head finally hit the pillow; he still had to change into his pajamas and brush his teeth, and Rick suspected he would probably try to argue for a snack before bedtime, too.
But when Rick stopped at a red light and glanced into the rearview mirror, he saw his son’s eyes reflected back at him. With a smile, Rick said softly, “Hey there, champ. You can doze a bit if you want. We’ll be home soon.”
Micah shook his head. “I’m fine.”
Wired, more like it, Rick thoug
