Sometime after midnight, I weave through Wildwood’s wind-swept streets and pray that I make it home in one piece. The Mustang barely inches above twenty miles an hour, though the streets are empty, because the last thing I need is to get pulled for a dui. I keep the window down to try to clear my head, but that’s an old trick, it doesn’t work anymore. Somehow I make it back to the house without incident. I bump into Joey’s car while trying to park, just a tiny tap that sends his Volvo forward an inch or two but doesn’t leave a scratch. Suddenly I wonder where my dad’s car might be. I get out thinking I’m going to look for it when I trip over my own foot and stagger out into the street. Spinning around, I lean against the hood of my Mustang and tell myself, Tomorrow. I’ll find the fucker to
