––––––––
“I don’t care if it’s summer,” Timothy declares that evening over a dinner of barbecued chicken and corn on the cob. “I don’t care if it’s a freaking heatwave. We’re locking our doors and windows at night. All of them.”
“Dad—”
“Someone was on the roof. They dented the eaves trough, and you can see the scratches on the shingles. And if it wasn’t you, Ivan, then—”
“Why would I go on the goddamn roof?”
“Tim—”
“I’m not taking chances. Not when my family’s safety is at stake. First the garden, and now... am I the only one who isn’t okay with this?”
Ivan swallows noisily and glances at his mother. The f**k? he mouths.
“Watch your language, Ivan.”
“I didn’t say anything!”
Timothy shoves his plate aside angrily. “You guys don’t believe me.”
“Timothy,” Karen warns—
“
