Page 103 of What Happens at Nightfall

No, not grounding him. Grounding him would only let him lurk in his room playing terrible video games. He’d do the opposite of ground him. He’d force him to join the St. Boniface’s Singers, a madrigal group that performed in choral concerts on both sides of the Atlantic. That would show him.

Adam located his phone in the other pocket. According to the Find My app, Ben’s backpack was . . . at St. Boniface’s School for Boys.

Which made no sense. How could he still be at St. Bonny’s if Allison said he’d been running around ruining her plans? Relief seeped into Adam’s chest. Maybe Allison had been wrong. Maybe it hadn’t been Ben. Maybe Ben had been at St. Bonny’s all along, staying behind to do extra-credit work, or just hang out with those multitudinous friends of his. Yes, Adam would still read him the riot act about not coming home when he was supposed to—he was already rehearsing the lecture in his head—but this was normal pushing-the-boundaries stuff, benign, healthy even.

Not like misplacing port-a-potties and misdirecting guests.

“He’s still at St. Bonny’s,” said Adam, not bothering to hide the relief in his voice. “I’ll go get him. I should still be able to get back in time for Jess.”

“For Jess?” Melinda looked up from peering into the bakery bag, her nose twitching like a rabbit’s.

“Um . . .” Busted. “I invited Jess to Nightfall with me. I would have taken you guys but . . .”

“It’s better for you to play with someone your own age,” said Melinda kindly. “Ben and I won’t be around forever, you know. It’s important for you to form other relationships.”

“Are you patronizing me?”

Melinda smiled beatifically.

Adam sighed. “Okay, if Jess gets here before I get back . . .”

“I’ll do my best not to scare her off.”

“I was going to say, maybe offer her coffee? Or a slice of pizza? I shouldn’t be more than half an hour, forty minutes at most.”

St. Boniface’s wasn’t a big school. There were only forty boys per grade. It shouldn’t be too hard for the woman at the front desk to track Ben down.

Melinda nodded. “Sure. I’m just going to get a sweatshirt. It’s cold in here.”

It was, colder than it had been outside. Strangely, bone-chilling cold. And Adam could have sworn he smelled roses.

As Melinda clomped upstairs, Adam’s phone started buzzing in his hand.

“This is Anne Drummond from St. Boniface’s,” said a rather sniffy female voice.

“Is Ben okay?”

“Ben isn’t here,” said Mrs. Drummond, sounding deeply put-upon. “That’s why I’m calling. If you need your son to leave early, the correct procedure is to input the revised dismissal instructions into School Dismissal Manager. Mrs. Chervinsky should know that by now.”

To Adam, Mrs. Chervinsky still meant his mom. Kate had kept her own name. “Do you mean Ben’s mother? Ben’s mother isn’t with us. That should be in Ben’s file.”

“Oh.” Mrs. Drummond sounded slightly abashed before going back on the offensive. “Well, then you should know that. This is Ben’s father, isn’t it?”

Something about the way she said it made Adam feel like she expected a video of Ben’s conception as proof. “So I’ve been told. What is this about?”

“I told you,” said Mrs. Drummond irritably. “You can’t just send Ben with a note. We don’t accept notes. We only made an exception this once because Ben is new to the school and he said the dental appointment was urgent.”

“Dental appointment?”

“For his impacted molar.” Mrs. Drummond clearly took a low view of Adam’s parenting and his general intelligence. “We strongly urge parents to arrange these visits after school hours but we understand that sometimes, in exigent circumstances, exceptions need to be made. However, next time, please make any appointments outside school hours and input any dismissal changes in the School Dismissal Manager.”

“Next time?” There hadn’t been a this time. Ben’s teeth were fine, or as fine as those of any eleven-year-old boy who ate too many Sour Patch Kids.

“If you are having trouble with School Dismissal Manager, you can make an appointment with our tech support staff and they’ll walk you through it.”

“Mrs. Drummond,” said Adam slowly, “Ben does not have an impacted molar and he did not have a dental appointment today.”

Not unless he’d set it up himself. That was the sort of thing Melinda would do, not Ben.