By the time the counters were wiped and the dishwater drained, Claire had reentered the kitchen calmer than before.
She leaned against the island while Daniel dried his hands. “I don’t want this to turn into you versus him,” she said.
“It won’t.”
“I mean it. I don’t want him learning that he only has to respect me when you’re backing me up.”
Daniel considered that. “Then I’ll make sure the point is respect for you, not fear of me.”
Claire nodded. “Thank you.”
He crossed the kitchen and kissed her forehead, a small gesture that landed with more meaning than usual. “I’m sorry he said it,” Daniel murmured.
“He’s eleven,” Claire said. “The real question is what we do now that we know he’s thinking it.”
The answer began with a conversation half an hour later.
Daniel knocked once on Evan’s partly open bedroom door and entered when he heard a muttered “yeah.” The room smelled faintly of laundry detergent and preteen boy. Basketball posters and a science fair ribbon covered one wall. A stack of graphic novels leaned near the bed. Evan sat at his desk with nothing open, pretending to be occupied by thought itself. Daniel pulled the desk chair away from the corner and sat so he was not towering over him.
“Look at me,” Daniel said.
Evan did.
“Do you know why I took your phone?”
Evan hesitated. “Because I talked back.”