Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 107352 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107352 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 537(@200wpm)___ 429(@250wpm)___ 358(@300wpm)
“I’m gonna make you guys watch it with me,” I stated, thinking, even as the words came out of my mouth, that it might traumatize her and was probably not a good idea.
“I have to study,” Darwin assured me.
“I don’t know about that,” Tatum said, crossing her arms. “Does a dog die in this movie? Because a lot of dogs die in old movies, and I am not a fan of that at all.”
And as I thought about it, yes, a dog did die. So that might be a no on Jaws.
On the way to the police station, I asked them about Griffin.
Initially, no one said a word.
“I won’t tell your dad, but I need to help him.”
Deep sigh from Tatum. “He smokes pot.”
Okay…
“He started drinking a little after Mom left,” Darwin said, “but now he drinks every day. She used to share her edibles with him, but since she left, he doesn’t have any, so now he smokes it.”
“Why did she give him edibles?”
“He can’t sleep,” Tatum explained.
“All right,” I muttered. “As soon as we get home, you guys are gonna help me get rid of all the alcohol in the house.”
“But Dad’s bourbon and Mom’s wine and—”
“I’ll look at it, and if it’s expensive, I’ll lock it up. But other than that, it’s gone. And lemme tell you, it’s fun to pour stuff out. Do you guys know if he has any pot in his room?”
They shook their heads.
It was ridiculous. Like I wouldn’t find it. “I hope, in time, you’ll learn to trust me.”
“I trust you,” Tatum imparted. “I just don’t know. He doesn’t let anyone in his room since Mom left.”
“I wouldn’t go in there without a hazmat suit and a penicillin shot,” Darwin said flatly.
At the stoplight, I turned to him.
“Wait ’til you see his room.” Darwin shuddered.
“It’s bad,” Tatum confirmed. “I think there might be bugs.”
“And worse,” Darwin added. “Mold.”
“I’ll check it out,” I promised instead of passing any kind of judgment.
“But don’t forget to wear some protective gear like they do for crime-scene cleanup,” Tatum cautioned. “Maybe a respirator.”
“You have to do something about the documentaries, Nash,” Darwin told me. “She’s outta control.”
I glanced at Tatum, who shook her head and gave me a dismissive wave. “Everything’s fine. Don’t listen to him, he’s crazy.”
They were both funny, and I hadn’t expected that.
I had the kids wait in the car, and I called Shaw on my way in.
“Nash,” he answered on the third ring. “Where are you?”
“Washington. Didn’t you read your goddamn email this morning?” Unlike the kids, him I could yell and swear at. I didn’t have to think before I spoke.
“Not on a Sunday,” he groused.
“I need you to activate the guardianship waiver so I can get this kid out of police custody.”
It took him a second to process. “What?”
“Kid. In custody. Need waiver.”
“Fuck off.”
“I need it now. Owen would’ve already had this done, and I wouldn’t have had to explain the why.”
“Shit,” he muttered. “What’s he in jail for?”
“Not in jail,” I corrected him. “In police custody.”
“You know what I—what’s he in custody for?”
“Public intoxication.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Why would I be kidding?”
“How old is this kid?”
“Sixteen.”
“What the hell, and why’re you all pissy?”
“Oh, I dunno, maybe because a kid I’m supposed to be watching is in police custody?”
“Yeah, but he’s sixteen. How bad could it be?”
“I have no idea, but either he’s in a cell and the cops are gonna be assholes about letting him out, or he’s in someone’s office, sawing logs.”
“That’s insane.”
“Can you hurry, please? I’m at the fuckin’ door.”
“I—wait, on my schedule this job doesn’t start until tomorrow.”
“Which has what to do with what I’m asking you?” I grumbled.
“Yeah, I…okay. Just let me get to the—here.”
Here? “What the hell are you—”
“Hello?” It was Benji.
“Hey,” I greeted Shaw’s better half, who was also a psychiatrist, which made me think of something to ask. “Tell me, is it okay to give a sixteen-year-old an edible so he can sleep if he has insomnia?”
“No.”
“No?”
“If you’re asking for my professional opinion, then no.”
“And if I’m asking for my friend’s opinion?”
“I would say it depends on the sixteen-year-old, but I would always prefer to see a child treated with cognitive behavioral therapy for insomnia.”
“Because?”
“Because they need to learn to change their negative thoughts about sleep so they can rest without any kind of lifelong crutch.”
“Explain how you have negative feelings about sleep.”
“Sorry, not about sleep, but thoughts that keep you awake.”
I would have thought it all started with his mother leaving, but she’d been giving him edibles before she left, so the sleep thing was ongoing. Maybe his parents had been fighting for a while before she entered WITSEC and Griffin had heard them. Worst-case scenario, Griffin had heard about the affair, as well as whatever else, and had been worried for a very long time, internalizing everything.