Chapter 20: Read Only

On Saturday at six in the morning I was on my knees on lane four of the Strike Zone with a rag and a bottle of lane oil.

It was clause eleven, and Dot had been right that I would hate it.

My phone sat on the ball return, face up, and at 6:12 it began to shake.

It was the family group chat, and it was the only thing in the building that was louder than the oil fans.

I read it with an oily thumb.

Colin: "Dad is 49 and he isn't answering the door."

Colin: "He's in the bathroom. I can hear him."

June: "the alarm is going off in his pocket. he keeps saying he knows"

Mom: "GORDON OPEN THE DOOR"

My whole body had stood up before I knew it.

The rag was on the floor and my keys were in my hand.

"Sit," Dot said.

She was at the end of the lane in her bowling shirt, with her arms folded, and the stopwatch was back around her neck.

"That's my father."

"I know whose father it is," Dot said. "What did you tell them in the hospital?"

"That I'm not their first call."

"Then sit down."

I sat on the ball return and put my phone on my knee.

Colin: "Dad it's Colin. Say the date."

Gordon: "Saturday."

Colin: "Good. Open the door. Please."

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