I didn’t even mind it all that much (maybe because I hadn’t had a chance to really fall asleep) when my father tickled my feet at eight a.m., waking me up for our breakfast. Though it seemed to me that he was eating even less than usual—even Angela the waitress commented on it—we worked our way through the new placemat quiz. (It turned out that he was scared of roller coasters and was allergic to ginger.) After breakfast we’d collected my bike from where I’d left it outside the diner the night before, and I’d driven us home. Nobody in my family had said anything, but in the last few days, my father had stopped driving. He had walked around to the passenger side of the Land Cruiser without comment, leaving me to fumble with the keys and head over to the driver’s seat, trying to pretend that this was just totally normal.

When I pulled into the driveway, I saw, as expected, Murphy behind the door of the screened-in porch, jumping around excitedly at the sight of my father returning. But I was surprised to see Davy Crosby sitting on our front steps. He was wearing a variation on what he’d been wearing every time I’d seen him—a T-shirt, cargo shorts, and moccasins.

“Hello there,” my father said, as he got out of the car a little unsteadily. I noticed that he reached for the porch railing right away, and leaned on it heavily even as he smiled down at Davy.

“Hi,” Davy said, standing up and offering my father his hand, which my father shook. “I’m Davy Crosby. I live next door to you. I was wondering if we might speak.”

“By all means,” my father said. He looked down at Davy’s feet and smiled. “Nice moccasins, son.” He glanced back at the house. “Was there nobody here to let you in?” Davy shook his head and my father looked at me, a question on his face.

“Probably at the Rec Center,” I said, realizing that this was Gelsey’s ballet day, and she and my mother were probably occupied. And since when I left that morning, I’d noticed Warren laying out every article of clothing he owned, and muttering over them, I had a feeling that he might have gone along to try and convince them to take him on a last-minute, pre-date shopping trip.

“Ah,” my father said. “Well, shall we discuss this inside?”

“Sounds fine,” Davy said, and my dad pushed open the screen door, sending the dog into paroxysms of joy. He scooped up the dog and met my eye for just a second, and I could see that he was trying to conceal a smile, which he had successfully done when he sat in his normal seat and Davy settled in opposite him.

“So,” my father said, his voice serious as he scratched the dog’s ears. “Your proposition?”

“Yes,” said Davy, sitting up straight. “I couldn’t help but notice that you have a dog.” My father nodded gravely, and I bit my lip to stop myself from laughing. “I would like to propose that I walk him for you.” Davy looked between my father and me. “I don’t expect payment,” he clarified. “It’s just that I like dogs. And Dad says we can’t have one,” he added, sounding like a kid for the first time that conversation.

“Well,” my father said after a pause, in which I noticed that the corners of his mouth were twitching violently. “I think that sounds fine. Come by anytime, and I’m sure that the dog will be happy to be walked.”

Davy’s face broke into a smile. “Really?” he asked. “Thank you so much!”

My father smiled back. “Want to start now?” he asked, since that was what Davy very clearly wanted. He started to push himself up from the chair, but immediately winced, and I sprang up from mine, heading toward the kitchen, pretending I hadn’t noticed this.

“I’ll get the leash!” I called. I grabbed it from the hook by the door, and when I came back out onto the porch, my father had put Murphy on the floor, and Davy was patting the dog’s head tentatively. “Here,” I said, handing the leash to Davy. He clipped it on carefully, and Murphy started straining toward the door, clearly eager to get on with it.

“Have fun,” my father said, settling back in his chair with a smile as Davy and the dog started out the door.

“Thanks,” Davy said. He paused in the doorway and turned back to my dad. “I heard you were sick,” he said. “I’m sorry about that.” I looked at my father and saw, with a sinking feeling in my stomach, some of the happiness drain right out of his face, like someone had hit a dimmer switch.

“Thank you,” I jumped in, when it didn’t look like my dad was going to be able to respond to this. Davy nodded and headed down the driveway, the dog running as far in front of him as the leash would allow. After a moment, I looked over at my dad. I knew it was my fault—the only reason that Davy knew was that I had told his brother—but I wasn’t sure if this was something I should apologize for, or something we were just going to pretend hadn’t happened.

“That’s Henry’s brother?” my dad asked, looking out to the driveway, where Davy and Murphy were just passing out of view, then back to me.

“Yes,” I said. “He’s Gelsey’s age.”

My father nodded, then looked over at me with a smile that I knew from experience meant trouble. “Henry’s a nice boy, isn’t he?”

“I don’t know,” I said, feeling my cheeks get hot, even though there was no reason for them to. “I mean, I guess so.”

“I’ve seen him at the bakery,” my father continued, opening his Pocono Record slowly, as if he actually had no idea that he was torturing me. “And he’s always been very polite.”

“Yeah,” I said, crossing and uncrossing my legs, wondering why it felt like my face was on fire. Henry and I were barely friends again, let alone… anything else my father, in his oh-so-knowledgeable voice, might have been implying. “Dad, want me to bring you your laptop?”

“Sure,” he said, turning to the crossword, and I let out a silent breath of relief that he was going to drop the subject. I stood to head into the house so my father could work on his mystery project. “You know,” he said, when I had my hand on the doorknob. I turned back to him, and saw that my father was still smiling. “The window in the hallway upstairs faces out toward the dock.”

I gripped the handle harder. “Does it?” I asked. I was trying to keep my voice light, even though, technically, I hadn’t done anything wrong. I didn’t think that it was that bad, after all, that I’d snuck out of the house at three a.m. if the only place I’d gone was the backyard.