“To jail?”

“The police let him go home with me. I don’t think they’ll file charges.”

“Drinking?”

“Marijuana.”

“Great. I thought he was off that stuff. I bet that damn little Frankie was involved.”

“No, not Frankie. Some of the so-called ‘good kids.’ The cops are trying to hush it up, which is why I don’t think there’ll be any charges against anyone.”

“And somehow this all led to some kind of incident, which led to your wife’s boy getting knocked down, which led to Sagan returning to that hellhole of a juvenile psych ward he loves so much. Is that pretty much it?”

“And I’m going to pick him up tomorrow afternoon.”

“I’ve never known him to leave that place better off than when he went in. Maybe he should come home and stay with me. What is your wife … what‘s her name?”

“Carolyn.”

“What is Carolyn saying about all this?”

I hesitated and she finished her drink.

“Well …” I said. “She …”

“Let’s go outside,” Becky said. “I want to smoke a cigarette.”

She lit up as we crossed the street to the public park overlooking the Atlantic. We leaned on the wooden rail above the sea wall, watching the water coming in and going out, Becky smoking and thinking, I guessed, me wondering about Carolyn and why she had walked out.

Becky turned around, putting her back against the rail and dropped her cigarette. Her thighs were tanned and muscular. “So are you going to tell me?”

“What my wife thinks about all this?”

“Yes.”

“I was just wondering that myself. She left and took the kids to her mother’s last night.”

“She left you?”

“Temporarily. She wants me to come up with a plan.”

“About Sagan.”

“I suppose that’s it.”

Becky turned again to the ocean. A tear ran down her right cheek. “If she’s worried about Sagan hurting her children … I know he never would. He loves those two. He told me that. He even asked me if I ever thought about having another one. He said with other kids in the house you don’t feel so much like you’re under a microscope or in the way all the time. Besides, he’s really not violent.”

“Did you?”

“Did I what?”

“Ever think about having more children.”

Her tears were flowing but she held her face steady, crying without crying. She turned away from the water once more. I tried to hand her a handkerchief but she waved it off and lit another cigarette. She drew deeply and looked up at me, the smoke coming out with her words.

“Sagan’s father was the only man I ever loved but he was a drug addict and a bum. He got me pregnant twice more and I had abortions both times.”

I was as speechless as that night in the backseat at the drive-in.

Becky started to leave and when I followed she held up a hand to stop me. “I really gotta go now,” she said, walking backwards. “Let me know how things turn out.” She turned and broke into a run.