Chapter 45

A few weeks later, we were invited to George and Mike’s for a Saturday-evening dinner, which came sort of as a surprise because we hadn’t heard from them in a few weeks. We pulled into the driveway in front of their house, and I said, “Are you sure this is the night? I don’t see any cars.”

“The house is on a corner lot,” Rion said, “and there’s another driveway—and a garage—on the side street.”

“Oh.”

We rang the bell and waited a minute before Mike opened the door. “Hi, guys,” he said. “Come on in.”

We stepped into a room that ran across the front of the house—it had obviously been a porch at one time, for it was no more than ten feet deep. Mike led us into a comfortable living room that opened through an arched doorway into a formal dining room.

“Where’s George?” Rion said.

“In the kitchen, of course. He’ll be out in a minute, with his helper.”

“His helper?” I said.

“Our newly adopted son, Robbie.”