He knew who he was. What he wanted. The question was whether or not Ronnie still felt the same.
Water dripped into his eyes as he bounded down the stairs dressed only in his shorts. The phone receiver rested on the table, and he had to fight to uncurl the cord enough to get it to his ear
“Mrs. Mayer?”
“Oh, thank goodness.” She sounded breathless. His gut clenched. “I didn’t know who else to call. I can’t even think straight after this morning.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Do you have time to come around the house today? This morning, actually. As soon as possible.”
Her escalating time scale was as worrisome as her request. “Why?”
“It’s Ronnie. I’d look after him myself, but Bert needs stitches, and I don’t know, I don’t know what happened to him this morning, he’s never done anything like this before—”
“Slow down, Mrs. Mayer.” The more she said, the less she made sense. “Tell me what happened.”
He heard her take a deep breath. “Ronnie attacked his father.”