“What is it I’ve done?” I asked.

He stared at me.

There was nothing soft in it, nothing left of the boy who used to leave his wet swim trunks on the porch and track sand across the kitchen.

The clock on his wall ticked off a full minute.

“You know exactly what you did.”

“I don’t.”

He yanked open the bottom drawer of his desk.

The wood stuck, and he had to jerk it twice.