And on that drive, every terrible possibility I had built the night before came roaring back, larger and louder now.

Had Caleb stolen money from the diner, and been caught?

Was that the crash, the shouting?

Had he gotten into a fight?

Was someone threatening him, some older person he owed, or who wanted the cash I had seen?

Was he hurt?

Was that scrape on his face last night the beginning of something, and today the rest of it?

Was the money in his backpack even his, or had my son been holding something for someone dangerous, and had it all finally caught up with him in the back of a diner kitchen?