Travis came into the narrow entry and pushed the screen door open.

He stepped past Lena and planted himself right in front of Michael on the porch step.

Travis kept his hands buried in his heavy coat pockets.

“You’ve got a real problem with boundaries,” Travis said in a loud, too-casual voice.

“I know all about the restricted docket,” Michael said.

Travis smiled, but his eyes stayed dead flat.

He moved closer to the edge of the concrete porch.

“If you keep digging into my personal history, I’ll make a phone call,” Travis said.