Chapter 2 - MY FATHER SAW THE TIMESTAMP AND SENT ME AWAY ANYWAY
Dad came back ten minutes later.
"Open the computer."
For one breath, hope returned.
I sat at my desk.
My chemistry site was still open.
The assignment showed twelve questions.
Eleven completed.
Question twelve submitted at 7:43:12 p.m.
Dad stared.
"What time was the accident?"
"I don't know exactly."
Mom appeared behind him.
"The neighbor called 911 at seven forty-four."
I turned.
"See?"
Dad said nothing.
"Seven forty-three."
I pointed at the screen.
"I was here."
Ethan stood in the hallway.
Dad looked at him.
Ethan's face tightened.
Then he said:
"He submitted it and ran downstairs."
"What?"
"He was already talking about driving."
I stared.
"You're lying."
"He could've gone down right after."
"In less than a minute?"
Dad looked at the screen again.
The emergency call time did not prove the exact second of impact.
That was true.
But it made Ethan's version absurd.
My bedroom was upstairs at the back of the house.
The keys were near the kitchen.
The BMW had to be started, backed out, driven around the circular section of our neighborhood, and crashed into the tree.
Dad knew.
I saw it in his face.
Mom did too.
But instead of asking Ethan another question, Dad closed the laptop.
"This changes nothing."
My mouth opened.
"What?"
"The accident may have happened several minutes later."
"Then check."
"We're done."
"No, we're not!"
Mom said, "Daniel."
"Why won't you ask him?"
"I have."
"No, you asked him once and believed him."
Dad unplugged the laptop.
Actually unplugged it.
"Pack."
The front bell rang.
Uncle Robert.
Dad swore under his breath.
I ran downstairs.
Robert stood on the porch wearing jeans, a gray school sweatshirt, and the expression he used when one of us tried lying to him about broken glass.
He looked past Dad.
"Daniel."
"I'm here."
"You okay?"
I nodded.
Dad said, "He's fine."
Robert ignored him.
"Show me the computer."
Dad stepped sideways.
"No."
"Thomas."
"No."
"You told me you'd look."
"I did."
"And?"
"The timing proves nothing."
Robert stared at him.
"Seven forty-three twelve."
Dad's face changed.
"You already know the exact timestamp?"
"Daniel read it to me."
Robert looked at me.
"Accident?"
"Neighbor called at seven forty-four."
Robert slowly turned toward Dad.
"You're kidding."
"Ethan says Daniel ran down afterward."
Robert looked toward my brother.
For the first time, really looked.
Ethan was wearing shorts and a T-shirt.
Robert's eyes stopped on his left shoulder.
"What's that?"
Ethan immediately crossed his arms.
"What?"
Robert moved closer.
A red diagonal mark ran from Ethan's collarbone toward his chest.
Seat-belt shaped.
Mom spoke too quickly.
"Football."
Robert looked at her.
"Practice was this morning."
"He got hit."
"By a seat belt?"
Dad stepped forward.
"Enough."
Robert's face went very calm.
"If you're certain Daniel was driving, call the police back and have both boys give statements separately."
Dad's jaw tightened.
"This is a family matter."
"You already made it an insurance matter."
Dad stared.
Robert continued.
"Let the adjuster inspect the computer logs. Let police interview Ethan."
"No."
"Why?"
"Because I am not turning my family into a circus because Daniel refuses responsibility."
Robert laughed once.
"No. You're avoiding the first process you don't control."
Dad pointed at the door.
"Get out."
"I'm taking Daniel."
"Good."
Mom flinched.
I looked at her.
"Mom?"
She looked away.
Dad went upstairs with me while I packed.
One backpack.
Three shirts.
Two pairs of jeans.
Underwear.
Toothbrush.
Chemistry book.
The small photograph of Ethan and me at age eight stayed on my dresser.
I did not know why.
Maybe I wanted Ethan to see it.
Dad watched from the doorway.
I tried once more.
"Ask him about the seat-belt mark."
Dad's face hardened.
"Do you have to leave by blaming him again?"
"Do you have to send me away instead of checking?"
His eyes flashed.
"Robert has filled your head with this."
"He got here an hour ago."
"Exactly."
I zipped the bag.
At the bottom of the stairs, Robert handed Dad a piece of paper.
"If Daniel stays with me tonight, I want written permission."
Dad stared.
"Why?"
"Because he's thirteen."
"He's my son."
"You're putting him out."
Mom whispered, "Thomas."
Robert looked at her.
"He needs medication approval. School authorization. Emergency care. I'm not driving away with a child because everyone's angry."
Dad grabbed a pen.
He signed.
Mom signed too.
Temporary caregiver authorization.
Thirty days.
Robert folded it.
Then he said:
"Daniel, wait on the porch."
I did.
Through the screen door I heard him.
"Thomas, if you find out Ethan did this, you call that boy before anything else."
Dad answered:
"I already know what happened."
Robert did not reply.
I sat in his truck.
No one came outside to hug me.
Mom watched from behind the dining-room curtain.
Ethan disappeared upstairs.
Dad closed the door.
Robert drove away.
We were halfway down the street when he pulled into a church parking lot.
He put the truck in park.
"You want to go back?"
My throat tightened.
"No."
"Okay."
"You believe me?"
"Yes."
"Even if they don't?"
"Yes."
I began crying again.
Robert waited.
No speech.
No promises about everything working out.
Just waited.
Then he handed me his phone.
"Take pictures of the timestamp."
"I can't. Dad unplugged the computer."
"You logged in online, right?"
I nodded.
Robert drove to his house.
At 10:51 p.m., we opened the school portal on his desktop.
The timestamp was still there.
He printed it.
Three copies.
Then he checked my father's insurance company website.
Dad had left a printed claim confirmation inside the papers he signed for Robert.
Robert unfolded it.
Claim initiated:
8:04 p.m.
Driver reported:
Daniel Wright.
I stared.
"That's before you called him."
Robert looked at me.
"Yes."
Before the computer was checked.
Before the seat-belt mark was questioned.
Before Dad could honestly say he had investigated anything.
Robert folded the page slowly.
"Daniel."
"What?"
"Your father didn't spend tonight trying to find out what happened."
May you like
I looked at the claim form.
"He spent it making sure the first story became the official one."
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