While they waited to board the flight that would take them back to Chicago from Miami, Blake Adams watched his wife cooly tapping away on her laptop. He admired her ability to concentrate in the chaos of the airport, but he was disturbed by her attitude. Didn't she realize the severity of the situation?
When their eldest son, David, had called that morning to report that their youngest son, Billy, was "having some troubles," the alarm bells rang loud and clear in Blake's head. For quite some time, he'd suspected there was something seriously amiss with Billy.
"Genevra, we need to discuss this," he'd said time after time. But there was always a deadline, or a new story idea, or a crisis at the magazine that was more important to her than their son's welfare.
Blake was as angry with himself as he was with his wife. He'd seen the signs for how long and still done nothing?
Even as a little kid, Billy had been weird, walking around on tiptoes, flapping his hands, singing and talking to himself. He'd had no friends at all in grade school. In high school, he began hanging around with the misfits and druggies. Kids who did everything they could to be outrageous. Expelled three times between his freshman and junior years, he'd also been busted twice for underage drinking, once for shoplifting, and once for possession of cannabis. It had cost Blake a small fortune to get the boy's record purged.
Billy had been out of control for a long time, and now Blake was afraid that no matter what he did, his son's life was about to come crashing down around them all.
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