“No. But it explains it.”
He looked toward the street.
“Kinsley’s mother and I have been fighting about the phone for a year.”
There it was again.
The modern family battlefield.
Not curfews.
Not hemlines.
Not who can go to the mall.
Phones.
Windows in children’s pockets.
“She says I’m too strict,” he continued. “I say she’s too trusting. Kinsley says we don’t understand anything. And maybe we don’t.”
I leaned against the doorframe.
“I don’t understand half of it either.”
“You noticed more than we did.”
“That’s because I’m old and nosy.”
That got a tired laugh out of him.
Then he said, “Kinsley wants to apologize. But she’s embarrassed.”
“She doesn’t have to do it before she’s ready.”
“She also wants to apologize to Silas.”
“That one matters.”
“I know.”
He shifted his weight.
“I went to his house this morning.”
