‘He can’t apologize,’ Paul says firmly.

‘Why not?’ she asks.

‘He broke into people’s houses. He went through their computers. He broke the law. If he apologizes, he opens himself up to criminal charges. Do you want that?’

Her heart seizes with fear. ‘I don’t know,’ she says crossly. ‘Maybe that’s what he deserves.’ But it’s bravado, really. She’s terrified at the thought of her son facing criminal charges, and clearly her husband is, too. She realizes suddenly that they’ll do anything to protect him.

Paul says, ‘I think we’d better talk to a lawyer. Just in case.’

The next morning, Sunday, Raleigh is sound asleep when his mother comes into his room and shakes him by the shoulder.

‘You’re getting up, now,’ she says.

And he does. He’s on his very best behaviour. He wants his phone and internet access back. And he’s terrified of going to the lawyer, which his dad is going to make him do. Last night at the dinner table his father was saying maybe it would be best, in the long run, if Raleigh were to face charges and take the legal consequences. His dad wouldn’t really make him do that. He thinks he was just trying to scare him. It worked. Raleigh’s shitting bricks.

Once he’s dressed and downstairs, his mom tells him, ‘We’re going to get in the car, and you’re going to show me the two houses you broke into.’

He looks back at her, wary. ‘Why?’

‘Because I said so,’ she says.

‘Where’s Dad?’ he asks nervously.

‘He’s gone golfing.’

They get in her car. She hasn’t even let him have breakfast first. He sits in the passenger seat beside her, his stomach growling and his heart thumping. Maybe his parents talked, after he was in bed, and decided he had to apologize after all.

‘Which way?’ she says.

His brain freezes. He can feel himself starting to sweat. He’s only going to show her a couple of the houses he’s broken into to get her off his back. And he certainly won’t tell her the truth about where he was last night.

He’s tense as his mother reverses out of the driveway and drives down Sparrow Street. The trees are bright gold and orange and red and everything looks like it did when he was little and his parents raked leaves into a big pile on the lawn for him to jump in. At the corner, he directs her to turn left, and then left again onto Finch Street, the long residential street next to, and parallel to, their own.

His mom drives slowly along Finch until he points out a house. Number 32, a handsome two-storey house painted pale grey with blue shutters and a red front door. She pulls over to the kerb and parks, staring at the house as if memorizing it. It’s a sunny day and it’s warm in the car. Raleigh’s heart is pounding harder now and sweat is forming on his forehead and between his shoulder blades. He’s forgotten all about his hunger; now, he just feels sick.

‘You’re sure it was this house?’ she asks.

He nods, shifts his eyes away from hers. She continues to stare at the house. There’s a horrible moment when he thinks she’s going to get out of the car, but it passes. She just sits there. He begins to feel conspicuous. What if the people come out of the house? Is that what she’s waiting for?

‘When did you break into this one?’ she asks.

‘I don’t know. A while ago,’ he mumbles.

She turns away from him and studies the house some more.

‘What are we doing here, Mom?’ he asks finally.

She doesn’t answer. She starts the car again and he feels himself go weak with relief.

‘Where’s the other one?’ she asks.

He directs her to turn left again at the end of the street, and left again, until they are back on their own street.

She looks over at him. ‘Seriously, you broke into our neighbour’s? We didn’t need to take the car, did we?’

He doesn’t answer. Silently, he points at number 79, a two-storey white house with a bay window in the front, black shutters, and a double garage.

Again, she pulls over and stares at the house uneasily. ‘Are you sure it was this house you broke into the night before last, Raleigh?’

He looks at her furtively, wondering what she’s getting at. What’s special about this house?

As if reading his mind, she says, ‘His wife ran away from him recently.’

That’s not my fault, Raleigh thinks sulkily, wishing that he’d shown her a different house.

His mom starts the car again and pulls out into the street. ‘Are you sure you didn’t take anything, Raleigh? That it was just a prank?’ she says, turning to look at him. ‘Tell me the truth.’

He can see how worried she is, and he feels awful for making her feel that way. ‘I swear, Mom. I didn’t take anything.’ At least that’s the truth. He feels bad for what he’s put his parents through, especially his mom.

Yesterday, he promised his parents he would never do it again, and he means it.

Olivia drives the short way home in silence, turning things over in her mind. The houses on these familiar streets were built decades ago. They’re set far apart and well back from the road, so they are only dimly lit by the streetlights at night; it would be easy to break into them without being seen. She’d never given a thought to that before. Maybe they should get a security system. She recognizes the irony of it; she’s thinking of getting a security system because her own son has been breaking into their neighbours’ homes.

Tomorrow is Monday. Paul will call a law firm he knows and make an appointment for them to see someone about this. She’d spent a good part of the previous afternoon searching Raleigh’s room as he looked on, miserable. She hadn’t found anything that shouldn’t be there. She and Paul had discussed it again in bed last night. She hardly slept afterwards.

Parenting is so stressful, she thinks, glancing sidelong at her moody son slouched in the seat beside her. You try to do your best, but really, what control do you have over them once they’re not little any more? You have no idea what’s going on inside their heads, or what they’re up to. What if she’d never seen that text? How long would it have gone on – until he was arrested and the cops showed up at the house? He was breaking into places, snooping through people’s lives, and they’d known nothing about it. If anyone had accused her son of such a thing, she would never have believed it. That’s how little she knows him these days. But she saw those texts herself. He admitted it. She wonders uneasily if he’s keeping any other secrets. She parks the car in their driveway and says, ‘Raleigh, is there anything else you want to tell me?’

He turns to her, startled. ‘What?’

‘You heard me. Is there anything else I should know?’ She looks at him, hesitates, and adds, ‘I don’t necessarily have to tell your father.’ He’s obviously surprised at that, but shakes his head. It makes her wonder if she should have said it. She and Paul are supposed to represent a unified front. She says in a neutral voice – which takes real effort – ‘Tell me the truth. Are you doing drugs?’

He actually smiles. ‘No, Mom, I’m not doing drugs. This is it, I swear. And I won’t do it again. You can relax.’