“I imagine Grandma let him in.”
“Should I knock on her door to see if she’s okay?”
“Is she calling for help?”
“No.”
“Then we can assume she’s okay.”
“It’s not right,” my mother said. “It’s…icky. And we don’t really even know this man. We don’t know his intentions. He’s a bartender with tattoos and a motorcycle.”
“Where are you now?”
“I’m in the kitchen.”
“Are you going
to sit in the living room and wait for him to leave?”
“Yes.”
I knew she would. When I was in high school and came home from a date, my mom would be in the living room, waiting. Sometimes my dad would be there too.
“Don’t you think it will be awkward to see Bertie leaving?” I asked her.
“Your grandmother should have thought of that before she decided to entertain a man in her bedroom.”
“Maybe you should ground her.”
“I’ve tried. It doesn’t work. She does whatever she wants. She doesn’t listen to me.”
“I’m going back to sleep. You should too.”
“Suppose they’re doing things?”
“Eewwww!”
“Exactly,” my mother said. And she hung up.
It was hard to fall asleep with the thought of Grandma doing things. I thrashed around for a half hour and finally got up and had some cereal. I went back to bed, and the next time I woke up Ranger was in my bedroom, looking down at me. He was hard to see in the dark room, with his dark skin and black clothes. I knew it was Ranger because he said “Babe.” I glanced at my clock. It was four o’clock.
“I have a problem you are uniquely qualified to solve,” Ranger said.
Last time he said that it turned out to be the best night of my life.
I propped myself up on one elbow. “Oh boy.”
“Not that problem,” Ranger said. “Someone broke into the Bogart plant, and I want you to take a look.”
“Now?”
“We need to do this before the plant opens.”
“I’m tired. It’s too early.”
“It’s four o’clock.”
“People are supposed to be asleep at four o’clock.”