Page 45 of Exchanged

That’s several weeks’ worth of profit.

“Our insurance will cover the jewelry,” Dad says. “But not the cash. God, I’m so stupid.”

We stand in silence for a minute, the loss soaking in. Then Dad’s head jerks back. “Why is there an ambulance here?”

Emma and I look at each other.

“Garrett,” Dad says, panic surging into his voice. “Where the hell is Garrett?”

We lead Dad down our front path, and I notice dark splotches of Garrett’s blood staining the cement. When we reach the ambulance, a paramedic hops out.

“Your son will be fine,” he tells Dad. “We removed the glass from his hand and wrapped it, but he’ll need stitches. Are you okay driving him to the ER?”

Dad nods and doesn’t bother telling the paramedic that Garrett isn’t his son. Then Garrett himself climbs out of the ambulance, his hand wrapped in a thick layer of gauze, a dark red blossom stretching across his palm.

He throws his killer grin at us. “I nicked an artery,” he says. “I grabbed the door when I chased that asshole out of the house and caught my hand on the broken window. I hope that dude—”

He breaks off because Dad has pulled him into a crushing hug. Garrett blinks at me over Dad’s shoulder, taken aback. “You idiot,” Dad says into his hair. “What were you thinking? Whoever broke in could have been armed! They could have killed you!”

Garrett tries to downplay what he did. “They weren’t armed. And I’m fine.”

Dad releases Garrett. He asks Aunt Liz to take care of Emma and the shop, and ushers Garrett toward his truck. I follow, and soon we’re driving the dark road to Blue Harbor and the regional hospital.

“Sorry about the ambulance,” Garrett says. “I didn’t really need it. My parents can pay for it.”

“You chased a burglar out of our shop,” Dad says. “You don’t get to apologize for anything.”

I sit in the back seat and say nothing. I’m the one who panicked and called the ambulance, adding another massive expense to the damage already done tonight. Guilt floods my chest as I think about how I was too busy having fun with my friends to notice someone robbing our shop, how I should have reacted sooner to the sounds I heard, how it was Garrett and not me who chased the intruder off.

I think about Burton-Clark’s website bookmarked on my computer. All the money we lost tonight—the amount pushing Dad’s business closer to the ever-present precipice of financial ruin—adds up to only a tenth of the cost of a year’s tuition. Hot shame flushes through me at the thought of asking Dad to pay for flights, books, room and board, and everything else that comes with the cost of college.

We lost so much. I can’t possibly ask my family to sacrifice more.

THIRTEEN

The rain begins the following morning, steady and cold, and continues for a week. Dad spends hours each day on the phone with the insurance company.

Our front door is repaired, and neighbors and regulars stream into the shop, leaving with armfuls of pity purchases. Their kindness helps, but it only covers a fraction of what we lost.

Garrett’s stitches do their job, and he’s back to playing football sooner than any of us want him to be.

And I spend my days thinking about our shop and Garrett. I don’t return to the Burton-Clark website or my naive dream of attending a composition program. A new, mostly empty cash register sits on our front desk, serving as a tangible reminder of how someone supports a family. It’s not by plunking out notes on a keyboard.

We have another required video call with Garrett’s parents a few hours before his final football game of the season. Dad joins us for this one, all of us crammed around Garrett’s laptop. Garrett made us swear not to tell them about the break-in, so after an awkward greeting, Brock and Gina target me for their first attempt at small talk.

“You’re a senior, Enzo?” Brock says genially. “Lots of big milestones there. You got a girlfriend you’re planning to take to the prom?” The question is heavy, as if he’s been waiting to ask it.

“No,” I say. “No girlfriend.”

“No?” Brock says. “A good-looking, smart guy like you? I’d have thought the girls would be all over you. Is there anyone you’re interested in?”

Garrett sits on my left, and I feel my eyes wanting to glance at him. I shake my head.

“You’re being weird, Dad,” Garrett says. “By the way, I got my grades up. I’m at all As now.”

“Nice,” Gina says. Then, “How many catches did you make last game?”

“Five.”