CHAPTER 11Len
That night, as Len read the girls their good-night books, he was still seething with irritation. How could Laurel have allowed it? Surely most mothers would not have slept through all of that. Her daughter leaving the house, and then some stranger bringing her back again? What if she had crossed the street? What if someone had taken her? How could Laurel have taken a nap with two kids in the house and the front door left open? What if there had been an intruder?
“I’m sorry,” Laurel had said, again and again. “I was just so tired. I can’t believe I didn’t wake up either.”
But Len would not, could not believe it. “You were drinking, weren’t you? You were passed out.”
“No.”
“Laurel, you were s**t-faced when I got home this evening.”
“I’d had one drink. You’d want one, too,
