Dad covers his mouth with one hand, wiping and pulling at his chin. He releases a heavy sigh as he makes a left turn. “You stole that bottle a booze from me, didn’t ya?”
“But —”
Dad raises one hand from the steering wheel. “I know. I know. But fact is, you stole it. Stole. And now, I — I forgive you, don’t get me wrong. I don’t care what you did at this point ‘cause you’re my best bud and I’m just glad you’re okay.” He takes a deep breath. “But the police, they won’t care much what I have to say, bein you’re a minor and all, and bein that you did steal it. You could go to prison for a really long time.” He looks at Shawn. “Prison ain’t no joke, Shawn. Understand?”
Before Shawn can answer, Dad says, “Stealin’s a crime, Shawn. You hear what I’m sayin?”
The pressure in Shawn’s head floats
