What was I thinking, confronting Dean? He was allowed to have secrets. He was allowed to be angry that Locke had assigned me to read those interviews, knowing that one of them was his father’s. I shouldn’t have gone up there. I should have left him alone. “Lia or Dean?” I looked up and saw Michael standing near the front door. “What?” “The look on your face,” he replied. “Lia or Dean?” I shrugged. “Both?” Michael nodded, as if my answer were a foregone conclusion. “You okay?” “You’re the emotion reader,” I said. “You tell me.” He took that as an invitation to come closer. He stopped a foot or two away and studied my face. “You’re confused. Madder at yourself than you are at either of them. Lonely. Angry. Stupid.” “Stupid?” I sputtered. “Hey, I just call it like I see it.” Michael was apparently in the mood to be blunt. “You feel stupid. Doesn’t mean you are.” “Why didn’t you tell me?” I sat down on the bottom step, and after a few seconds, Michael sat down beside me, stretching his legs out on the hardwood floor.
