But I was afraid of the answer.

There had also been a few minor incidents that made me worry.

When Logan was fourteen, he and some friends organized an ill-advised bicycle race down a neighborhood hill.

A police officer stopped them and gave them a stern warning.

The boys were embarrassed, but nobody was seriously hurt.

A year later, Logan skipped an afternoon class to attend his best friend Marcus’s soccer tournament.

Marcus’s father had left years before, and his mother worked nights.

Logan didn’t want his friend looking into the stands and seeing nobody cheering for him.

The school contacted the authorities when they couldn’t locate him.

He received a suspension and a long lecture at home.

But I understood why he’d gone.

Then came the water tower incident.

Someone had painted graffiti on the side of a structure near the high school.

A witness mentioned seeing a teenager wearing a gray hoodie nearby.

Logan had walked past that location on his way home.

Officers questioned him, although he hadn’t been involved.

The actual teenagers responsible were identified shortly afterward.

Still, I remembered sitting beside Logan while he answered questions.

He looked so tired.

So disappointed.

“Mom, I didn’t do anything,” he whispered afterward.

“I know, honey.”

But inside, I worried.

Our small town was full of people who remembered every mistake.

And I feared that Logan was slowly becoming known for things that didn’t reflect who he truly was.

One evening, I sat beside him on his bed.

“Please be careful,” I said. “People make assumptions, and I don’t want anything bad to happen to you.”

He looked at me.

“Okay, Mom.”

Then he promised he’d stay out of trouble.

I believed him.

But the worry never completely disappeared.

That was why Officer Benny’s call frightened me so badly.

I spent the entire drive home imagining Logan had become involved in something serious.

Instead, when I entered the house, he was standing beside the kitchen counter holding a glass of water.

His gray hoodie was wrinkled.

His hair was untidy.

And he looked nervous.

“Logan!” I exclaimed.

“Mom?”

“What happened?”

Before he could answer, Officer Benny gently placed Andrew on the couch and covered him with a blanket.

Then he turned toward me.

“Rachel, your son hasn’t done anything wrong.”

I stared at him.

“Then why did you call?”

Benny looked toward Logan.

“Go ahead, son. Tell your mother.”