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That told me plenty.

Enough to keep my grip exactly where it is.

Tom finally notices Laurel holding her phone to her ear. "Are you calling the cops?"

"Yes."

His laugh breaks out, hard and jagged. "You're kidding."

"Afraid not," she replies, phone to her ear.

"That's insane."

Sophie folds her arms. "Tom, you've been yelling in our front garden for half an hour. From where I'm standing, getting arrested feels like one of the more predictable outcomes."

Tom opens his mouth to argue, but the distant wail of sirens cuts him off.

I glance toward the end of the street. A patrol car appears, lights flashing.

They're quicker than I'd expected.

Judging by the curtains twitching up and down the road, Laurel's call probably wasn't the only one.

The sirens die as the officers pull up and get out. I let Tom go, and the next few minutes drag by while we watch Tom cycle through every approach he can think of. One minute he's charming, the next demanding answers, the next he's trying to convince everyone he's the victim. Then he circles back around and starts explaining how the whole situation is one giant misunderstanding.

The performance isn't landing with the officers. Or anyone else watching.

Mick looks like a man ready to die of shame. Sophie looks ready to volunteer for jury duty if it guarantees she never has to listen to her son’s drunken, self-pitying bluster again.

Eventually, Tom seems to realize he's losing ground.

The officers separate everyone and start asking questions. The answers point to an abusive, noisy drunk making threats and breaching the peace.

It’s enough for one of the officers to eventually look at Tom and gesture toward the patrol car.

Tom's shoulders stiffen, but for once he has nothing to say. As they cuff him and guide him across the driveway, Laurel steps forward.

"Maggie's home," she says clearly.

Tom stops walking. He turns.

The officers pause as well.

"What?" Tom says.

"Maggie's home," Laurel says. "And she told us everything."

Tom's face drains of color so fast it would've been impressive under different circumstances.

The officers exchange a look.

Tom starts talking again, words tumbling over each other as he reaches for explanations nobody asked for. Every sentence sounds more desperate than the last.

Laurel doesn't interrupt.

She waits until he's finished digging himself deeper.

Then she meets his stare and says, "You don't get to run the show anymore."