As morning came, Alan cornered his son in the kitchen.
"How did you do it?" Alan asked suddenly, his eyes wide with a frantic, desperate energy.
"Gee, I don't know, Dad. I'm still too young to fully understand the complexities of the adult world," Jake replied dryly, throwing his father's words from the previous night right back at him.
"Oh, come on, Jake! It was a joke! A joke!" Alan pleaded desperately. He dropped to his knees, grabbing Jake by the shoulders. "I'll do anything! I swear to God!"
"Alright, Dad, calm down. I'll tell you," Jake sighed, acquiescing to the pathetic display.
"Thank you, son! Thank you!" Alan cried, leaning in and frantically planting kisses all over Jake's face.
"Oh, stop! Stop it, man," Jake said, pushing his father's face away in disgust.
"Alright, I'll stop," Alan said, quickly composing himself. "So, what do I do?"
"You need to keep your distance."
Alan immediately took a large step backward, pointing at the space between them. "I already did."
"Not from me. From Mom," Jake clarified.
"Oh! Got it. Okay, already doing it," Alan nodded vigorously. "For how much distance?"
"Until she calls you," Jake instructed.
"Got you. Play it cool. Perfect," Alan muttered, repeating it like a mantra.
Satisfied, Jake turned to head to the bathroom. However, out of the corner of his eye, he immediately saw his father frantically reaching for the kitchen phone.
"Who are you calling?" Jake asked, stopping in his tracks.
Alan froze, his hand hovering over the receiver. "Oh, I'm... calling the... I'm calling your mom." Realizing he was entirely incapable of lying to his son without his voice squeaking, he just told the sad truth.
Jake let out a profound, deeply disappointed sigh and continued to the bathroom without another word.
By the time Jake came back out, his father was still hovering over the phone, looking defeated.
"What happened?" Jake asked.
"Oh, it went straight to voicemail," Alan muttered. "Maybe I should just go visit her."
"Dad, you sh—"
"I should play it cool, I know!" Alan interrupted, quickly pulling a small notebook from his pocket. "But look, I have the perfect excuse! This is a list of contacts for handymen, electricians, plumbers, and more. I'll just drop this off for her while playing it completely cool. Huh? What do you think?"
"Sure," Jake said neutrally, knowing there was absolutely no way to fix this man's pathological neediness.
Just then, Charlie walked down the stairs, wearing his bathrobe and a pair of sunglasses.
"Oh, perfect," Alan said, snatching his car keys off the counter. "Charlie, would you take care of Jake for a minute?"
"Sure. Where are you going?" Charlie asked.
"Uhhh... the grocery store."
Charlie lowered his sunglasses. "Really? Is that your only excuse?"
"If you already know, why do you ask?!" Alan snapped defensively, storming out the front door.
"Schmuck," Charlie muttered as the door slammed shut.
"I'm afraid he is," Jake agreed, not even bothering to defend his father this time.
"Do we start our piano classes now?" Jake asked.
"Sure, let me just grab a drink and we'll start," Charlie said, opening the fridge and pulling out a cold beer.
Jake watched him crack it open. He had to admit, he was highly surprised Charlie was still biologically functional. It was a medical marvel that Charlie's liver hadn't completely shut down given the astronomical amount of alcohol in his system.
They proceeded with the lessons. Exactly one hour later, the front door opened, and Alan walked in. He was dripping wet from head to toe, leaving a trail of puddles on the hardwood floor.
Charlie smirked from the piano bench. "What happened to you, Alan?"
"I don't want to talk about it," Alan said in a hollow, deadpan tone, squelching his way toward the stairs.
It was Sunday afternoon when Alan suddenly remembered a lingering administrative detail.
"Hey, Jake," Alan said, walking into the living room. "What about the lease on that warehouse?"
"The what?" Jake asked, looking up from his book.
"You made me sign a lease for a 400-square-foot warehouse space in the San Fernando Valley a few weeks ago," Alan said. He hadn't asked questions at the time because he had been terrified Judith would find out about the maritime incident, but now that the secret was out, he wanted to know what he was legally bound to.
Jake's expression shifted into one of genuine, innocent confusion. "Huh? I have no idea what you're talking about, Dad."
"Are you serious?" Alan asked, his brow furrowing. "You handed me the contract!"
"And what did I say it was for?" Jake asked calmly.
"Well, you didn't say anything. I just signed it," Alan admitted.
Charlie, who was reading the sports section nearby, lowered his paper. "Wait. You signed a lease for a 400-square-foot industrial space, and you didn't even ask the ten-year-old why he wanted it?"
"Dad," Jake interrupted smoothly, "did this happen before or after you hallucinated seeing a shark in the lake?"
Alan's eyes widened. "No! You are not going to turn this situation into me being crazy!"
"I don't think you are crazy, Dad," Jake said, his tone gentle and highly manipulative. "I just think your imagination gets a little out of control when you're stressed. I did give you a paper to sign a few weeks ago, but that was a permission slip for a school expedition."
Alan stood completely still, staring blankly at the wall as his brain short-circuited. The stress of the divorce, the boat sinking, Evelyn... his mind was a mess.
"Huh," Alan murmured, rubbing his temples. "Maybe I did imagine it."
"Maybe you should talk to a therapist," Jake added helpfully.
"Maybe I should," Alan agreed, looking somewhat dazed as he wandered out of the room, leaving his son's secret San Fernando Valley operations completely secure.