The Unwilling(7)

She watched her food as she asked the question. I met my father’s eyes, but they offered no hint of his thoughts on the matter. “He came in behind me,” I said.

That was true, but not the whole story. My father’s partner had found me at the quarry, and insisted on following me home. He said, I told your father I’d make sure, and those were his final words. He didn’t mention Jason or the kids he’d seen drinking or the guilty way I’d started at his sudden appearance. He’d watched Jason with those flat, cop eyes, then stared Chance down with the same unflinching distaste. Shouldn’t you be leaving, too? In the driveway, he’d watched me to the house, then waited as my father pulled in behind us. I missed their conversation, but from the door, I’d seen my father glance my way with the same cop eyes.

“You weren’t at school today,” my mother said.

“I was at the quarry.”

“Senior Skip Day is tradition, I know, but you’re back in school on Monday. That means homework, papers, final exams. No slacking because the end is near.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She forked a bite of salad, and that, too, was part of the dance. No mention of Robert or Jason or the war. I wasn’t sure where her mind went in the silence between questions, but guessed it was the future or some other bright place.

My father knew the dance as well: keep it simple and light and surface. “Have you thought more about a summer job?”

“They want to hire me at the marina.”

“Again?”

He was disappointed, but I liked the boats, the water, the smell of fuel. His frown deepened, but he couldn’t really argue. I’d be at college in the fall. That meant deferment. He smiled stiffly, and my mother sipped wine.

For me, though, the dance wasn’t working. “Did you know Jason is out of prison?”

The question fell like a bomb. My mother choked on her wine. My father said, “Son…”

“You should have told me.”

The anger came unexpectedly and suddenly, and its cause was unclear. How they managed my life? The things I’d felt as my brother fell? Only the emotion was certain, this unfamiliar anger.

“Who told you?” my mother asked.

“I saw him. We spoke.”

She dabbed a napkin at the corners of her mouth. “About me, I suppose?”

“We might have touched on that.”

She smoothed the napkin in her lap, and looked away.

“You knew, of course. Didn’t you? You knew that he was back.”

“We thought it best to keep the two of you apart.” Her gaze, that time, was direct and unapologetic. She sat calmly and straight, an elegant woman. “Shall we discuss the reasons?”

“Has anything changed since the last time we discussed reasons?”

“Not for me.”

I turned to my father. “Dad?”

“Give us a chance to talk with him first. Okay? After prison. After all this time. Give us a chance to feel him out. We don’t know his plans or why he’s back.”

“And when you know those things?”

“Then we’ll see where we are.”

I looked from one to the other. Nothing had changed. Nothing ever would. “May I be excused?”

My mother lifted her glass. “Do you have plans to see him again?”

“No,” I lied.

“Talk to him by phone?”

“If he has a number, I don’t know it.”

She studied me with eyes that were as cool and bright as my brother’s. “Are you still my good boy?”

“I try to be.”

“Do you love me?”

“Of course.”

“Are you angry?”

“Not anymore.”

Another sip. The same eyes. “Clear your dishes.”



* * *



I carried dishes to the kitchen, and took the back stairs to my room. Inside, I closed the door and tried to see the space as if it were not my own: the posters and old toys and plastic trophies. When my father knocked on the door, it was after nine.

“Come in.”

He opened the door, surprised by the state of my room. The posters were down. Half the stuff I owned was boxed. “What’s all this?”

I shrugged, and kept packing. “Just wanted a change.”

He looked in one box and then another. “You giving this stuff away?”

“I guess.”

“Your comic books?” He lifted a stack from a half-full box. “You’ve collected these since you were eight.” I didn’t respond. He put the comic books down and sat on the edge of the bed. “About your mother…”

“You don’t need to explain.”

“I’m happy to talk about it.”

“She’s afraid Jason will ruin my life. This is hardly news.”

“It won’t be forever, son.”

“It’s been years, Dad. Five years that she won’t let me play sports or date girls. I can’t go camping or hunting. She barely lets me leave the house.”

“She let you have a car.”

“Because I paid for it myself.”

“She still allowed it.”

“She did, yes, and it’s the only thing she’s done that’s fair.”