they turned white. Dave hadn’t said anything to me, but there was a stiffness to his shoulders and smolder in his eyes that told me all I needed to know: the school filled him in on the day’s events.
Dave had two personalities, one he showed at the office and his real personality—the one at home. I knew everyone at the office loved him. He was the epitome of caring. If his secretary was sick, he told her to take a week off and feel better. If his accountant called with family problems, he told him to take as long as he needed. Hell, Dave told his second in command to use the business card to pay for his kids’ birthday gifts. Said it was the company’s fault their father wasn’t home.
At home it was the complete opposite. If I tried to stay home from school because I was sick Dave lectured me for half an hour about the need to get an education so I could get a job. Dave never passed up an opportunity to remind me how important it was that I be able to pay for college because without that I’d have nothing. I didn’t have the fantasy that my parents would help pay for school. I figured I’d be lucky if they let me stay in the house long enough to move into the dorms after graduation.
Sitting at the table eating dinner I watched Dave, especially the way he held his silverware. If Dave had fighting on his mind he held his silverware in his left hand and clenched his right hand over and over, as if working it out. On the off chance he wasn’t seeking a brawl, Dave ate with his right hand and kept his left on the table right next to his plate. Those nights Dave spent most of the meal gazing at mom with adoration. Of course, it only took a matter of seconds for the adoration to turn to disgust, which led to a swift hand across the cheek.
I hated waking up in the morning and seeing Mom with the shape of a hand imprinted across the side of her face. She tried to cover it with makeup, and I was sure she succeeded most of the time. On the rare occasion I woke before her and saw the damage, she chose to dismiss everything and ignore my questions.
My mom worked, but she worked from home. Sometimes she’d visit with clients through Skype, others just email. She was an artist, and used her creativity for interior decorating. Over the years she’d built a client list that spanned the country. I helped organize her contact list a couple of times and never failed to be impressed. When she made a new contact the arrangement was that she would contract their services out. It was similar to Dave’s construction contracting firm, but for interior design.
Dave set his fork down on the right side of his plate, just far enough away that it wouldn’t clang on the glass. “Luke, would you like to tell me exactly what happened at school today?”
I took a deep breath and clutched the table beneath the white linen tablecloth. “I got in a fight.” This was it. If I had any chance of surviving the battle later that night I had to lay it all out on the table now and hope the story I devised fell in line with what the school told Dave.
“A fight?” Dave’s brow furrowed. “How and why?”
I caught myself before my response came out laced with sarcasm. “I don’t know why or how. I was playing ball with Brandt one minute and the next I stood over him with bloodied knuckles.” I held up my scratched hand as proof.
“And.”
“And what? That’s what happened.”
Dave raised his eyebrows. “Nothing else happened?”
I shook my head. “No, nothing else happened at the school.”
“You’ll only make it worse on yourself if you lie to me.”
“If there is something you think I’m leaving out, why don’t you just come out and say it?” My carefully controlled tone faltered. I hated it when Dave tried to force me to say something and make things worse. He was as bad as the cops.
“Fine. Why did I receive a phone call from Sgt. Cole this afternoon?” Dave turned to my mom. “What time
Dave had two personalities, one he showed at the office and his real personality—the one at home. I knew everyone at the office loved him. He was the epitome of caring. If his secretary was sick, he told her to take a week off and feel better. If his accountant called with family problems, he told him to take as long as he needed. Hell, Dave told his second in command to use the business card to pay for his kids’ birthday gifts. Said it was the company’s fault their father wasn’t home.
At home it was the complete opposite. If I tried to stay home from school because I was sick Dave lectured me for half an hour about the need to get an education so I could get a job. Dave never passed up an opportunity to remind me how important it was that I be able to pay for college because without that I’d have nothing. I didn’t have the fantasy that my parents would help pay for school. I figured I’d be lucky if they let me stay in the house long enough to move into the dorms after graduation.
Sitting at the table eating dinner I watched Dave, especially the way he held his silverware. If Dave had fighting on his mind he held his silverware in his left hand and clenched his right hand over and over, as if working it out. On the off chance he wasn’t seeking a brawl, Dave ate with his right hand and kept his left on the table right next to his plate. Those nights Dave spent most of the meal gazing at mom with adoration. Of course, it only took a matter of seconds for the adoration to turn to disgust, which led to a swift hand across the cheek.
I hated waking up in the morning and seeing Mom with the shape of a hand imprinted across the side of her face. She tried to cover it with makeup, and I was sure she succeeded most of the time. On the rare occasion I woke before her and saw the damage, she chose to dismiss everything and ignore my questions.
My mom worked, but she worked from home. Sometimes she’d visit with clients through Skype, others just email. She was an artist, and used her creativity for interior decorating. Over the years she’d built a client list that spanned the country. I helped organize her contact list a couple of times and never failed to be impressed. When she made a new contact the arrangement was that she would contract their services out. It was similar to Dave’s construction contracting firm, but for interior design.
Dave set his fork down on the right side of his plate, just far enough away that it wouldn’t clang on the glass. “Luke, would you like to tell me exactly what happened at school today?”
I took a deep breath and clutched the table beneath the white linen tablecloth. “I got in a fight.” This was it. If I had any chance of surviving the battle later that night I had to lay it all out on the table now and hope the story I devised fell in line with what the school told Dave.
“A fight?” Dave’s brow furrowed. “How and why?”
I caught myself before my response came out laced with sarcasm. “I don’t know why or how. I was playing ball with Brandt one minute and the next I stood over him with bloodied knuckles.” I held up my scratched hand as proof.
“And.”
“And what? That’s what happened.”
Dave raised his eyebrows. “Nothing else happened?”
I shook my head. “No, nothing else happened at the school.”
“You’ll only make it worse on yourself if you lie to me.”
“If there is something you think I’m leaving out, why don’t you just come out and say it?” My carefully controlled tone faltered. I hated it when Dave tried to force me to say something and make things worse. He was as bad as the cops.
“Fine. Why did I receive a phone call from Sgt. Cole this afternoon?” Dave turned to my mom. “What time