Chapter 6
Six
My brothers and I monitor the construction workers packing up for the day. They’re almost finished building the hugest house I’ve ever seen across the street. I’m curious who’s moving in and hoping for a family with a kid my age.
We live on a quiet road in the Oakland hills where I’m mostly stuck playing with my older brothers.
Townshend is on my right. As the oldest, he’s overprotective, but I don’t fault him for it.
He’s the only one in our house I trust. Graham stands next to him.
He’s only eighteen months ahead of me but lords it over me like a jerk.
His favorite activity is getting on my last nerve and reminding me I’m the smallest and youngest every chance he gets. Needless to say, we brawl a lot.
The three of us are antsy to sneak across the street to check things out but we’ll have to wait until after dinner. At least it’s mid-summer, keeping the sky light and temperature warm later into the evening.
We head into the backyard to play. The grass is soft and warm under my bare feet.
I pass the big live oak that’s fun to climb—and great for hiding in—and my brothers head to the fort my uncle built us a couple of years ago.
Spotting an ant hill near the tree, I crouch down to investigate, mesmerized by the bustling activity of these insects.
Some haul debris or food, others add to the mound of dirt where they live.
I’m tracking one of their trails when my mom calls us inside. My stomach growls, and I run across the yard, leap up the deck stairs, and enter through the sliding glass door.
After washing my hands, I sit at the table and wait for everyone else.
My brothers and mother arrive next while my father pours orangey-brown liquor into his glass before adding a splash of cold water from the tap.
I wonder how many he’s already drunk. When he turns and walks to the table, I guess more than two, gauging by the heaviness in his eyes.
Mom fills our plates, and we’re silent as we eat aside from utensils scraping against our dishes.
A sound of disgust by my dad shoots a tremor down my spine. “What the hell is this? One of those boxed casserole mixes? It tastes like goddamned cardboard.”
I don’t understand his problem. It’s good…hamburger and noodles and a creamy sauce that maybe has mushrooms in it. I’m not normally a fan of mushrooms, but smothered in this white glop, they’re alright.
“I like it, Mom.” It’s out before I can corral it back.
Townshend kicks me under the table, but his warning comes too late.
My father’s glare bores a hole in my head. “What makes you think anyone here gives a goddamn what you have to say, boy? You think your opinion matters?”
I swallow my words along with the fear lodging in my throat as big as a lemon.
“Got nothing to say now, huh? Typical candy ass.”
“Bill,” Mom says meekly.
My body stiffens, anticipating a hit somewhere.
Dad’s steely gaze lands on her. “Don’t coddle him, Nancy.”
Her head lowers toward her plate as she goes silent, sifting her fork through her barely touched casserole.
“And don’t serve this shit again. I make enough goddamned money that you don’t need to buy peasant food.” He pushes his dish away. “In fact, I’m not eating this garbage. Make me something else.”
Adrenaline soars through my veins, my heart jackhammering against my ribcage, wishing I was big and strong so I could sock him right in his stupid face.
Something, anything, to act on the hatred pulsing through me, begging for release.
But I’m small. Weak. My body tenses, turning rigid in my seat, where I’m forced to stay.
There’s no telling where his fists will land tonight.
If I move, it’s a sure bet they’ll be on me. Or worse, Mom.
My mother hurries to the kitchen, heeding his lordship, and my teeth grind so hard my jaw tinges sharply.
I hate my father.
And I hate my mom for taking his crap.