Chapter 11
Eleven
Randy slams into me on the Slip ’N Slide in my backyard and we burst out laughing as we skid into the grass. We’re soaked through and having a blast, our skin glistening in the midday sun. We roll out of the way seconds before my cousin Kirk collides with us.
I’m nine years old today and friends and family are here for the birthday party my mom organized.
She set up a bunch of fun activities like the wet slide, lawn darts, and horseshoes.
There’s a big pile of presents on a table next to a homemade chocolate cake.
My dad’s cooking hamburgers and hot dogs on the Weber barbecue and there’s a spread of picnic food, including my favorite potato salad.
Coolers hold sodas and beer, and oldies play outside through speakers my father rigged from the HiFi.
I’m excited to finally be nine. Older means I’m getting bigger. I’m sick of being the squirt in the family and everyone picking on me.
Randy elbows me in the side. “I’m starving. Let’s eat.”
“’Kay.” Since moving in across the street, Randy’s become my best friend. We’re practically joined at the hip and spend way more time hanging out at his place than mine. He’s got a big house, a pool, and I like it over there a lot. Plus, his parents are nice, especially his dad.
My gaze lands on my father. His face is shrouded in smoke, and he steps back and waves a spatula through it before clamping the lid back on the barbecue.
He seems to be in a good mood…but that can change fast. I’m glad there are so many people around—they’re like a buffer.
I doubt he’d show his true nature in front of a crowd.
I scout for my mom next, and when she’s happily chatting with my Aunt Laura and Mrs. Remington, I relax and pile a hamburger on my plate along with a pickle spear and potato salad.
Randy and I plop down at a picnic table and dig in.
An hour later, I’m ripping into my gifts and can’t believe all the cool stuff I’ve scored. Shrinky Dinks, an Erector Set, Rock ’em Sock ’em Robots, and something called a Nerf Ball that’s like squishy foam.
Randy pushes his gift into my arms. “Open mine!”
Taking the long box, I tear off the wrapping and get through the taped top. Something bulky is hidden under wads of brown packing paper. My excitement mounts as I finally unearth it with a gasp.
“All right!” It’s a skateboard! But not like the cruddy, hand-me-down I own with a hard wooden plank and clay wheels.
When I hold the sleek board up to my face and inspect it top to bottom, my grin only widens.
Lime green fiberglass deck. And new urethane wheels—the kind that won’t topple me ass over elbows when I hit a pebble.
“You like it?” he prods.
“Are you kidding? Totally! I can’t wait to test it out!” Randy’s already got one of these slick skateboards, so now we can ride more places together.
Randy beams next to me.
“You boys need to be careful riding those,” Mrs. Remington says.
“And stay off the main roads,” my mom adds sternly.
“They know what to do, don’t you boys?” Mr. Remington inserts, nodding knowingly at us as we eagerly nod back.
My father scowls in Mr. Remington’s direction but my attention veers to my mom, who hands me the final box, the biggest one here.
“This is from us,” she says.
I rip into the paper without caring what kind of mess I’m making.
“WOW!” My eyes bug out as I scour the box. It’s a Hot Wheels dual track with double loops so two cars can drag race at once. Four shiny sports cars are included.
“This is so cool!” I look up at my parents. “Thanks!”
They both return the smile, but tension hides in my father’s expression. I’d recognize it from a mile away. Shrugging it off, my attention returns to my birthday haul as the kids press in closer, jockeying to see what I got.
When my mom announces it’s time for cake, everyone sings and cheers as I blow out my candles. She made my favorite: chocolate cake with strawberry frosting. After inhaling our slices, my friends and cousins closest in age play several rounds of Jarts.
The crowd thins as the sun dips lower in the sky, and I’m glad Remy lives close so he can stick around longer.
My mom’s laugh filters across the yard, and when I follow the sound, her smiling face is tilted up at Mr. Remington, who’s telling an animated story with wild hand gestures.
A gut twinge has me searching for my father.
He’s glaring at the pair, and it’s hard to tell if my Uncle Mike and Aunt Lynn notice, despite standing with him having a conversation.
My dad guzzles his beer and loudly chucks the empty in a nearby trashcan.
Dread crawls up my spine and my gaze flickers to Townshend, who’s also watching this unfold.
His posture stiffens, and we’re both caught in this fraught uncertainty.
My brother spares me a worrisome glance.
Just then, Mrs. Remington approaches her husband.
They exchange a few words, he nods, and she gestures for Randy.
Beside me, my friend drags himself begrudgingly to his feet. “Guess we’re going home.”
“Guess so.”
“Happy birthday,” he says with a grin.
“Thanks. Talk to you later.”
“You know it.”
The Remingtons say goodbye to my parents, and I’m not sure Remy’s father notices my dad’s hostility. It’s a relief. Sort of. I don’t want anything to mess up my friendship with Randy.
The last of the guests leave, and my brothers and I hunker down in the backyard.
We all sense Dad’s top is primed to blow, and we’re staying as far out of the way as we can.
Out of sight, out of mind…if we’re lucky.
We’re huddled near the back deck, throwing tiny rocks at a bigger rock to see who can hit it the most, when the argument begins.
My parents’ voices filter through the screened windows, and the three of us fall still.
“He makes me sick,” my father grumbles. “He’s such a pompous asshole!”
“Shhh,” my mother hisses. “The boys will hear you.”
“And the way he leers at you? I wanted to clock his jaw. You’re my wife. Disrespectful bastard. Not to mention how his own must feel.” My father cracks open another beer, the hiss of the twist top unmistakable. I’m unsure how many he’s had, but enough to make him drunk.
“I think Rick loves Virginia,” Mom says.
“Psh. That piece of shit only loves himself.”
“He’s friendly, that’s for sure. Virginia seems a little cool in comparison. They’re a bit of an odd couple, don’t you think?”
“All the more reason he’s on the prowl for other men’s wives. Don’t be fooled, Nancy. He’d probably screw you right in our own bed.”
“Bill,” she scolds in a hushed tone. “The boys. And it’s Mick’s birthday.”
He scoffs. “Mick’s the one who needs to see the real Rick Remington. You see the way my boy idolizes him? Disgusting. The man’s trying to steal my whole family.”
“I’m sure he’s not, honey. Nor could he. Don’t give him another thought.”
My brothers and I remain dead quiet, still as tree trunks, barely breathing. Doesn’t she realize she’s pushing his buttons? The ones that flip to violent like a light switch?
“And you,” he accuses, his voice dripping with contempt, “should stop shaking your ass at the sonofabitch. You’re practically an open invitation, smiling and laughing at everything that fake prick says!”
My mother remains silent, and from our vantage point, we have no idea what’s happening inside. Where she’s standing. If he’s looming over her. If her eyes are wide with fear.
His timbre grows darker. “Or do you want to be treated like a whore?”
“Please, Bill…please don’t,” she pleads.
“Please, Bill…please don’t,” he mimics, octaves higher than his normal voice.
“I love you. Only you.” Her tenor wavers, and it’s crushing, the tightness in my chest turning to a steady, piercing ache.
Townshend places an anchoring hand on my thigh, and I stare at it, swallowing the tears threatening to flow.
I hear the fridge opening, and right after, the crack and sigh of another beer top twisted off.
“Fix me a sandwich,” he orders. “I’m going to watch the game. I’m done talking about that bastard—and you.”