Authors: Christopher Hoskins
My
parents did little more than nod and provide one-word interjections during the
length of my rant, but by the time it was through, they’d learned an entirely
new dimension of the past six months, the beginning of my freshman year, and
the start of the end.
Dad
picked up his fork and shuffled peas on his plate while he spoke. “So, her dad
drives a Mercedes, huh? I don’t know when you turned into such a gold digger,
Damian, but that’s fine by me. You just remember us if he cashes out early and
leaves you two with everything. Promise me that.”
“Did
he even hear a word I said?” I asked, and turned to my mom instead.
“I
heard every word you said. Don’t go acting like I’ve suddenly gone deaf or
crazy, Damian. I heard it all. I just don’t know what you’re trying to get at
here.”
“Mom,”
I begged for support, “you understand what I’m saying, right?”
“I
hate to say it, but I’m a little lost too, honey. What
are
you talking
about? What do you
think’s
going on? Why are you breaking into this man’s
office when you aren’t even supposed to be in his house?” She asked it
rhetorically, because she didn’t allow time for a response. “If I’d known about
all this, I would’ve had you coming home on the bus, everyday. Now I
feel
like
I’m
some sort of accomplice; I certainly hope he doesn’t think I
knew about any of this.”
“You
guys are missing the point!” The moment of release—when I finally
revealed everything that’d been eating at me for so long—had turned into
an all-adult vs. Damian and Catee offensive. They’d somehow teamed up without
even knowing each other. It was like some unwritten parent-pact, designed to
keep us in our place, even if we
were
onto
something. “It’s not about
you
being crazy, Dad, it’s about
him
being crazy. And it’s not about you not doing your job either, Mom. You guys
still don’t get it!”
My
outreach had turned around to bite me in the butt. I’d crossed a line and
misjudged their support of my decision-making—good or bad—and their
tolerance was being tested. Their allegiance to me, their son, or to adulthood,
their silent partner, was being weighed, and I was losing. Miserably.
“Well,
Damian, it seems to me like we need to get some answers and get you some
closure, and there’s only one way that’s going to happen.” The break in Mom’s
words couldn’t have seemed longer. “So I’m going to invite Mr. Laverdier over
for family dinner—Catee, too—and we’re going to see if we can’t get
to the bottom of all this. Plus, we’ve got to set things right with him,
especially if everything you say is true and the two of you have been violating
his privacy, breaking and entering, and doing everything else you just admitted
to.”
“Mom!
You can’t do that!! Dad!” I turned back to him. “Talk to her! Say something! He
can’t come here! We can’t let him in this house!!”
“Damian,
I’m with your mom on this one.” Dad rose to clear his half-eaten plate and
moved with it toward the kitchen. “You guys had no right breaking into that
man’s office and—”
“But
didn’t you hear
anything
I just said!? Did you even listen to what I
said about the dog? Or the way he threw her in the car? Those papers? How about
the way he’s keeping her locked in her room!?”
“We
heard, Damian. We heard you tell us about a man who lost his wife. About a man
who is suffering and who’s just trying to piece his life back together and to
salvage what he can of it. I’m sure he’s just protecting Catee the best way he
knows how.” Mom rose to join my father in the doorway. “And if anything ever
happened to your father, I think I’d be acting a little
crazy
, too. We
need to do something all right, but you’ve got your priorities all wrong,
Damian. What this man needs is people around him right now. Caring people.
Sympathetic people. Just imagine how he must be feeling right now: a stranger
in a new place—his wife gone, and a daughter who won’t follow rules while
he’s working his hardest to keep everything afloat. It’s just terrible to think
of. And so he
is
going to be coming over here. And we
are
going
to treat him like a respected guest. You
will
apologize for sneaking
around when he clearly asked you not to. And we
will
support him in any
way this family can. That’s how good people act, Damian, and I’m shocked and
disappointed that you haven’t been able to do that much on your own.”
I
couldn’t believe it. I was totally dumbfounded. My eyes moved pleadingly to my
dad, hoping he’d had some change of heart in the moments that’d passed.
“Don’t
go looking at me like that,” he said. “I’m with your mother on this one. I
don’t know the guy and, good or bad, you’re the one who made the wrong choices
here. Like it or not, you’re going to have to set things right again.”
“But
what about the office stuff? You aren’t going to tell him about that, are you?”
I knew I wasn’t going to get them to back down on their dinner invitation, and
I immediately started processing the conversations that might take place around
our table. “Catee said he doesn’t even know I was there … that he doesn’t know
I’ve been back since he kicked me out. We don’t need to tell him that. You guys
aren’t going to say anything about that, are you?”
“Your
father and I will discuss that later, Damian. But as of right now,
you’re
officially grounded, too.” My dad looked at her with surprise, mystified by
what that would look like. They’d never grounded me or Nicole before; it was a
family first. “Make sure you leave your phone on the table when you get up from
dinner.”
“My
phone? Dad! Say something!”
“And
from now on, and until you hear otherwise, you’re riding the bus home until
your mother or I says different.”
I
couldn’t believe what I was hearing from them, and there was nothing I could do
about it. That’s the problem with being fourteen. You’ve got no good options
when your parents turn on you. You’ve got to cling to your life raft, weather
the storm, and wait for it to blow over. The problem was, this wasn’t a storm.
It was more like an earthquake. I’d felt its rumblings, and I’d sounded the
alarms, but no one was listening. And by the time they felt it for themselves,
the world would be crumbling around them and it’d be too late to do anything
about it.
February
12
th:
My
mom called Mr. Laverdier later that night, and she apologized for my behaviors
and for the loss of his wife. She said he couldn’t have been friendlier and
that he graciously accepted her dinner invitation for the following night.
My
stomach spun full circle with her disclosure.
“Mom!
You guys can’t say anything about his office! Please! Please don’t tell him
I’ve been back in his house. He doesn’t know, and he doesn’t need to know! Please,
Mom! Please don’t say anything about it!” The unbridled panic in my words
alarmed her.
“Damian?
What’s wrong?? Why are you so scared of telling him the truth? Why are you so
afraid of this man?”
“I
just am, Mom. Please, PLEASE, PLEASE! Don’t say anything!”
She
looked at me with contemplative concern and searched for the unspoken things I
might be keeping from her. Thankfully, she opted to trust the fear that
plastered my face.
“Okay,
Damian. We won’t. I promise we won’t say a thing about any of that. I’ll speak
to your father, but you
will
apologize to that man when he gets here.”
As
acrid as it would taste coming from my mouth, I had no choice. Given the
options, it was one I’d settle on as the best of the bad.
The
doorbell rang the next night: Sunday at 6:00 PM sharp. I jumped in my skin as I
finished setting the table, knowing who stood on its other side. I hadn’t been
able to speak to Catee since Friday, so we still hadn’t had a chance to set our
stories straight. We couldn’t stumble and admit to things the other hadn’t, and
we couldn’t go implicating each other in things we weren’t suspected of.
“Well, aren’t you going to answer the
door?” Mom yelled from the kitchen as she and Nicole spooned stuffing and
carrots into colorful serving bowls.
“Do
I have to?”
“Damian.”
Her reply was resolute.
With
a hard swallow, I turned to the door, unlatched it hesitantly, and pulled it
open. Like each time before, I was overwhelmed by his presence. Mr. Laverdier
was neatly dressed in what must’ve been a custom suit and tie (they don’t come
off the rack in that size). Its dark color paired well with his dark eyes and
his even darker soul. His large hand extended toward me; his expression was
flat and firm.
“Good
evening, Damian. May we come in?”
I
could see Catee standing behind him, but I couldn’t see her face. Anxious for
that and for nothing else, I shook his hand and invited him inside, simply to
get him out of my way.
I
hardly made eye contact with the fixed glare he delivered, before he released
the too-firm grip he held on my hand and stepped by me.
“Catee!”
I said, in hushed enthusiasm.
“Damian!”
Her arms shot out, and she ran forward to hug me. Mr. Laverdier shot a
prolonged look of disapproval our way before my mom spotted and greeted him
from the kitchen. My dad rounded the corner, adjusting his fresh, after-work
clothes, and reintroduced himself. Immediately, Mr. Laverdier made the
connection, and the two began a lively reminiscence of their first, un-lively
encounter.
“What’s
been happening?” I asked quietly, still standing outside.
“Nothing.
Nothing at all. He’s barely said a word to me; he hasn’t even left the house! I
come out for meals, but that’s it. He said he doesn’t want to look at me right
now. That I’ve got no loyalty. That I make him sick.”
“So,
what? He’s going to keep you locked up forever now?”
“No.
He said I was going back to school tomorrow and that it was my last chance.
That if I mess up again, I’m being shipped off to private school.”
“He
can’t do that!”
“Yes,
he can, Damian. We’re fourteen. Remember? He can do whatever he wants.” The
Catee I was hearing was sounding less and less like the confident girl I’d
first met. Then again, I’d learned enough since then to know that most of
that
girl wasn’t the real Catee at all. The real Catee was the one standing in front
of me—a girl who’d already experienced more than her share, but who’d
learned to show the world someone else.
“Damian,
you and Catee come in here and shut that door!” Mom yelled.
“Come
on. Get in here.” I ushered her in and closed it behind us. And against every
fiber of my being, I sealed her parasitic father inside.
And
with my sanctuary gone, there’d be no escaping him until the evils of his
masterful mind turned biblical verse.
The
entire dinner was picturesque: like, Norman Rockwell perfect. We passed around
dishes and stories were told. There was laughter, mournful moments, and
gratitude exchanged for the delicious, home-cooked meal. But everyone at the
table understood and felt the awkwardness of conversations that lingered at the
edge of discussion. Catee and I, who’d been assigned to opposite sides of the
table, looked at each other with mixed-dread and excited-carnality for what lay
ahead.
And
then my mom introduced Mr. Laverdier to her High and Low sharing. She led off
and described how the Low of her day was leaving her coupon box behind at the
grocery store and losing it forever. Then she shared how Family Dinner was her
High, and that she was grateful to finally be able to meet the family of her
son’s girlfriend.
Her
choice of words made Mr. Laverdier tick. He sneered at Catee, to his left, then
shared the same sentiment with me, across the table. I noticed it and hoped my
family had, too. But, consumed with their meals, they saw and said nothing.
My
sister was next up, and she said something that was quickly lost in the rolling
static of my mind. My dad followed to share that he’d fallen behind at the
garage and that he was barely keeping his head above water. He ended with his
High: that Mike would be picking up some extra hours, and that he’d be able to
pick up some of the slack and take care of their backlogged jobs.
“It’ll
be nice to slow down some and get back to a regular routine. It feels like I’ve
spent every waking moment at the shop, lately. Like I haven’t been able to see
any of my family … like, I’ve been missing out,” he shared. “So my High is that
I’ll be able to get back to normal hours soon, and I’ll be able to spend more
time at home. As a family man, you can understand that, right David?” Dad asked,
luring Mr. Laverdier into discussion.
“I
know exactly what you’re talking about, Darryl.” His methodic reply came
without hesitation. “Ever since my wife Sarah passed away, Catee here’s been my
whole world. It was hard for us when it first happened—even harder when I
got reassigned to Madison General—but we’ve settled pretty nicely here,
and we’re enjoying it quite a bit. Isn’t that right, Catee?” There was only one
acceptable response to his prompt.