FIVE YEARS EARLIER
I hear their voices from the kitchen before I’m even downstairs. It’s late and I should be in bed by now, but I can’t sleep yet. I’ve only just finished up in the bathroom, cleaning up the cut on my shoulder and popping some more painkillers. What I really want, though, is some ice.
Every single light in the house is off except for the glow that shines through the open crack of the kitchen door. Silently, I edge down the staircase one step at a time. I just checked on Jamie and Chase, and they’re both asleep and snoring, so I keep quiet not only so my parents don’t discover me creeping around, but so that I don’t wake my brothers.
I drift down the hall toward the kitchen door and when I reach it, I lean back against the wall and squint through the open crack. I’m holding my breath, because I’m scared they’ll hear me if I breathe.
“Can’t you just replace him internally?” Mom is asking, frowning at Dad as he paces back and forth across the kitchen. She looks tired and she’s wearing sweatpants, her hair tied back and her makeup already washed off. “Give one of your other guys a promotion?”
“Replace Evan Kroger?” Dad says, abruptly coming to a halt. He stares back across the kitchen at her, his eyes wild. He’s still wearing his shirt and tie, though it’s loosened around his neck. He reaches up to undo the top buttons of his shirt too. “None of my other guys are capable, Ella. How the fuck can Evan just walk out like that? No damn warning!” He shakes his head in aggravation. “Now the Seattle office doesn’t have a project manager two days before we break ground on our biggest project of the year. We’re fucked.”
Through the dark, I roll up the sleeve of my T-shirt and glance down at my arm. Just below my shoulder, a new set of bruises is developing. I wasn’t sure what I did wrong tonight, but now I know why he was so mad. Something has gone badly wrong at work.
“Stop cursing,” Mom says. I drop my sleeve and peer through the crack in the door again. She is looking at Dad with sympathy now. She’s always there for him. “You’ll figure it out, Peter. You always do.”
“I’m sorry,” Dad murmurs with a sigh. “But goddamn it!” The muscle in his jaw twitches as he spins around, slamming his fist down against the countertop. I haven’t seen him this furious in a while. He leans back against the counter, his head hung low, rubbing his temples and exhaling deeply.
Mom walks over to him and wraps her arms around his back, burying her face into his chest as though to offer him some comfort and reassurance. “You’re just stressed. Relax,” she whispers, tilting her chin up and pressing her lips to the corner of his jaw. She kisses his mouth too.
Yeah, I figured he was stressed two hours ago when he came home late from work and stormed into my room. He didn’t like that I was watching TV, even though I’d done all of my homework.
“I should probably catch a flight up there tomorrow to figure out how much of a mess Evan has left me with,” Dad says with a groan. He rests his arms over Mom’s shoulders and pulls her in closer against him, looking down at her with an apologetic smile. “Will you manage with the kids on your own? If not, I can ask my parents to watch them after school in the afternoons until you get out of the office. Is that okay? I don’t have to go if you don’t want me to. I can manage it over phone calls.”
“I don’t have any court appearances until Monday, so I’ll just work on my cases here. I’ll take care of everything,” Mom reassures him. “Go to Seattle, Peter.”
Dad heaves a sigh of relief and presses his forehead down against Mom’s, cupping her jaw in his hands and weaving his fingers into her hair. The smile he gives her is full of warmth and gratitude. “You’re my lifesaver,” he murmurs, and just as he is about to kiss her, his eyes dart over her shoulder and his gaze lands on me. He abruptly leans back from Mom, but doesn’t let go of her. “Tyler,” he says, raising his voice. His tone is hard; his features harder. “You should be asleep. Go back upstairs and get to bed.”
Mom cranes her neck to look back at me, and despite the smile she gives me, I think even she’s annoyed at the interruption. I can hear the strain in her voice when she asks, “What’s up, Tyler?”
They’ve spotted me now. I can’t turn and run at this point, so I push open the kitchen door further and take a single step into the room. Dad is glaring at me, so I focus only on Mom. “I’m . . . I’m thirsty,” I lie. My throat is dry, sure, but not because I need a drink. “Can I get some water? With ice, please.”
“Sure,” Mom says, and she pulls away from Dad’s embrace and walks over to the sink.
The kitchen falls into a tense silence as Mom fetches a glass and turns on the faucet. Dad is still leaning back against the countertop, gripping the edge of it with both hands, and his eyes are fixed on me. With Mom’s back turned, I can see him looking me up and down, searching for his mistakes. Uncomfortable under his scrutiny, I reach for the sleeve of my T-shirt again and try to pull it down lower. I drop my eyes to the floor, listening to the sound of the faucet running, and then the crushing of ice from the ice machine that’s built into our refrigerator.
“Here you go,” Mom says, walking back over to me. She slides the glass into my hand and raises an eyebrow at me with a small nod. “Now goodnight, Tyler. You’ve got school in the morning.” She kisses my forehead and I turn around, water in hand, and leave the kitchen. I can’t look at Dad again before I walk out, and I even pull the door closed again behind me, leaving that same small crack.
I take a few steps down the hall then come to a halt. Before it can melt, I stick my hand into the glass of water and grab some of the ice. It’s freezing cold and it numbs my fingertips, but I’m desperate. I glance back over my shoulder one last time before I head upstairs. Mom is against Dad again, her arms around his neck, his mouth against hers, his hands on her hips. They stumble. I close my eyes and turn away, and as I make my way back upstairs to my room, I pull back my sleeve and press the ice against the fresh bruises on my arm that Dad’s fingers have left behind.