I hesitate just a second or so before I tap on Mr. Everett’s number. It’s late but I know he’ll answer.
“Ben, is there a problem?” His voice is gruff, like I’ve woken him up.
“Yes, sir. Silas is here at my house. There’s been an accident.”
“Put him on the phone.”
I hold the phone to him. “Hey, Dad. I fucked up.”
His head hangs low as he speaks quietly into the phone, repeating everything we both just learned from Margaret. And just as she predicted, he doesn’t mention her involvement. Then he listens to whatever his dad is saying.
When he ends the call, we sit in silence for a long moment.
“He’s on his way over,” Silas finally says. “Can I get some coffee?”
The adrenaline from the accident and running here probably cleared his head some, but it’s obvious he’s not sober and I’m assuming he wants to be before his dad gets here.
“Sure, give me a minute.”
I head to the kitchen. Our coffeepot is old, but it still manages to make a decent cup. I bring back two, one for me and one for him since it feels like this is going to be a long night. I pass him his along with a couple of painkillers. “Here, take these too.”
He gets up and limps around the room, sipping from his mug, as if even in his drunken state he knows he needs to be prepared for what’s coming.
“Are you injured anywhere other than your forehead and knee?” The last thing I need is Randall Everett’s only son dying in my room from some internal bleeding I can’t see.
“Hell, I don’t know. I hurt everywhere.”
It will take at least twenty minutes for Mr. Everett to get here and that’s only if he doesn’t take time to get dressed.
Silas puts his empty mug on my bedside table and lies back down on my bed. “I’m never getting out of Corbeau now.”
I’m in my desk chair so I swivel around when he says this. “What do you mean?”
“I fucked up. Dad’s gonna fix it. And then he’ll hold it over me forever.” His words are so quiet I almost don’t hear them. And then he passes out.
While he sleeps it off, I pace my room. The longer it takes for Mr. Everett to get here, the more nervous I get.
Finally, my phone beeps with a text, alerting me he’s outside. I walk to the bed, and it takes me forcing Silas into a sitting position to wake him up.
“Your dad’s here.”
Silas follows me into the hall, steadier than he was when he got here but still not clearheaded.
Randall is waiting for us on my small front porch. The lights are off but there’s enough moonlight to just make out his features. He stares at us both, and for some reason it feels like I’m in trouble too.
Mr. Everett scans the front of my house, and I try to picture it through his eyes. He’s known where I’ve lived since I started dating Camille, but he’s never been here before. It’s a far cry from their house right outside of town. The first time I saw their place was on a field trip in eighth grade, when our social studies class was studying Louisiana history. TheEveretts gave our class a tour of their farm and explained how sugarcane grows and is harvested. Their house was the biggest one I’d ever seen.
I know he hates that I’m witnessing this, knowing he’ll fix it. Because if there’s one thing I’m a hundred percent sure of, it’s that he will fix this.
He steps closer to Silas and grabs his chin, tilting his head back to get a better look at him. “Do you need stitches?”
“No, sir.” The sharp tone and attitude he had with Margaret are long gone.
“His knee may need to be looked at.”
Mr. Everett doesn’t spare me a glance as he inspects Silas further.
“What a fucking mess,” he mutters. He steps back, the disgust on his face clear. “Who else is aware of what happened tonight other than you and Ben?”
