I pick up the receiver. “This is Evan…”
“Mr. Waters, this is Mr. Gunderson, superintendent of—”
“I know who you are,” I cut him off. In fact, I’m way more familiar with the superintendent of Ternbay High School than I’d like to be. “What’d he do this time?” I sigh.
“I’m concerned about your son’s truancy,” he cuts right to the chase.
I skim my hand through my hair, no longer caring about the grease due to frustration. “Colton’s not there again today?”
“You seem surprised by this,” Gunderson replies dryly.
“Well, I did talk to himagainabout his absences, and he was up and looked like he was getting ready for school when I left for work this morning. I apologize, I have to earn a living. I can’t babysit him and make sure he actually goes to school when he tells me he is.”
Roger snorts, but doesn’t look up from his paperwork. Which he does by hand, because, like his cell phone aversion, he also hates computers. Claims that’s how they ‘hack and track the sheeple of America.’ While I do worry about the things my smart devices listen in on, I wouldn’t go so far as to toss my Alexa into the drink.
“Mr. Waters, your son is toeing a thin line. He can only miss one more day before we have to discuss more punitive action. This has been ongoing fortwo yearsnow,” Gunderson continues.
“I’ll talk to him again. Not sure what else I can do,” I offer, though I know I’d probably get a similar response from rehashing this topic with Colton as I would a brick wall. He’s two months away from school being out for summer. I’m sure it’ll go in one ear and out the other.
Gunderson gives me a disbelieving hum back, before disconnecting the call.
Roger chuckles dryly when I set the receiver back on the hook. “Your boy likes spray paintin’ shit, doesn’t he?” he asks.
My brows furrow in confusion.
“Heard on the police scanner that, not too long ago, buncha hooligans out graffitiing up dumpsters behind the Portside.”
“Fuckin’ a, not again,” I grumble. This would make the third time in as many months that Colton and the band of punks he likes to hang out with have gotten caught vandalizing shit. Why they keep targeting Portside Pub, I have no friggin’ clue, but I wish he’d just stay the hell away from Gordy Masterson and his bar most of all.
The last thing I need is that asshole’s attention on me all over again. It was bad enough I had it back in high school. Now that my son is bothering his business, I’m sure it’ll just keep our feud going. As it stands now, Gordy and I grunt at each other by means of a greeting, and I make sure to flip him off behind his back, whenever I pay patronage to his establishment—which I do only because that’s where all the locals gather for drinks and gossip.
If I want to spend any time with my father or brother at all, I can usually find them there, hanging out with the old cronies crew.
As if on cue, Deputy O’Reilly of the Ternbay PD hauls Colton into the shop. I’m also pretty familiar with this cop, and not just because Ternbay’s a small, seaside village either. It’s for the same reason I’m on a regular check-in basis with Mr. Gunderson.
“Colton Matthew Waters,” I growl at him, “whythe hellaren’t you in school today?”
He shrugs out of O’Reilly’s hold, giving him a scathing glare. Kid looks just like his friggin’ mother when he’s pissed. A look I was all too familiar with, in the end.
“Didn’t feel like it,” he mutters casually, toying with some of the ratchets in my open toolbox.
“Last warning,” is all O’Reilly has to say, before he spins on his heel and exits the shop.
Truthfully, Colton has had several ‘last warnings’ too many. I probably should have thanked O’Reilly for giving me another shot to try parenting my kid better. Thing is, I’m struggling. I’ve been struggling with him for a while, even before two years ago, when I became a widower and was forced to do this on my own.
Now, I fear I’m always one ‘last warning’ away, before I truly lose my shit and go off the rails. I just don’t know what to do with him anymore. Colton has progressively gotten more and more distant from me since Miranda’s passing.
My son and I used to be best buds. Now he treats me like I’m his mortal enemy most of the time.
“He can’t hang out here in the shop,” Roger reminds me.
“Let me run him home real quick. I’ll be back in fifteen, twenty minutes.”
“You leave, and you won’t be able to come back.” Roger finally looks up from his paperwork and narrows his eyes at me. “Can’t keeplettin’ ya make your own schedule, in and out whenever your kid goes runnin’ amuck.”
I glance over at Colton, who is surveying the shop like he hasn’t got a care in the world. “Rog, I only need to bring him up to the school. If I let him walk out of here now, he’s just going to fuck off for the rest of the afternoon and not go to class. I’ll only be a few minutes; dock it on my lunch break or something.”
Roger sets his pen down, sighs dramatically, and then pinches the bridge of his nose while shaking his head. “And tomorrow you’ll be skipping out again to do the same thing. I can’t keep doing this, Waters. We’ve got a line of boats here clear to the moon. I need you here, or I need to hire someone more reliable.”
