Kenton joined me at the lamp and helped me pull strings of dust off the top of the lampshade. I prayed Roger wouldn’t be in a terrible mood. But I could tell by the force that his car keys hit the bowl on the writing ledge that he most likely wasn’t in the best mood. Shortly behind the keys being tossed, the lunch bag was dropped on the ledge. I focused on the lampshade and didn’t allow myself to turn and look at him. It was when he was in moods like this that he liked to be combative. And unfortunately, it was never just verbally combative.
“Honey, go change so we can eat and get everyone situated before Mr. Christos gets here. I set your navy polo out.”
“Damn. You’d think wearing a polo was like a death sentence,” Kenton mumbled after Roger disappeared down the hall.
Kenton and I finished in the living room just a few minutes before dinner was ready. We went into the kitchen and helped Troy and Ben carry the glasses of water to the table. Just about all of us were seated at the table when Robbie and Zack hurried in.
“Did you boys get your homework done?” Pam asked them as they flopped onto their chairs.
“Yep!” Zack exclaimed. Zack and Robbie both had to attend summer school for tutoring in math.
“The living room looks good,” Roger said to Kenton and me. I smiled, and just as I opened my mouth to say thank you, Roger added, “I don’t know why you guys can’t clean up the living room every night.”
Ah, yes, of course. His signature backhanded compliment. He was notorious for drawing in one of us with what appearedlike a compliment. Then as soon as he had us eating out of his hand, he’d sucker punch the idiot who thought he was simply being nice. I prayed he wouldn’t be like that in front of Atlas Christos.
“Rog, stop. Eat instead of antagonizing them,” Pam admonished him for busting our balls.
“What? Is it too much to ask that they help on more of a regular basis?” Roger asked. He dipped his spoon into his soup while shooting death stares at Kenton and me. The rest of us stayed quiet and ate without raising our heads much while the awkward conversation between Pam and Roger continued.
“They do help when they’re not working or studying.”
“They’re on summer break.”
“Not for much longer, and Ryder works two jobs outside of the house.”
“He could work three if he didn’t waste time watching homeless people play flutes and shit.”
“They’re not homeless,” I mumbled. Roger’s hand quickly reached out and hit me on the side of my head, causing Pam to screech.
“Don’t do that in front of this man tonight, Rog,” she warned. My ear burned, but I didn’t give Roger the satisfaction of seeing me in any discomfort.
“Well, they could help out more often around here. It’s the least they could do to show their appreciation?—”
“Rog—”
And here it comes…the reminder of how much they do for us.
“We clothe them. Feed them. We put a goddamn roof over their heads, and it takes a school messenger to get them to help?”
“Roger!” Pam slapped the table, making the silverware and plates clang. “Not tonight!”
Silence hung heavy around the table. No one spoke or looked at Roger. He wasn’t one to take shit lying down, though, or let Pam have the last word.
“The state says once they turn eighteen, we don’t have to keep them?—”
“Roger!”
“Don’t have to let them stay here,” he added for good measure, to make sure I got the drift of what he was saying.
And I got it. It was something I knew already.
They didn’t have to let me stay here anymore.
They didn’t have to feed me anymore.
They didn’t have to buy me any clothes.
They didn’t have to let me worry about potentially being kicked out on my ass. But they did. Well, Roger did. He used it as leverage.
