Nathan doesn’t even turn around. “I can do whatever I want, Jake. I’m not under his thumb anymore. I don’t have to follow orders.”
“For Mom’s sake.”
“I’m sorry about Mom. I guess she’s a casualty of all of this. You’re a soldier, right? You know all about casualties. Do yourself a favor and get out of the Army before you become one too.”
His attitude disgusts me. “Grow up, Nate. Go back in there and face Mom. Tell her you’re sorry.”
“Ha,” Angel sniffs, “you grow up, soldier boy. Playing with guns, trying to play hero in a place where we don't belong.”
I turn on her. “You stay out of this. This isn’t your business anyway.”
“Don’t talk to her that way,” Nathan snaps. “I should have known you'd take his side. You’re just like him, Jake. You’ve always been Daddy’s little soldier. I’m done with this. Go ahead and get yourself blown up too. Don’t expect me to cry over it.”
Angel wraps her arm around him, and I watch them walk away and get into his car. I’m too hurt and too furious to do anything to stop him.
thirty-eight
Walking Out
Mom is leaning over the sink, peeling potatoes, silently continuing the business of making Christmas dinner even though Steve and I are the only ones who are going to eat it. She tried so hard to make this work. She made all of our favorites, homemade stuffing for me, candied yams for Steve, orange rolls for Nate, some vegetarian tofu thing for Angel. Even lemon meringue pie for Gage.
I put my hand on her shoulder. “Can I help, Mom?”
She shakes her head, but I pick up a potato and start slicing it into the kettle.
She sighs. “You didn’t feel that way, did you, Jacob? Like you didn’t have a dad. Mark was a bad choice. I knew that almost from the beginning. I shouldn’t have married him, but Steve. Steve has been a good dad, hasn’t he?”
I think about the difference between my bio dad, Mark, and Steve. Mark was fun to visit, fun to hang out with. He had every game systemavailable. He always drove a nice car, even though I knew he didn’t pay what he was supposed to in child support. He was like a favorite uncle who never took any responsibility, the kind of guy you outgrow pretty fast.
Steve was tough on us, but he loved us. I knew that. He was gone all the time, but when he could, he took us hunting, camping, played catch with us in the yard and basketball in the driveway. He helped coach my little league team and later Gage’s. Nathan didn’t play sports and didn’t like hunting or camping. They never had much in common. Maybe that’s why he feels the way he does.
I set the knife down and put my hands on my mom’s shoulders. “You and Steve are great parents. I’m lucky to have both of you. Nathan’s just hurting. He needs someone to blame. He’ll come around.” Even as I say it, I wish I could make myself believe it.
Steve clears his throat from the corner of the room. I didn’t see him come in. “Thanks for that, Jacob.”
I turn to face him as he pulls me into a hug. “You’re welcome, Sir.”
Mom surveys the piles of leftovers. “Maybe there’s some homeless shelter or soup kitchen where we can donate this.” Steve and I ate as much as we could with no appetite. Mom just picked at her plate.
Steve is in hs chair, passed out after drinking too much, something I haven’t seen him do in years. Mom and I are cleaning up the dinner that took all day to prepare and less than ten silent minutes to eat.
“Maybe we should have had the Roberts over for Christmas.”
“The Roberts?” My interest is immediately piqued.
“Juli and I talked about it—doing Christmas together this year. We thought maybe it would have been easier. Probably not with Nate around.” She throws the dishrag into the sink. “How are they doing anyway?”
“Okay,” I answer.Better than us.
“Is Tyler doing better?” She moves into the living room and sinks down on the couch.
I abandon the dishes and follow her. “I guess so. He’s going back to school after Christmas break, and Mrs. Robets is going back to work.”
“That’s good.” Mom brushes her hair out of her face. She looks so tired. I wonder if I can convince her to take a nap. “What about Jess? How is she doing?”
I study the carpet. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen her.”
“You haven’t seen her?” Mom repeats in disbelief.
