I try reading to him again. This time, he’s quiet as he sits beside me, but there’s no reaction. He’s not deaf, I know that, but his eyes don’t follow as I point out words in the early reader, and there’s no interaction.
He needs professional help,which my dad would never allow.
I’ve heard Mom pittering around for a while, but she never comes in to check on us, for which I’m glad.
When he starts to get antsy, I know he’s hungry, but at least Mom calls us in for dinner before he gets anxious. This time, we get to eat the same things as she and Dad do – a pot roast that leaves nothing to complain about, potatoes, and vegetables. I don’t draw attention to the minuscule portion she offers me, and watch fondly as Trip carefully separates his food so none of the items on his plate are touching each other.
Dad shows his distaste with a roll of his eyes, but he says nothing to disturb the peace.
Mostly we eat in silence, but I comment on how nice the food is. Dad counters by saying it’s acceptable, and Trip, obviously, stays quiet.
After we’ve eaten, I do the dishes, then I join the rest of them in the family room. Trip seems tired and sits quietly while a sitcom plays on the television.
At exactly the right time, Trip gets up from his chair and goes up to his room to bed. Mom reminds him to clean his teeth and wash his hands, but there’s no doubt he’ll do his chores. It’s part of his routine.
Once he’s out of the way, Dad stands and beckons toward me. Interpreting his non-verbal request, I follow him into the hallway. He’s already at the door to his office, standing aside and leaving it open.
My heart leaps into my mouth, and my hands begin to sweat. I’ve received many of his “corrections” inside. I long to stand up to him, to fight back, but he’s got brawn, muscle, and height on his side as he towers over me. I’ve no option but to do as he asks.
He closes the door as he enters and immediately grabs hold of my hair, slamming my head down onto his desk, taking careit’s the side of my skull that hits the wood, which won’t leave a mark, only a lump that could be felt but not seen.
Even though I was expecting him to be rough, the suddenness had taken me by surprise, and still tender from his attentions last night, for a moment, I’m dazed.
He pulls me up by my hair, tugging hard to make me wince, but I know better than to cry out. Using his hold, he forces me to face him.
“Those fucking bikers know about Trip.”
I’ve been fearing this all day. Dad’s so ashamed of his son that no one knows he exists. He’s enrolled in no school. Dad keeps him up to date on his vaccinations, treats his ailments himself, and discourages visitors from coming to the house.
“They won’t say anything, Dad,” I try to reassure him. “As you told them, it’s your business, not theirs, and has no bearing on you providing them with medical care.”
“They know about him,” he repeats. “I don’t fucking know how, but somehow, you’re to blame, Bronwyn. Why the hell did they come to the house when I could have gone to them?” His eyes narrow. “Where the fuck did you go last night?”
“Nowhere,” I cry out the lie. “I was just driving around.”
“Then why the fuck did they come here all worried about you?”
Because they were worried and they were checking up on me?But that seems ridiculous. No one cares much about me. I dismiss it as a coincidence and try to reason with him. “Short came off his bike somewhere nearby. They obviously thought it was quicker to come here.”
He wrenches my hair once again, making the roots scream. “It’s your fault, Bronwyn. Everything’s your fault. You know why we don’t want anyone to know about Trip.”
I do, and I hate it. “You having a son means nothing to them.”
He releases me so fast, I stagger and almost fall to the floor. “Trip was a fuckin’ mistake.” He stares at me, a look of disgust coming into his eyes. “And you? You’ve grown. You’re a woman now, fat and ugly, and too stupid to have a proper medical career like me.”
“I’m nearing completion of my studies to become a registered nurse?—”
“Nurse? Any child of mine should have become a doctor. But you’re too stupid. You’re almost as dumb as Trip.”
I’d like to point out the common denominator is him, but I’m not as brainless as he assumes, so I keep quiet.
Again, without warning, he goes for me, his fist shooting straight into my stomach before I have a chance to prepare. He didn’t pull his punch. All the air leaves my lungs, and I gasp for breath. Not finished, he pushes me hard, and I fall to the floor, hitting my head on his desk as I go down for good measure.
“You’re fuckin’ useless to me. Get out of my sight.” Dazed, I pull myself to my feet, I start to move toward the door when he calls out, “I don’t want you anywhere near those bikers again. Whatever you say, I’m sure them coming here had something to do with you.”
There’s no reasoning with him when he’s in this kind of mood, so without comment, I open the door, slide out, then hurry up to my room.
Cradling my stomach with one hand, while the other searches for lumps on my head, I crash onto my bed and cry silently into my pillow. I just want to escape this house, run away, and start over.But I can’t without Trip.While I’m here, I’m a buffer between Dad and him. If I left, there’s no knowing what he might do.
