September 2006

“She’s just a colleague,” their father snapped defensively, his voice muffled by the kitchen door. “There’s nothing going on between us!”

“Don’t lie to me,” their mother returned angrily, her voice edged with tears. “How long have you been seeing her?”

“I’m not seeing anyone!”

She scoffed in disbelief.

“We have been married for thirteen years, Ryan,” she shouted. “How could you do this to me, to the kids?”

“I haven’t done anything, Colleen,” he yelled. “You’re overreacting!”

“Our daughter saw you with her,” her voice cracked again. “Don’t tell me I’m overreacting!”

Michael cringed, able to hear everything over the music Lena had put on in the living room. Their parents had been fighting since the day after her party, when their father had come home smelling like expensive perfume and wine. The collar and cuffs of his wrinkled white shirt had been smeared with shiny pink lipstick.

“Why would Daddy cheat?” 

Lena sat on her knees at the coffee table, drawing with Zach and Brianna. She only stuck with dark colors like that when she was scared or worried. He winced, wishing he hadn’t explained to her what was going on.

“I couldn’t tell you,” he paused his game. 

Unless I wanted you to break down crying, he added silently. He watched her make random dots across the page before capping her marker. She capped the others scattered across the table and dropped them in the box in the middle.

“Doesn’t he love Mom anymore?”

“I’m sure he does,” he shut off the GameCube; an afternoon of Luigi’s Mansion had lost its appeal. “He just made a really dumb choice.”

He got up from the floor and went to the arts-and-crafts rack, grabbing a pencil and a few sheets of paper. Lena scooted closer when he sat at the coffee table, watching as he filled the first page with sketches. He drew himself with oversized glasses and a big smile, flashing two victory signs. She giggled when he started one of their father—fat and bald with bloated cheeks and squinting eyes.

The pencil skipped across the page when the kitchen door banged open, their father storming out and almost stepping on Kyle. Their brother had a habit of being in just the right place for that. Their mother stopped in the doorway, her fingers white on the jamb.

“And where do you think you’re going?” she demanded. He glared at her.

“A motel, where do you think?” he spat back. “And I’m not coming home until you’ve calmed the fuck down!”

She gasped. It wasn’t the first time he’d sworn in front of them, just the first she’d been around to hear it. He grabbed his keys from the rack in the entryway and slammed the door behind him. She didn’t follow, instead twisting back into the kitchen. She shut the light door so hard that it popped back open. Michael turned to Lena, hating the wide-eyed terror on her face, her fist closed so tightly on the tabletop that her nails had cut into her palm. He tried not to look at the blood standing out against the light wood.

“Something bad’s going to happen, isn’t it, Michael?” she asked. He just shook his head, hoping she wasn’t right.