Bedtime Story by Robert J. Wiersema Page A

wrote four pages on the novel this morning?” I tried to keep the defensive tone out of my voice; it didn’t work.
    He nodded slowly. “Okay.”
    “Seriously, it’s fine.”
    He made a point of waiting until I had started looking at my menu before speaking. “I just wonder …” He let the words trail off as he buried his nose in his own menu. It seemed like he was distracted, but I knew better.
    “Wonder what?” There was no point in resisting; it had been almost twenty years, and Dale always ended up saying what he wanted to say.
    “Have you considered the possibility that it’s time for a new start?”
    I shook my head. “I can’t,” I said. “There are too many people waiting for it. And I’ve already spent the advance.”
    “That’s interesting,” he said, still poring over the menu.
    “What?” I asked, resigned.
    He lowered the menu. “I think it’s interesting that neither of those reasons were about the book itself. They were all about obligation and expectations and money. Not about the book. Nothing about how good it was, or how strongly you felt about it. Not a bit of passion.”
    He shrugged and closed the menu.
    I wanted to argue with him, but he had me dead to rights and we both knew it. “Yeah,” I sighed.
    “I wasn’t talking about the book, though,” he continued. “I was talking about you and Jacqui. And my guess is that if I asked you if it was time to make a more permanent change with Jacqui, you’d give me exactly the same sort of answer. Expectations. Obligation. Money.” He shrugged. “That’s all.”
    He had timed it perfectly: before I could respond our server had arrived at the table, her wide smile at odds with the words in my mind.
    By the time David looked up from his Nintendo to see them coming across the field toward him, they were already between him and the school. With the fence at his back there was nowhere for him to run. He blinked slowly and shook his head: nothing he could do now but take it.
    He was thankful that he had time to tuck his Nintendo into his hoodie before they got close enough to notice.
    “Sitting out here with all your friends?” Darren called as they grew closer. It was him and three others, the usual crew. The three laughed at the joke, one of Darren’s favourite lines.
    David didn’t know if he should respond or not. Sometimes it was better if he said something, sometimes it was better if he kept quiet—there was no way to know for sure.
    He kept his eyes low as they approached, watching Darren’s shoelaces flopping on the grass, the cuffs of his pants dragging.
    “Hey, loser, I was talking to you.”
    Clearly not saying anything wasn’t the right choice.
    “Are you deaf, too?”
    As David lifted his eyes to where Darren stood looming over him, the boy kicked at his lunch bag, knocking the plastic container that had held his sandwich several feet away.
    “Aw, did your mommy pack your lunch?” His friends laughed.
    Trying to control his breath, David stood up. It was a no-win situation: if he stayed sitting he wouldn’t be able to get away if Darren decided to kick him too. But standing up put him in range of his fists.
    “Did you hear me, loser? I asked if your mommy packed your lunch.”
    David shook his head, not daring to meet his eye. “No. My dad—”
    “Aw, his daddy made his lunch. Isn’t that sweet?” Guffaws from the hyenas behind him.
    Darren shoved him first, almost knocking him off his feet. “Where’s your daddy now?” he asked.
    As David righted himself, he came within arms’ reach of one of the other boys, who shoved him again.
    They kept him spinning, off balance. David did his best to close his eyes, hoping they would get bored soon and stop.
    Dale and I had gone to school together our whole lives, but it wasn’t until our first year at UVic that we got to know each other. We lived in buildings in the same quad, a bleak expanse of sharp angles and brutal concrete. A perfect place for warehousing