when we sat down to dinner that night. Maybe he was eating at Trent’s again. All I knew was, other than snacks he hadn’t been eating at home. He never even got in until right at ten.
“This is delicious,” Dad complimented me.
“It’s not hard to make spaghetti. Ragú did most of the work. All I did was boil some noodles and nuke the sauce.”
“Still , it’s good.” He reached for another piece of garlic toast. “Rob been getting in before curfew?”
“Yes. He has.”
“I didn’t figure it would be a problem. He seems to be pretty responsible.”
“Dad …?”
“Hm?”
“Did he…do you know if his parents had any life insurance?”
“No , they didn’t. Why do you ask?”
“No reason. I just wondered.” Every time I recalled the way Rob had looked at me when he callously claimed he wasn’t sorry, I wondered. How could I not? “What happened to their cars? Did they burn too?”
“No, they went back to the BMW dealership. I think Buck had a bad habit of trying to live above his means.”
“What about homeowners insurance? ”
“Yes, they did have that. The bank required it.”
“Was there anything left over after the bank was paid off?”
“Some, yes. Not a lot. Most of the surplus was spent on funeral arrangements.”
I twirled some spaghetti around on my fork. “Were there many people at the funeral?”
“ Not very many, no.”
“Did his grandparents come? Mrs. Kensington’s parents?”
I saw the clenching of my father’s jaw and knew the answer before he confirmed it. “No. Hard to believe, but they didn’t.”
“ Jesus.” I shook my head in disgust. What parents could be so coldhearted and unforgiving that they couldn’t even be bothered to attend their own daughter’s funeral? That was just sick. People like that shouldn’t be allowed to have kids in the first place.
“Why all the questions about insurance?”
“Just curious.” I turned my head at the sound of the front door opening and closing. Well, well…look who decided to come home early.
Sauntering into the kitchen, Rob honored us with his usual wildly enthusiastic greeting. “Hey.”
“Hey there, son. Grab a plate and join us.”
To my astonishment, he did. He actually fixed himself a plate of food and sat down to eat with us. So, it appeared the rules changed when my dad was around. I guess that shouldn’t have surprised me. You don’t bite the hand that feeds you.
“How was practice?” Dad asked him. “ About ready for your first game?”
“We have a strong team this year. I think we’re definitely ready.”
“ Simpson’s a good coach. I’d never own up to admitting this, but he’s a vast improvement over Weston.”
“ Well, that was before my time but I’ll agree that Simpson’s a good coach. He’s tough but he knows what he’s doing.”
I sat there and listened to them yammering on about football while quietly picking at my food. How was it that Rob could freely converse with my father but he couldn’t find two words to say to me? He had to be the most frustrating person I’d ever dealt with in my entire life. I wanted to grab him by those hard, ripped arms and shake some rationality into him.
After dinner my dad excused himself for the night to catch up on his sleep. He’s always exhausted when he gets home from a shift. I busied myself clearing the table and loading the dishwasher. It didn’t take long and once I was done, I headed into the living room. But something halted me dead in my tracks.
It was Rob. And it wasn’t so much what he was doing, but the way he was doing it.
He was sitting with his legs crossed on the sofa and a cigarette lighter in his hand, one of those old-timey vintage metal ones that flip open at the top. His head was tilted slightly to one side as he gazed hypnotically at the dancing orange-blue flame. Like it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen. He seemed mesmerized by it, lost in it. Completely absorbed in its
“This is delicious,” Dad complimented me.
“It’s not hard to make spaghetti. Ragú did most of the work. All I did was boil some noodles and nuke the sauce.”
“Still , it’s good.” He reached for another piece of garlic toast. “Rob been getting in before curfew?”
“Yes. He has.”
“I didn’t figure it would be a problem. He seems to be pretty responsible.”
“Dad …?”
“Hm?”
“Did he…do you know if his parents had any life insurance?”
“No , they didn’t. Why do you ask?”
“No reason. I just wondered.” Every time I recalled the way Rob had looked at me when he callously claimed he wasn’t sorry, I wondered. How could I not? “What happened to their cars? Did they burn too?”
“No, they went back to the BMW dealership. I think Buck had a bad habit of trying to live above his means.”
“What about homeowners insurance? ”
“Yes, they did have that. The bank required it.”
“Was there anything left over after the bank was paid off?”
“Some, yes. Not a lot. Most of the surplus was spent on funeral arrangements.”
I twirled some spaghetti around on my fork. “Were there many people at the funeral?”
“ Not very many, no.”
“Did his grandparents come? Mrs. Kensington’s parents?”
I saw the clenching of my father’s jaw and knew the answer before he confirmed it. “No. Hard to believe, but they didn’t.”
“ Jesus.” I shook my head in disgust. What parents could be so coldhearted and unforgiving that they couldn’t even be bothered to attend their own daughter’s funeral? That was just sick. People like that shouldn’t be allowed to have kids in the first place.
“Why all the questions about insurance?”
“Just curious.” I turned my head at the sound of the front door opening and closing. Well, well…look who decided to come home early.
Sauntering into the kitchen, Rob honored us with his usual wildly enthusiastic greeting. “Hey.”
“Hey there, son. Grab a plate and join us.”
To my astonishment, he did. He actually fixed himself a plate of food and sat down to eat with us. So, it appeared the rules changed when my dad was around. I guess that shouldn’t have surprised me. You don’t bite the hand that feeds you.
“How was practice?” Dad asked him. “ About ready for your first game?”
“We have a strong team this year. I think we’re definitely ready.”
“ Simpson’s a good coach. I’d never own up to admitting this, but he’s a vast improvement over Weston.”
“ Well, that was before my time but I’ll agree that Simpson’s a good coach. He’s tough but he knows what he’s doing.”
I sat there and listened to them yammering on about football while quietly picking at my food. How was it that Rob could freely converse with my father but he couldn’t find two words to say to me? He had to be the most frustrating person I’d ever dealt with in my entire life. I wanted to grab him by those hard, ripped arms and shake some rationality into him.
After dinner my dad excused himself for the night to catch up on his sleep. He’s always exhausted when he gets home from a shift. I busied myself clearing the table and loading the dishwasher. It didn’t take long and once I was done, I headed into the living room. But something halted me dead in my tracks.
It was Rob. And it wasn’t so much what he was doing, but the way he was doing it.
He was sitting with his legs crossed on the sofa and a cigarette lighter in his hand, one of those old-timey vintage metal ones that flip open at the top. His head was tilted slightly to one side as he gazed hypnotically at the dancing orange-blue flame. Like it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen. He seemed mesmerized by it, lost in it. Completely absorbed in its
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