Things Unsaid: A Novel by Diana Y. Paul Page B

On cold winter nights like that night, he could count on all his friends being there, eating hot dogs and checking out the girls before going out on the ice to slide and glide in front of them.
    He was a sophomore at Hoban High at the time. License still warm in his hand from passing his driver’s test, Andrew had wanted to take out the Bermuda-pink Thunderbird with its porthole window. His father had special-ordered the sports car and it was only one week old. No one in Akron, that he knew of, had such a car. Not even the O’Neills.They had boring, fussy cars—old people cars. But the Thunderbird … all the girls would see him driving it and want his number. And then maybe he wouldn’t be so bored. Akron was for old people—never anything to do.
    “Trust me, Dad. I’ll take real good care of your new car,” Andrew pleaded. He hated how his voice sounded—unnaturally high, childish, even girlish. Ever since the priests at the Church of the Holy Innocents school had forced him to wear a pink hair bow for a week as punishment for chasing a ball onto the girls’ side of the playground, he worked extra hard to make sure nothing about him was girlie. His dad sympathized with him, at least. Like father, like son. After all, his dad told him he had been forced to wear pink hair bows as a kid, too. Little Barbie.
    “My car still smells new. Why can’t you take Mommy’s?” His father always called their mom ‘Mommy,’ except when other people were around, in which case he called her “Mother.” His best friend’s dad did the same thing. Always felt a bit weird. Like his father hadn’t grown up yet. Andrew hoped he would be a doctor. Or a dentist, if he couldn’t get into medical school. But he would never call his wife—assuming he got married—“Mommy.”
    Andrew knew his father would be proud of his driving skills. They had practiced in empty parking lots all summer. He knew how to be like his father: a good driver. He sensed he asked for too much sometimes. This might be one of those times. Jules had never gotten to drive their father’s new car. But his father always claimed boys could do lots of things better than girls … like driving.
    “Well …” his father said.
    “I don’t know why I don’t get to drive Daddy’s T-bird first,” Jules protested. “I’ve had my license for over a year!” She gave Andrew a pleading look. “Can I at least come with you?”
    Never disappoints
, Andrew thought, shooting a glare at her. He could always count on his sister to tag along. But she could be a passenger, if that would help him get what he wanted. He could put up with almost anything if he could get the hell out of that stifling house. Nothing could be more pitiful than staying at home with the old folks.
    His father was relenting. As usual.
    “Come on, Dad. Where are the keys?” Andrew asked, all hulked uplike a quarterback in his dark quilted ski jacket. “We want to get out of here.” It was a done deal, he knew it. The T-bird was his for the night. Free at last.
    His father reached into his pocket and threw the keys hard.
Nice, Dad
. Andrew just shrugged without blinking, catching the keys square and solid in his fist. His dad always seemed angry at him—at everyone in the family, actually, and he didn’t know why. Outsiders thought his dad was mild mannered. Andrew knew better. Still, he wanted to be more like his dad. Guys had a special way of bonding.
    He ran out of the kitchen and Jules, grabbing her jacket, ran after him.
She better not hang on after we get there
, he thought. Just at the flashpoint of changing his mind and leaving her behind, he decided he needed to escape fast before their father changed his mind. So he didn’t stop her from getting in the passenger seat. But he wanted to.
    As soon as they were well out of sight of the house, Andrew accelerated with a vengeance. Skidding block after block downhill towards Forest Lodge, swerving from one side to the other on Crestview