The Unbroken Circle

Chapter 5

Chapter 5My dad was standing over my bed, his sympathetic stare searching, and he was asking if I was ready for dinner.

“Are you feeling all right, Jay?” He was still hovering, glaring at me as if I had a massive pimple on my face, or he was trying to read my deep, dark thoughts. His coffee breath nauseated me. I covered my face to hide my disgust.

I closed my eyes, wishing he’d be gone by the time I opened them again. No luck. I smelled his spicy aftershave, wiggled my nose, and had the urge to sneeze.

Like a pack of wolves, a wind howled beyond my bedroom, taking me away from the moment. Fleetingly.

In the semi-darkness, my gaze settled on the gaunt outline of my father’s pokerfaced expression.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He moved my leg out of the way so he could sit at the foot of the bed.

“Not especially.”

“Don’t be that way.”

“Dad, please, I’m not in the mood.”

“I’m not in the mood either right now to hear your grumbling. Now, come on.” He rested his hand on my leg. “It’s been a long day for your mother. She’s exhausted from standing in front of a classroom filled with college students who were more interested in texting and watching movies on their laptops than learning anything educational about ancient Greek mythology.” He tapped my leg, a firm hand on my lower right calf. “Besides, she’s excited to unveil a masterpiece she had slaved over for hours since she got home this afternoon.”

A masterpiece: code for healthy food, which my sour stomach wouldn’t digest. I wasn’t hungry, not even for greasy fries and a cheeseburger.

I sat up. “I’m going to make a call, Dad. I’ll be down in a minute.”

“Of course.” He slapped my foot, stood, but lingered.

I turned to him. “What?”

“Lose the attitude, Jay. Don’t keep Mom waiting. You know how she gets when you’re late for dinner.”

At the door, my dad turned and said, “Jay, please. No more than ten minutes.”

“Dad.” My voice was tinny and whiny.

“Being together as a family means the world to your mother. To me too.” He paused, waited for me to say something, and when I didn’t respond, he added, “We’re going to miss you when you leave for college, son.”

I rolled my eyes, a habit my parents found annoying. I grunted, and stabbed the keypad on my cell to dial Rocco’s house.

My father sighed, gripped the doorknob, and left the room, his head shaking in annoyance.

After he shut the door, I punched in Rocco’s number on my cell and let it ring long enough that I’d have to leave a message because I knew how much Rocco detested talking on the phone.

Six, seven, eight rings later—

Then a baritone voice answered, his tone deep, slurred, barely discernible, “Yeah,” Rocco said, annoyed, as if I’d roused him from his usual afterschool nap.

My heart skipped. I cleared my throat. “Rocco?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you all right? You sound like you’re dying.”

“I probably should be.”

“Don’t say that, man.”

“You know how much I hate the phone.”

I sucked in a deep breath. “You sound weird.”

“You woke me.”

“Sorry.”

A pause. “No prob.”

“I’m just calling to see if you want to come over to dinner.”

“Now? It’s—” I heard him fumbling for something on the other end. “Five thirty?”

“I know. My mother made some kind of masterpiece. I thought maybe we could get sick together.”

He snickered. “Masterpiece? Sounds like some strange mystery food.”

I laughed. “Yeah, something like that. What time can you get here?”