Chapter 22
When I get back to the house, I see the disgruntled look on Philip’s face. He is sitting at the kitchen table with his parents, Jim and Barbara. Everybody is deep in thought.
They sit in unpleasant silence.
It is as if I am invisible on the other side of the glass door; I go unnoticed, standing in the threshold, watching the three of them in painful reprieve.
Philip’s mother Barbara reaches for her son’s hand. Philip pulls slowly back in his chair, fretting like a small child being scolded. His eyes narrow as he stares down at the floor. He folds his arms across his chest, the fabric of his T-shirt stretching tightly along his shoulders.
I can hear the indignant tone in Jim’s voice. “We didn’t come here to be treated this way.”
Philip looks up at his dad. “I didn’t invite
