The day rolls along, and, on the surface, everything seems fine. Dad and I get haircuts, and then go to pick up the tuxedos he, Craig, and I will be wearing for the ceremony. Craig is in and out, running errands. Both he and my father juggle phone calls from the caterer, family members, and friends. Later that evening, Craig grills burgers for us all out on the patio. There’s no yelling, no broken glass, no doors slamming, but something’s wrong. I can feel it. Craig seems jumpy, and my father seems agitated.
When Dad sends me into the house with the dinner leftovers, I eavesdrop on his and Craig’s conversation.
“Craig, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I just have a lot on my mind at the moment.”
“Are you still mad about last night?”
“No.”
“You seem upset.”
“I’m not.”
“Do you want a Valium?
