Yield (7 page)

“
Like it
’
s a secret,
”
Haley scoffs. The teenager glares at her mother, disrespect filling her eyes for trying to hide something so obvious.

“
Well, he isn
’
t anymore. Okay?
”
Katherine
’
s words stammer out of her in weak defense, not sure who needs more convincing.
“
We
’
re past that. He
’
s going to those meetings now. Your dad has a support group and everything. It
’
s over.
”

“
Right. And I
’
m sure those always work.
”

Years of muted remorse and lies twist Katherine
’
s face.
How long has she known?
The weight of new doubt pushes down like cracked rock upon her shoulders.
“
Give him another chance, Haley,
”
Katherine says softly. She tries to blink back tears.
“
Please.
”

*  *  *

Devin
’
s callused hands knock cheerfully on his son
’
s door. Slightly ajar, it swings open to the shrill cry of brass hinges.
“
Come on, Tyler.
”
Devin peeks inside. A small shape rustles against the brown and green-dashed football blanket. The walls are covered with Chicago Bears posters. Refrigerator Perry and Mike Singletary watch protectively over the little boy, fighting for fleeting attention next to a well-used baseball glove on the nightstand.

Tyler Bane
’
s chaotic hair most closely resembles the spikes of a hedgehog. He rolls groggily towards the voice, opening and closing his heavy eyes. The boy tries unsuccessfully to focus them. Blinking somewhere between sleep and consciousness, Tyler sees a soft silhouette smiling in the doorway.

“
Let
’
s go,
”
the annoyingly eager shape barks.

“
I
’
m up,
”
Tyler groans. The eight-year-old rolls grumpily out of bed and stumbles past.

“
How about a
‘
good morning
’
?
”
Devin asks. His son just trudges down the hallway without a word.
“
Weren
’
t you going to work on those people skills?
”

“
Mmm,
”
Tyler grumbles. He continues walking, not awake enough to register the veiled threat. The boy scratches at the tangled nest of reddish-blond hair on the back of his head. He yawns, trying to ignore his father on the way to other priorities.

“
Uh-uh,
”
Devin says. His emerald green eyes snap their usual morning cheer away and lock on target. He takes off down the hallway, his body quiet as it closes the gap. Devin catches his son mid-stride.
“
I might take that crap from your sister,
”
he grunts, picking up the
6
0-pounder and slinging him over his right shoulder.
“
But you are so much lighter.
”

“
Dad!
”
Tyler shouts out, squirming in his father
’
s grasp.

“
Teach you to grunt at school, do they?
”
Devin digs his fingers into Tyler
’
s ribs.
“
Glad to see your tuition
’
s well-spent.
”
The boy
’
s fierce morning temper finally breaks. His laughter bounces down the stairway and across the house.

“
Stop!
”
the boy screams. But his dad just continues the vicious attack.

“
Don
’
t you get enough of that at work?
”
Katherine asks her firefighter as they loudly enter the kitchen.

“
But they
’
re never this light, love,
”
Devin says. He lowers his gasping son to the floor.
“
I always get the big ones. The old, hairy, big ones.
”

“
That better be all you get,
”
Katherine snaps, her eyebrow shooting up. She stops spreading the cream cheese on her bagel and points the butter knife ominously at him.
“
I don
’
t want to hear about you carrying any other pretty blonds out of burning buildings, Mr. Bane.
”

“
Absolutely not, hon,
”
he says with a straight face.
“
I
’
ll just let them burn.
”

“
Good,
”
she answers.
“
There
’
ll be fewer jokes.
”
Her own blond hair sparkles mischievously. The morning sunlight filters through the kitchen window, brilliantly illuminating the curving perfection of her face.

The fireman bites one of his knuckles, tracing the shadows caught strategically along his wife
’
s shirt. He sighs, wishing yet again he had more time to attend to his marital duties.

Responsibility overcoming temptation, Devin turns back to his son. The fireman
’
s shoulders are slumped like a broken animal.
“
Time to check your numbers, Ty.
”

Tyler sits on a stool beside his sister at the kitchen island. His dull eyes are lost in the flashing imagery of the television set. The boy
’
s left hand is up protectively to shield his eyes from the obnoxious innuendos of his parents.

“
Dad,
”
Tyler pleads. Reluctantly, he puts his bagel down on the paper towel, wishing he could break the chains for just one day.

“
Let me see,
”
Devin orders. He holds his hand out expectantly.

“
Fine,
”
Tyler snaps, taking the blood-glucose tester from his dad.
“
I
’
ll do it.
”
The eight-year-old winces as the needle pops into his small index finger. A droplet of life instantly pulses from his skin. The LCD counts down slowly from five. Black dot matrix bubbles stop and blink at 75.
“
See? It
’
s fine,
”
he shows. The boy tosses the testing unit onto the counter, as if even holding it would show his weakness to the world.

Devin glances at it quickly before eying the clock beside Tyler.
“
Damn, is it past seven already?
”
He turns to Katherine.
“
I gotta get in the shower, love. Can we be ready to leave in twenty minutes?
”

“
Why not?
”
she smiles, wanting to say it normally takes at least twice that.

Devin walks briskly back toward the bedroom.
“
Your blood sugar
’
s a little low, bud,
”
he shouts.
“
Make sure to have the nurse check it again at school before lunch. And eat your bagel!
”
The fireman turns and starts running full throttle up the stairs again.

“
I
’
m not hungry,
”
Tyler grumbles. The boy tears off small pieces of the specially-sweetened wheat bagel and scatters the dissected crumbs all across the paper towel. Fragments of the bread just small enough to appease a glancing parent soon cover it.

Haley shakes her head, looking condescendingly down at the mess in front of her younger brother.
“
And they think I
’
m difficult.
”

7:12 a.m.

“
Oil prices continue to climb as protests in the Middle East intensify,
”
the CNN foreign correspondent says. His streaming video phone slowly begins to break up. The mosaic imagery stutters then stops. Screaming protesters behind him are distorted into silence. Their frozen faces enjoy just a moment of peace before the voices erupt into violence yet again.
“
The United States has increased its troop-load in the area, drawing more criticism from leaders of OPEC who have threatened to reduce supply.
”

Lights around the Clackamas neighborhood spring to life. Devin Bane shuffles into the kitchen and pours himself a steaming cup of coffee, kissing his wife
’
s cheek familiarly. Katherine barely turns. Her eyes are locked on the news instead as she sits at the island, nurturing a cup of her own. The video flickers from Middle Easterners rallying within broken cities to the swaying of machinery harvesting black gold from a dying earth.

Devin scratches his matted red hair. He tries to yawn away the sleep in his abnormally upbeat eyes.
“
Anything interesting, love?
”
he says. His hearty, English accent makes him sound more intelligent than he really is. Cocky even. He leans in front of Katherine, staring into the glossy flashes of color at the corners of her gaze.

“
Saber-rattling and finger-pointing,
”
she says. Her eyes are transfixed, staring ahead but not really focused quite yet. Katherine blinks away the media
’
s grip, finally looking back at her husband. She lays a flirtatious hand on the muscles hanging just out of his favorite black t-shirt.
“
You know. Politics at its best.
”

“
Right,
”
Devin says, rolling his eyes. His chiseled face sports fresh stubble the color of a fine Merlot.
“
Each person bending the next one over
’
til we
’
re all eventually screwed.
”
He stirs two spoonfuls of sugar into his coffee and watches as the crystalline purity melts into the shadows.
“
Picked a bad time to quit drinking by the looks of it,
”
he mutters, cloaking the idle desire with his usual quick humor.

“
Oh,
”
she chides lovingly. Katherine pulls him to her.
“
But you
’
re such a ray of sunshine now.
”

“
Is that what you call it?
”
he laughs, trying halfheartedly to push her hands away. The surprisingly iron-grip refuses to let go. Devin
’
s emerald eyes widen.

“
Oh, alright,
”
he sighs, seeing the twinkle of desire on her face. He tries to give her another peck. But she latches onto the back of his head and pulls him in for something more.

“
Down, love,
”
Devin shouts. Color splashes his cheeks.
“
Isn
’
t it a bit early for all that?
”
Devin walks into the living room and checks to see if the other TV is on. Seeing that the screen is dark, his eyes dart back to his wife.

“
Kids up?
”
he asks. Marital mischief springs into his own eyes. The gentle curves of his wife
’
s neck round her shoulders, entering the top of her clinging shirt with regret.

“
Not a peep.
”

He paces back into the kitchen, hands moving with purpose. Katherine sinks into his arms.
“
You
’
ll be late for your flight,
”
she sings weakly but hopes he won
’
t care.

“
But couldn
’
t we just
…
”
he blurts. His British
inflection
almost pleads out the words.