Yield (8 page)

Disappointment eats through him when he glances up at the clock. His shaking hands beg to finish their work. Reluctantly, they retreat back under the assault of another day
’
s schedule. Devin raises his baritone voice, still staring longingly at his wife.
“
Kids! Time to get up,
”
he shouts.
“
Daddy has to get to the airport!
”

Devin waits a second, not hearing the usual sounds of activity.
“
Let
’
s go!
”

He pops his head into the hallway and claps his hands.
“
Haley! Tyler! Now, please!
”

Haley opens her door, looking angrily out from the shadows. Her room
’
s entrance is covered with Gothic crossbones surrounded by black-and-white band photos.
“
Not that school
’
s important or anything,
”
she mutters.

She walks coolly past him into the hallway, quickly averting her eyes. Normally
electric blue
, they now look bloodshot and exhausted. Haley
’
s clothes are stylishly frayed, with holes in the knee caps and a graying Ramones shirt about two sizes too small around her.

Devin squints.
“
That
’
s not what I said. And hey,
”
he says, his tone sharpening. Colored streaks now punctuate his 15-year-old
’
s blond hair.
“
What
’
s with the pink, Picasso?
”
He holds up a lock of the multi-colored hair to the light before his daughter can escape.
“
Expanding the palette a little?
”

“
So?
”
Haley rolls her eyes, snatching the strand away. The teenager speeds away from the interrogation and storms down the short hall into the kitchen.

Katherine puts one arm protectively around her daughter.

“
Mom,
”
the teenager whines. She pushes out of her mother
’
s overbearing embrace. Hiding under the tiered cuts of her shoulder-length hair, she can feel her parents
’
knowing gaze upon her.

Katherine glares at her husband.
“
Well, I like it,
”
she announces, bending down closer to inspect.

“
No accounting for taste,
”
Devin shouts back. Knowing he
’
s drastically outnumbered against an aligned feminine will, he spins back into the hallway before they can interject the last word.

“
Guess I should
’
ve run it by the hair Nazi first,
”
Haley grumbles.

“
I heard that,
”
her father
’
s voice echoes from the shadows. The demure look in Katherine
’
s eyes follows her husband up the steps, two at a time. It disappears the instant he reaches the top.
“
So do you want to explain last night,
”
she snaps. Her eyes are as hard as the granite countertop.
“
Or should I just use my imagination?
”

“
What?
”

“
Don
’
t
‘
what
’
me. I saw his motorcycle leave this morning, Haley.
”
Steely concern paints the brown and green flecks in Katherine
’
s eyes.
“
If your father would
’
ve been awake
…
”

She cranes her head to look back through the kitchen door.
“
Remember last time?
”
Kat asks, lowering her voice.
“
We
’
re lucky that boy
’
s parents didn
’
t sue us.
”

Haley stares at the television set and rhythmically chews. The parental frequency is like static in her ears.
“
Not my fault Dad
’
s an alcoholic.
”

“
Haley!
”
her mom hisses. Katherine
’
s emotions flash from surprise to sadness
—
then outrage
—
in a single heartbeat. Their echoes linger on her face.

“
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.