“I’m having girl trouble because Dad doesn’t like her. He thinks she’s a distraction,” I level.
“She is.” His answer is swift and offensive.
“Because you say so. But you don’t know her,” I defend.
Now my dad’s the one to punch out a laugh.
“What does that mean?” my mom cuts in, something in her tone sharp and pointed, piercing enough to get my dad to shut his mouth and me to sit down. She reaches forward and pulls the ID toward her, holding it between her thumb and index finger. Nobody in the world takes a good ID photo, except Morgan Bentley.
My mom shakes her head, the lightness gone from her face as she stares at Morgan’s picture. She sets the ID back on the table and folds her hands over it before lifting her head and staring my father in the eyes. His movement is slight, but he shakes his head at her almost in a warning, like he’s begging her to leave this alone.
“The girl had inappropriate relations with my predecessor,” he finally utters, and I can’t take it.
I spin out of my seat so fast my chair tumbles to the floor, both of my parents jolting back in their seats and staring at me wide-mouthed and wide-eyed. I point at my father, shaking my finger, my body vibrating with anger.
“That’s a rumor that youchoseto believe. And it’s—I’m sorry, Mom—but it’s bullshit. She came to Coach Wallace in confidence to get help with her depression. Her life—my God,her life!The pressures that come with her family are almost unreal, and I’d think they were made up if I didn’t see them. If she didn’t confide in me and show me some of the insanity she has to go through. You want to know why Coach Wallace got canned? Because he cared about her, and he dared to question the Bentleys’ parenting skills.
“You’ve seen it, Dad. You know how people are around here. They are mighty quick to react to criticism, and it’s never in a good way. Mr. Bentley had him fired.”
I’m out of breath by the time I’m done, my fists at my sides as though I’m ready for a fight. Sometime during my rant my dad looked down, and his gaze is still on the floor. My mom’s is on nothing, her focus almost on my face, but more like she’s looking at a ghost somewhere over my shoulder.
“Say something,” I implore my father. “Anything. Maybe apologize, even though I’m not the one who needs to hear it.”
“I’m just keeping you focused. This is what you wanted, I thought. This school, or one like it. A scholarship to a big fancy school. Am I wrong?” My dad twists his head, giving me a sideways look as he opens his palms out in front of him as if presenting a prize.
“I’m doing the work,” I argue.
My dad shifts in his chair, turning to rest an elbow on the back, his trademark move before making a point. But my mom speaks first.
“That’s not what this is about, Dave. I thought we were over this,” she says. My dad’s gaze bolts to hers.
“Penny—”
“No,” my mom interjects. She stretches her hand out toward me with Morgan’s ID pinched between her thumb and fingers. I take the card and look at Morgan’s sweet face, the forced smile that I’ve seen on her social media so many times.
“James, sit down.” My mom’s voice is calm as she motions to the chair I tumbled to the floor. I glance to my dad, his expression stoic, and sad.
I put the chair upright and sit in where it lies, suddenly wanting to be on an island. I want a way out if I need it. Nothing in my way.
“Your dad and I . . . we’re good,” my mom says.
“We’re better than good,” my dad adds. His tiny tacked-on statement brings a brief smile to my mom’s face. They exchange glances, my father’s eyes softer than they’ve been all night.
“There was a man, one of my clients, actually. And James, nothing happened between us. It’s important to me that you hear that and know it. I would never betray your father that way.”
My heart is pounding, and I think I utter, “Okay,” but I’m not sure if it was aloud.
“I did develop a relationship with this man, though. Not romantically, but we began talking regularly. Your dad and I were struggling at the time, so I turned to him and leaned on him for support. I met him for coffee the morning after our first counselling session, and I broke down in front of him. My emotions were a mess, and that first session was a lot to process. He comforted me. We hugged, and he . . . he got carried away. He tried to kiss me. I rejected him, but it still changed everything. I came home and told your father immediately, and he reacted as you’d expect.”
“I went to the man’s house.” My dad’s response is direct and curt, and he glances to me briefly, almost as if to prove he’s not kidding.
My mom sighs.
“He did, and it was a really bad time. It set us back, but also—and tell me if you agree, David—I think it made us stronger.” She looks to my dad, her arm outstretched across the table. My father gets up from his seat and steps in next to her, kneeling and taking her hand in his. He presses it to his mouth.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask.
My father chuckles.