The next morning, my phone was flooded with messages and missed calls from my father and mother. Curiously absent was any communication from Derek. I ignored the notifications at first, opting to focus on making breakfast for Lucas, who had slept restlessly in my bed after the ordeal.
I wanted to create a peaceful environment for him, a stark contrast to the chaos of the barbecue. As we sat at the kitchen table, Lucas slowly picked at his cereal, his eyes still puffy from the previous day’s tears. “Dad, why did Uncle Derek burn my toys?” he asked, an innocence in his voice that made my heart ache.
I leaned over, brushing a stray hair from his forehead. “Sometimes, people think they’re helping when they’re not,” I explained gently. “But that doesn’t make it right.
What Uncle Derek did was wrong, and I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
Lucas nodded solemnly, a maturity in his demeanor that seemed both too small and too large for his tiny frame. “It’s okay, Dad. I don’t need those toys to have fun.”
I smiled, feeling a swell of pride and sadness at his resilience.
“And you don’t need to be around people who don’t respect you, either.”
The doorbell rang just then, a frantic jingle that echoed through the quiet house. I knew who it was before I even opened the door. My father stood there, his usually composed face etched with worry.
“Virgil, please,” he implored as I stepped aside to let him in. “We need to talk.”
I gestured for him to sit while I poured us both a cup of coffee, the silence between us growing thick with unspoken tension. Finally, I broke the stalemate.
“You’re here about Derek,” I stated, more than asked. Dad nodded. “He’s on the verge of losing his job.
There’s been talk… some issues with his behavior. He needs help, and I thought maybe you could reach out to him, offer some guidance.”
I leaned back in my chair, sipping the coffee and letting its warmth seep into me. “And this has what to do with me?”
“The family needs to stick together,” he said, his voice firm but with an undercurrent of desperation.
“No matter what.”
I chuckled, a bitter sound. “Funny. Yesterday, it seemed like Derek got to decide what family means.
And he made it very clear where Lucas and I stand.”
“That was a mistake,” Dad admitted, a rare concession. “He was wrong. We were wrong.”
I looked at him, seeing not the stern patriarch of my childhood, but an old man grappling with the consequences of his own lessons on manhood.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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