Page 9 of Bear Strength

Mason walks over to the kitchen table, and sits on one of the chairs. He’s not wearing that bandana from last time, and his curly hair spills all over his face, framing it perfectly. His square jaw is slightly rugged, his beard black, neatly trimmed this time. A little golden earring glimmers in the darkness of his hair. He’s wearing a black checkered shirt, with rolled up sleeves. I wonder what happened to his leather jacket. Bikers never go anywhere without those.

He rests his fingers on the table, long and thick. Burned by the sun, just like his cheeks. His eyes are like the sky, endless and blue. No one can stare into them long enough, without getting lost. I think of Amelia Earhart and her love for the sky. It cost her dearly. She paid for it with her life.

“Maybe we should discuss this with both parents present,” he tells me, and my cheeks flare up immediately at the mention of Dominick’s father.

“My husband passed away,” I say, just like I practiced.

“Oh, my condolences,” he bows his head down quickly.

“Thank you, but it’s been a while, and we’ve learned to live with it,” I say again, this time also like I practiced. I think it actually sounds more convincing now. The thought makes me smile. Who knew I’d become such a good liar? I guess, when your life depends on it, you can get good at just about anything. “So, please go on.”

“Well, I suppose I should start from the beginning,” he sighs, and I already have a headache. “Your son, Dominick, trespassed on my property, and he spray painted my wall.”

“What!?” I storm at Dominick. “Are you fucking kidding me!?”

I am furious beyond belief. I just want to shout at my son and ground him until the end of time, but I can’t because this stranger is in my home, and I have to be careful with any stranger around us. People with skeletons in their closet can never be too sure of anyone.

“I’m sorry,” I tell Mason. “I’m just…”

“Super pissed?” he asks.

“Yes,” I nod, hiding a grin. None of this is funny. And, yet, I’m hiding a grin. What’s wrong with me?

“I was, too, at first.”

He pauses, glancing over at Dominick, who’s looking at his feet, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, then back. He knows he’s wrong. Just, does he know how wrong he is? I swear, I’ll ground him until he’s too old to even think of doing something like this again.

Then, I think it’s probably all my fault. I haven’t been paying attention to him lately like before. What with the new home, new job, and everything. He started a new school as well, and I should have been there for him. Fuck. This is all my fault.

“Then, it hit me,” Mason continues, oblivious to the storm of emotions taking place inside my mind. “There wasn’t much damage. One of my friends caught him in time. And, besides, that old wall is just begging for a decent paint job.”

He looks over at me, as if he’s expecting me to read his mind. I stare back at him, still not comprehending.

“We could forget all this happened if he repaints the whole house,” Mason rounds up his offer.

“What!?” Dominick interferes, with a furious look on his face. “He said just that one wall!”

“Dominick!” I shout at him again, threatening him with my index finger. Although that has lost its power ages ago. Maybe around the time when he was 4.

“Actually, he’s right,” Mason chuckles. “Don’t get mad at the boy.”

I’m still seething with anger, and I want to get this over with now, but it seems this guy is having fun. At my fucking expense.

“I did say just that one wall. But, the thing is, the whole place could use a good paint job. He can do that one wall as punishment, and I’ll pay him for the other three.”

I could see Dominick’s eyes flash at the thought of doing it for payment, but I couldn’t accept it. This can’t be a reward in any way. It has to be punishment, all the way.

“Not a chance,” I shake my head. “He’ll do it all for free.”

“But, mom - “

“You’ve done enough,” I cut him off. “Now, maybe for once you’ll do what you’re told.”

Dominick grunts, and our guest’s eyes keep sliding from me to Dom, then back at me again. I don’t trust him for some reason. I guess I don’t trust any man with such deep, beautiful eyes. They’re too dangerous.

“If I may say, Danica,” he interferes. “Your son actually did me a favor.”

“A favor?” I ask.

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