Page 46 of Family Affair
“You’re full of shit.”
“Of course I am.” Frank agreed amiably, busy fishing in the container for another potato.
Cade rolled his eyes, took another drink, and pulled a plastic spoon from his back pocket. “Here. Hey, don’t get the grease all over me! You’re gross.”
After Frank ate, they reclined against the wall and shared the bottle.
"So, what now?" Cade turned and gazed at Frank with a sort of a solemn regard.
Frank outlined his plan. "I'm thinking I'll go to Colorado from here. Bum around for a year or so, work odd jobs. The cash I have on me should last for a while if I'm careful. I always wanted to learn snowboarding, ya know." He grinned and passed the whiskey back to Cade. Now that he had come up with the plan, the alcohol lost its draw. He'd gone around the bend from all the freedom, sure, but that had to stop. He would have a difficult time staying under the radar sober; he wouldn’t have a chance at a new life if he got plastered each night.
Cade took another large swallow and his eyes watered. "And then what?"
"Then I'm gonna buy me a new identity and disappear for good. The shit I've got now can only fool the blind or complete idiots. Well, and the bartenders." He produced his fake ID for Cade's inspection, and his brother snickered over his moronic mugshot. "I need another year to, like, mature, or grow a bushy beard, or whatever, so nobody asks questions." He felt silent, his teenage mind tripping over the complexity of planning for the future.
"What about school?" Ever the reasonable one, Cade inquired with utter seriousness.
Frank wrinkled his nose and pressed the heels of his hands to his tired eyes. "I don't know. If I have to, I can forge a GED certificate. I saw what they look like."
“I thought you’re done with the forging.” Cade sounded accusatory. “What’s the point of running away if you continue doing it elsewhere?”
“Never for money.” He shook his head with vehemence. “Not in my life. Hell, I don’t think I can ever paint again. Lost the taste for it, you know?”
Suddenly, his brother’s face was right in front of his. “Don’t go. Wait, bide your time, turn eighteen. Find a way to walk away legally. Shit, Frank, I’m afraid. They’ll find you and there’ll be hell to pay.”
Cade’s intensity startled Frank. “No, you don’t understand. I have to go. Now. If I stay, if I wait more, I will never be able to break free. I know it. I have this terrible gut feeling…” He broke off, at a loss of words to convey the clawing certainty that something was going to break inside him if he continued with the forgeries. Something vital.
He grabbed the bottle from Cade’s hand and drank some.
Cade flopped back against the rough wood of the wall. "Have you thought about enlisting?"
His pragmatic older brother had always known what he wanted from life, and it wasn’t managing Sheffield Investments. He dreamed of becoming a career officer and, God willing, retiring after a long and distinguished service here, at the farm, to bring the operation into its former glory.
Frank may not know what he wanted to do with his future, but he knew what he didn’t want to do with it.
"Nah, not for me," he said, earnest. "I'm done with people ordering me around."
Cade took the bottle from him and finished it off with one long swallow. A stray cloud passed over the moon, casting his face in deeper shadow. Frank could see disapproval written all over Cade’s face, read a dozen of doubts in his compressed lips.
Finally, Cade nodded, an acceptance granted. “It’s your life, man.”
They embraced, a heartfelt farewell, for neither knew when they would meet again.
They caught up with him three days later.
"Get up, fuckwit. Time to go home." His father's furious voice lashed at him through layers of deep dreamless sleep. Slow to wake up, Frank turned over and tried to pull the thin motel blanket over his head. The blanket was ripped off him, and he was unceremoniously grabbed by the shoulders and yanked off the bed.
He came awake just in time to keep his balance and stay on his feet. Disoriented, blinking rapidly against the sudden light, he struggled to process what had happened. His eyes focused on the two people in his room.
His father's hair was disheveled and his fists were balled up, but other than that he looked the same as always, and so did Ward Williamson who stood by the door. Both men wore slacks and button down shirts, simple and neat and in good taste. Their smoothly shaved intelligent faces, though angry at the moment, presented a picture of suburban success – two respectable middle-aged fellows.
To Frank, they looked like demons from hell come to collect his soul.
A gigantic wave of despair rose from out of nowhere and crashed on top of him. His skin contracted and everything inside him shriveled. Scalding tears burned the backs of his lids. Stupid, he was so damn stupid. And helpless. Tracked so easily and caught in his sleep. His lungs started hurting.
Breathe, fuck-up, he ordered himself,breathe or pass out.
"I'm not going with you," he forced the words out.
