Page 116 of Priceless

“Take care of yourself, okay?” He jammed his hat onto his curls.

“I told you, I’m happy. Everything is fine.”

Picking up my tote bag, I gave him a wave and jogged off. On a branch nearby, a bud was starting to open.

19

Home

Patrick

Rain slashed my windshield and doused the street. I eased my car into my family’s driveway, avoiding the flooded potholes. Usually, the drive home from school took an hour. In this weather, it took two.

The porch light was out. I used the flashlight on my phone, shielding it from the rain, to reach the dark front door. My key stuck in the deadbolt. I jiggled it and the lock yielded.

Not how I normally chose to spend my Friday nights. But Christina wasn’t available, and there was nothing to keep me on campus.

Inside, the usual evening sounds of too-loud TV came from the living room. The wallpaper peeled. Water dripped from a corner of the ceiling.

In Italy, I thought I could forget this house. Back home, it wasn’t so simple.

Passing through the kitchen, I dropped my duffel bag on the table and left my big sketchpad against the wall. I’d never brought that pad home, but this time, I’d grabbed it on the way out. It was my companion on the drive.

At stoplights, I’d stared at the pages covered in drawings. I only wanted to sketch one subject these days, and she was gone for a week.

I walked into the darkened living room. My father lay in the recliner.

“Back for the free laundry?” He didn’t turn from the flickering TV.

I sat down on the edge of the sagging couch. “Yep.”

We never discussed why I came here every other weekend. Before Italy, I’d avoided home as much as possible. He had to know the real reason — a guilt-offering I laid at his feet, a debt I owed my brothers. But denial was a seductive mistress.

College basketball played on the TV. Our team had made it to the tournament.

“There’s your school.” Dad didn’t sound surprised. His emotions had been flattened for years. “Good team.”

“Mm.”

I knew better than to askhow are things?My father lived his life — barely. He went to work. He paid the monthly bills. Anything else was too much to ask.

I caught a flash of red and white on the sidelines and straightened up.

I hadn’t seen Christina since Tuesday morning, when she hopped on a plane to cheer for the tournament. Before she left, she asked to come extra nights next week to make up what she’d miss.

She was spreading herself too thin. I was willing to let the missed nights go, but she wouldn't have reacted well. She'd think I didn't want her, or she'd worry about the money.

“You doing well at school?” Dad broke in.

“I am.”

“Going to graduate?”

“With honors.”

“You’re still in Kappa Sigma?”

“Mm-hm.” In the light of the TV, I flexed my fingers to look at the ring. I’d joined my father’s fraternity to carry on the family tradition. To atone. When he gave me his ring, it was the closest thing in years to a moment of warmth between us. But it didn’t last.

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