Chapter 7 - The Eviction of Pride
The sight of Cole holding that cheap glass bowl snapped the room in half.
Jeff instantly closed his mouth, his anger evaporating into overwhelming fatherly grief. He turned and sprinted up the stairs two at a time, dropping to his knees on the landing and wrapping his massive arms around all three of his children at once. "No, buddy," Jeff whispered fiercely into Cole’s hair. "Nobody's taking Pickles. Nobody's taking anyone. We're safe here. I promise."
Downstairs, Uncle Ray took off his cap and stared down at the floor, shaking his head slowly. "Evelyn," Ray murmured, his voice heavy with profound shame. "Get in the truck. You’ve done enough damage for one lifetime."
Mom looked at the staircase. She looked at her golden boy shielding his children from her sight. For a second, a fleeting flicker of realization crossed her eyes—the sudden terror of an empress realizing her throne had turned to dust. But instead of apologizing, instead of opening her arms, her jaw tightened into that familiar, bitter sneer of wounded pride.
She grabbed her leather purse off the table, slinging it over her shoulder with violent force.
"You'll regret this, Arthur," she spit at my father. "Both of you will."
Dad didn't move. He stood beside my kitchen table, his hands resting on the edge of Dale's spiral notebook. "I’m staying here tonight, Evelyn. Jeff can run me home tomorrow to pick up my clothes."
Mom blinked, stunned. "You're what?"
"I said I’m staying," Dad replied evenly. "I’m going to help Dale clean out the tool shed tomorrow, and I’m going to make sure my grandchildren eat their pancakes without listening to your venom. Go home, Evelyn."
Uncle Ray put a firm hand on Mom's elbow. She tried to pull away, but Ray was sixty-eight and had worked heavy timber his entire life; his grip was iron. He guided her out the screen door into the cold March darkness. The back door clicked shut behind them.
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A moment later, Ray’s truck engine rumbled to life, gravel sprayed against the lower siding of the garage, and the red taillights vanished down the long driveway toward the township road.
Inside, the silence settled thick and warm, broken only by the steady hum of the propane furnace Dale and I had bought with our hard work.
