Page 35 of Considering Us

“Mom, if you’re coming here, you’re going to have to stop referring to them as little shits.”

“Okay, okay. For that much money, I can keep my mouth shut.”

I had my doubts.

17

My parents’ aging Ford Explorer pulled into the parking spot next to my car in front of Wentworth. It felt so strange to welcome them to Rockwood, especially considering the odd circumstances. Although, given my unconventional relationship with them, having a task was probably a good thing.

I opened the passenger door for my dad to help him out. He could walk just fine, but he was slow and careful. He had suffered a traumatic brain injury from a motor vehicle accident while serving as a reservist in the Persian Gulf War. I was only three years old at the time, and given the extent of his injuries, he hadn’t been able to return to his job as a postal carrier. His overall condition improved greatly over the years, but beyond puttering in the garden and watching documentaries on TV, he didn’t do much—besides make whiskey sours. He loved his whiskey sours, just like I did.

“Hi, Sugar,” he said, giving me a somewhat awkward hug. The tension that always existed between my mother and me weighed heavily on everything, and she ultimately overpowered him. It was easier for him to hang back.

“Welcome to Rockwood,” I said. “Either of you want anything? Mom, a Diet Coke?” She drank them like most people drank water.

“Got one,” she said, holding up her twenty-ounce bottle. “Well, this isfancy.” Fancy was not a compliment coming fromher; it generally meant something she felt was superior to her, and that caused her resentment. I was ready for her reaction and to hear that worda lotthroughout the day.

“It is,” I agreed. It was better to work with her, when I could, than against her. “Dad, anything for you?”

“I’m all set,” he said. “Mom brought me some water.”

“Okay, we’re not here to be tourists,” said Mom. “Let’s get to work.”

We made our way over to the library, as I figured there would be things for both of my parents to do. Adrienne was hauling a very full garbage bag outside when we got to the building.

“Hi, Adrienne,” I said. “What are you doing here?” Part of me was still worried that she had been involved in the pranks, and perhaps she was working in a mandatory clean-up crew as a consequence of her actions. But I also knew there was an investigation underway, and my best guess was those students were either confined to their dorms for the time being or had been picked up by their parents. And the last thing I needed was a showdown with Adrienne’s mother at that moment. My thoughts were spiraling.

“Ms. Lark put out a call for volunteers to help clean everything up, and it’s counting toward our community service hours for graduation. Since I just started here this year, I am a little behind, so I figured I would join in.” She looked at my parents, obviously a bit confused. “Hi,” she said.

“Oh, my apologies. Adrienne, these are my parents, Camille and Billy Paige. They’re going to help today, too.”

“That’s cool,” she said. “Nice to meet you. I’m going to work on the Collections room next. That’s where the worst of it is.”

Mom perked up. There was no mess too great for her to tackle, and I think she relished the challenge. It was always hard for me to understand. “I’ll do that, too,” she said. “I’m used tocleaning motel rooms after bachelor parties. This can’t be much worse.”

“That sounds awful,” Adrienne said, holding the door open for her. “Come with me.”

I looked at my dad, who softly chuckled and shook his head. “You know your mother. The worse it is, the more she wants to clean it.”

“It’s strange,” I acknowledged. “Okay, Dad, let’s go inside. We’ll find a project.”

There were books strewn everywhere. It made me sad, thinking of the authors who had written these volumes, the editors and publishers who had painstakingly checked every line and formatted every page just right. And now their work was chucked all over a boarding school library because a group of hooligans had decided to trash the place as part of a prank night.

“Hey, Dev.” Kyle was picking up a book when we walked into the room. He had a table in front of him where there was a small stack.

“Kyle! I thought you were gone this weekend. I mean, never mind. Kyle, this is my dad, Billy Paige. Dad, this is Kyle Holling. He’s a history teacher and soccer coach here. We, um, we went to college together.”

My dad reached out his hand to shake Kyle’s, and a strange feeling washed over me. I had never once brought a guy—even a platonic one—home to meet my parents, so the idea of introducing one to my dad felt different and incredibly weird. But seeing the ease with which my dad and Kyle launched into small talk filled me with relief.

“History, huh?” Dad asked. “I just finished the Ken Burns documentary about the Dust Bowl. Do you teach that?”

“Every year,” Kyle said. “Have you ever seen Dorothea Lange’s photographs from it? Incredible work. I always show them to my students.”

“I think those are in the documentary.” Dad squinted. “I would imagine teaching history is fascinating. I used to just watch shows about war, but I felt like I needed to branch out more. I want to watch the one about jazz next.”

“The baseball one is great, too,” Kyle said. “Hey, Dev, if you’ve got work to do, you can leave your dad with me. It’s totally fine.”

I had told Kyle about my dad’s injuries and limitations, but I wasn’t sure how much he remembered. I didn’t want to embarrass Dad by mentioning anything, so I gave Kyle a look, searching his eyes for any kind of understanding of the situation. He glanced at my dad and then back at me, nodded slightly, and smiled. I felt a rush of warmth envelope me from head to toe from this unspoken communication. I wasn’t sure why Kyle and I were as connected as we were, but I felt comfortable leaving. “Okay,” I said. “I’m going to go check on dinner preparations and the overall condition of the dining hall. Kyle, text me if you finish or need me to come back. You okay, Dad?”

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