Page 13 of Crazy for You
5
Twenty minutes later, I walked into our modest kitchen, the aroma of roasted chicken heavy in the air. I plucked a piece of meat off the carving board that was sitting on the small island fit for two. When we moved in, Dad had given the room a makeover—fresh coat of paint, new white cabinets, black appliances, and a sprinkle of red in the curtains I’d hung in the corner window above the sink.
I savored the juicy chicken as I glanced out our sliding glass door. Pinecones littered the grass from the trees climbing to the sky at the far end of our backyard. Azalea bushes decorated the perimeter of our fence on both sides, with several rosebushes nestled between them.
I was ready to grab another piece of the juicy meat when I heard yelling.
“I hate you.” It was Colton’s voice.
My heartbeat tripped. I inched over to the window that I realized was cracked. Nan often opened it to let out the heat from the oven.
From where I stood, part of my view landed right on Colton’s deck. The other part looked out into our yard.
“Why did you pull me out of Deer Run Academy?” Colton practically shouted. “So I could endure your shit? News flash, old man. I’m not living here if you’re going to lash out every time you get an ounce of liquor in you.”
Colton’s dad, who resembled Colton with his brown eyes and thick hair, jumped out of his chair so quickly that I couldn’t track him. The next thing I knew, the elder Caldwell had his hand around his son’s neck, almost bending Colton’s back over the railing. “Respect your elders, son. And let’s not forget: my house, my rules.”
Mrs. Caldwell ran out, trying hard to wedge her petite frame in-between father and son, but she failed. “Mike, what are you doing?”
Colton shoved his dad, baring his teeth. “Touch me again and I’ll make sure you regret it.”
My eyes almost popped out of their sockets.
Mr. Caldwell slammed his beer bottle on the deck and closed his hands into fists. “You’re threatening me?”
My pulse became unsteady as I watched father and son practically tear each other apart.
I couldn’t quite see Mr. Caldwell’s face, but I didn’t have to, given the rage dripping in his tone.
Mrs. Caldwell swept her hand up the back of her brown bun. “Mike, stop this right now.”
Her husband wasn’t listening. Colton stood tall, his features pinched hard.
I knew I shouldn’t be eavesdropping or watching, but I couldn’t look away. Our neighbors were privy to Mr. Caldwell’s drunken outbursts even when Colton wasn’t home. At times, the whole neighborhood could hear him yelling at his wife.
“Son,” Mrs. Caldwell said to Colton. “Please.”
Colton regarded his mom, his eyes softening. “No. I didn’t come home to be attacked by my father or to put up with his shit.”
Mr. Caldwell raised his fist.
“Go ahead, old man. You won’t win this round.”
Mr. Caldwell retreated a few steps.
“If you weren’t drinking, you still might have a job, and I would be at the academy instead of in this dump of a town.”
In a mere second, Mr. Caldwell was throwing a punch at Colton.
I gasped and slapped a hand over my mouth, hoping they didn’t hear me.
Mrs. Caldwell cried, “Mike, stop right now! The neighbors are probably watching.”
I didn’t know if she’d seen me, but she knew we could see her deck from our kitchen.
Colton touched his bleeding lip. “I’m out of here.”
“Colton,” Mrs. Caldwell pleaded. “Please.”
