“Is that right?”
Jack nodded. His father bent his head. Over the video chat,
Patrick’s expression was drawn in sympathy.
“What happened?” offered his mother, laying a hand on her
son’s quivering forearm.
“Nothing.” Jack made a hollow laugh. Abby, unconsciously,
shrunk away from him. Jack observed this and laughed again, even
more pitifully than before.
too.” Now his nose was dripping as much as his face. On the
himself.
“I guess you’ve learned it the hard way,” offered Mr.
of his hoodie. Silence descended on the room for a seemed eternity.
The timer on the web chat screen continued to count the minutes,
seconds.
“Let’s begin.” The father’s voice croaked. He cleared it, a
deep guttural grunt followed by perfect silence.
Movement on the desktop monitor ceased. Outside, the
September moonlight illuminated the backyard, shed, greenhouse,
swing set, and orchard, where an old oak tree overlooked its
broken limb, still bound to a frayed nylon rope swing. Two pale,
glowing yellow dots gazed in from the patio screen door.
“In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen. . . .”
48