Chapter 2

Dad came out to collect the food delivery. The moment he saw me, his expression darkened. "How did you find this place?"

I held out the glass jar. "The stockroom is damp. The figs would've gone moldy."

He took it and placed it at the far end of the entryway cabinet.

Mom heard the commotion and came over too. She stood in the doorway without stepping aside.

The projector in the living room cast its light across the wall. Four or five little boys sat on floor cushions, surrounded by fried chicken, pizza, and imported soft drinks.

Two inflatable mattresses had been set up beside the sofa. They'd prepared everything in advance.

One of the children asked, "Mrs. Hayes, is this other boy staying to play with us?"

Mom's smile was strained. "No, he's from our hometown. He just came by to drop something off for the shop."

Carter ran over, clutching a game controller. "Hey, bro! Do you know how to play racing games? I can teach you."

Dad cut him off. "Scott has to help out at the shop tomorrow."

I looked at Mom, who avoided my eyes.

Dad lowered his voice. "You've delivered what you came for. Go back now. There are a lot of kids here. We don't want people asking questions."

"Okay."

Before the door closed, I heard Mom ask, "Do you think he'll be hurt?"

Dad sounded irritated. "I'm his father. Is he really going to hold a grudge against me?"

"But he traveled all this way."

"He's our son. It's only natural for a child to want to see his parents. We didn't kick him out. We even gave him somewhere to sleep. He knows that."

Another burst of cheering erupted from inside.

"Carter won!"

I stood outside for a few seconds before turning and heading downstairs.

By the time I returned to the stockroom, it was past midnight.

There was an unopened pack of bottled water beside the folding bed. I took a bottle and drank half of it. My stomach was aching from being empty.

The next morning, Mom sent me a message.

"The kids stayed up too late last night, and the house is a mess. Don't come over yet."

At ten, she sent another.

"Some of the other parents are still here. Don't make things awkward."

Around noon, Dad came to the shop and pointed to a stack of tile adhesive bags near the back door. "Move these to Rack Three. You're tall enough. No need to stand around."

Each bag weighed forty pounds. I spent the afternoon hauling them from one place to another. The packaging rubbed the skin raw on my shoulders.

Dad walked past and nodded approvingly. "You country kids know how to work hard."

Mom came by to settle the accounts. She glanced at me. "Don't sulk. Carter is young, and his classmates don't know the situation. Having an extra person around all of a sudden would be difficult to explain."

"I'm not sulking."

She visibly relaxed. "Good. You've always been a sensible boy. I know that."

After saying that, she transferred the next batch of lesson fees to Carter's piano teacher. The amount remained on her phone screen for a few seconds.

$600.

I remembered how, whenever she sent Grandpa $50 each month, she'd always say over the phone, "Living expenses are low in the countryside. Just make sure you spend carefully."

That night, after the shop closed, I was still sleeping in the stockroom.

My parents were talking in the office. The door hadn't been shut properly.

"Do you think Scott will go back to Scott's Creek on his own?" Mom asked.

Dad laughed. "Where else would he go? Back to that little side room?"

Mom fell silent.

Dad continued, "He's our biological son. His parents are here in South City. Of course he wants to be part of this family.

"He's quiet now because he's afraid we won't accept him. Give it a few days. We'll throw him a bone, and he'll come around."

Mom still sounded uneasy. "He seems even quieter than he was as a child."

"That's how boys should be. They need to learn to keep things to themselves. That's how they'll become strong enough to handle life."

I sat on the edge of the folding bed, pressing my fingers against my scraped shoulders.

So all these years, they'd taken my silence and obedience as a sign that I was easy to control. It had never occurred to them that I was hurting.