money, badly. But you had to spend money to make money. It was looking like we’d be borrowing to keep us afloat. Perhaps by next spring unless things turned around.
“That’s not fair. Why can someone say bad things about you, but you can’t defend yourself?” Mom pressed as Dad cut up his spaghetti with bold strokes. He was a cutter. Mom and I were twirlers.
“That’s just how it is when you’re in the public eye. If I reply, I’m being a bully and trying to intimidate the press. If I don’t reply I may look weak, but I’m not labeled a ruffian who’s out to quell first amendment rights.”
“That’s just stupid.” She looked at my father. “Don’t you think that’s stupid?”
Dad nodded, shook some grated parmesan onto his pasta, and then picked up a slice of garlic bread. My tongue sizzled from the hot peppers Dad loved to put into his sauce when he was canning tomatoes.
How I wished I could take a slug of cold milk to ease the burn. “I’ve come to the conclusion that he’s still bullying me, but since he’s not able to force my face into a puddle, he’s using his words instead.”
“Did you ask to borrow a book?” Dad enquired. I blinked stupidly.
“What are you talking about?” Mom asked, laying down her fork to stare at my father then at me. “Wait. Is this the Ben Franklin and the book story?”
“It’s a good story. And it fits,” Dad replied and gave his spaghetti another dusting of parmesan cheese. “Sometimes you have to make the first overture to bring about peace.”
Mom tapped on her milk glass as she mulled that over. Then her keen blue eyes locked onto me. “Did you ask to borrow a book?”
“No, I did not ask to borrow a book. I’d be too tempted to whack him in the face with it if I did. I’m not even sure I want to continue reading his first book. I just might take it back to the library unread. A DNF feels fitting.”
“You’re not usually this bitter, Son,” Dad mentioned between bites of tiny spaghetti strands.
“He’s justified in being bitter. After all Gideon made it a daily challenge to see how badly he could hurt or humiliate Evan,” Mom fiercely replied. “The boy is twice as big as our son.”
“I’m not that much smaller than he is now,” I quickly tossed out.
“Of course not, honey,” Mom said with that tender ‘My child is so cute’ expression all mothers had. “You’ve grown into a tall, lanky man just like your father.”
Dad smiled sheepishly then pointed at me with his butter knife. “I think you should ask to borrow his next book.” I wrinkled my nose and forked more pasta to twirl. “Be the bigger man. Offer him an olive branch. He’s going to make your life a living hell if this situation isn’t worked out, Son.”
I chewed vigorously, my taste buds on fire. “Fine, I’ll ask to borrow a book. I’ll be the bigger man. I’ll offer him an olive branch. And when none of that works I’m going to go back to ignoring the jerk. Can I have more milk?”
Mom patted my cheek then refilled my glass. Thank goodness for my folks. Where would I be without mine? I was truly blessed to have grown up with such accepting, and perhaps a little overly protective, parents. Chewing slowly, I thought back on what my father had told me about Gideon and the abuse he’d suffered at his father’s hand. Perhaps that was why he’d been so mean as a kid. It was all he knew. Children learn what they live. Maybe I needed to get to know him a little better to see if he’d corrected his life course. If he had then perhaps we could be friends. Well, not friends, but not mortal enemies. Yes. I would do it. I would borrow a book from Gideon and my kindness would infect him. God would guide us to a better place. Amen and pass the milk!
Chapter Five
Note to self: Next time you choose to invoke God make sure he’s in on the plan.
As I sat in the auditorium of the elementary school looking out at the faces of the good citizens of Cedarburg, my gaze kept drifting back to Gideon in the front row. His attention seemed to be solely on me, and it was more than a little unnerving. Ghosts of the past perhaps, but I’d seen that look in those calculating