Bared Souls - Ellie Wade Page 0,29
to the kitchen.
“Dad,” Amos says, his voice void of emotion.
“I see you brought the hippie,” Mr. Davis grumbles.
Amos starts to step forward, but I grab his hand, pulling him back.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Davis,” I offer in greeting.
Eat and get out of here, I repeat our objective in my mind.
It doesn’t matter what Mr. Davis thinks of me. Fact is, I don’t think highly of him either. He’s never physically harmed Amos or Mrs. Davis that I know of, but his verbal and emotional abuse is hard to take. I recall once, after a particularly brutal tongue-lashing from Mr. Davis, Mrs. Davis told Amos that his father’s dad was worse and that Mr. Davis said what he said because he wanted Amos to be the best, to be successful and strong.
The thing is that Amos is all of those things, not because of his father, but despite him.
We sit down to eat, and I take a bite of Mrs. Davis’s mac and cheese. I have to stop myself from groaning aloud. She once told me that the secret to making anything delicious is to double the butter in all recipes. I thought she was kidding, but now, I’m not so sure.
“You look like shit,” Mr. Davis says to Amos. “You haven’t been confusing your priorities, have you?”
“No, I haven’t,” Amos answers.
“What are your grades?”
“All As,” Amos says.
“They’d better be,” Mr. Davis grunts, looking like he wants to say more.
I realize, as he stews over his plate with a grimace, he doesn’t know what to harp on Amos about anymore. Insults have been slung at Amos in the name of his future throughout his entire childhood. However, now, Amos is exactly where his father always wanted him to be.
“You’d better not screw it up,” Mr. Davis snaps.
“I won’t,” Amos replies.
“You still need to get accepted into the business school.”
Amos nods. “That’s the plan.”
Mr. Davis glowers. “Don’t embarrass me. Remember what’s important and don’t fuck it up.”
I take a large gulp of my sweet tea to stop my mouth from saying something that will make it worse for Amos. Maybe, someday, someone will tell Mr. Davis where to shove it.
“Shall we do cake? We should do cake.” Mrs. Davis jumps up from the table and hastily begins to clear the plates.
After cake, Mr. Davis leaves the dining room, and we let out a collective exhale.
“We should go, Mom,” Amos tells her.
“So soon?” she protests, her lips sinking into a frown.
“I’m sorry. I wish I could stay and visit with you, but we have to get over to see Alma’s parents and then get back. We have classes tomorrow,” he explains.
“I know you do, and I’m proud of you. I just miss you,” she says.
“Call me this week when Dad’s out, and we can chat freely. Okay?” Amos takes his mother’s hands in his.
“Yeah.” She nods and wraps her arms around his middle. “I love you, son.”
“I love you, Mom.”
I thank Mrs. Davis for a delicious dinner, and Amos and I bolt for the front door. Once the door is closed behind us and we’re standing on the porch, we both sigh.
“One down, one to go.” I grin.
“Yeah, let’s get this over with.” He entwines my pinkie with his, and we cross the driveway to my childhood home.
I knock on the front door, but there’s no response. I open it and walk in. A wave of stench smacks me right in the face, and I step back with a shudder. The smell is overwhelming—a combination of smoke and garbage.
I kick the cardboard boxes to the side. My parents have always been slobs, which is why I’m borderline OCD about a clean environment.
“Lee-Anne?” I call my mother’s name. She’s never allowed me to call her mom. “Vati? Papa?” I call out for my father. He’s always had me address him in his native German.
The house is quiet.
“Lee-Anne? Vati?” I call out again.
No response.
In the kitchen, there are plates of half-eaten food on the counter, and the garbage can is overflowing. Drug paraphernalia are scattered about. I continue past the kitchen, and that’s when I spot them.
“Ew,” I gasp and cover my mouth as I turn toward Amos.
He wraps his arms around me to shield me from the view.
I only saw them for a second, but the image of my naked parents passed out on the couch is seared into my brain forever.
“Let’s go,” Amos says as I keep my head buried in his chest. He leads me out of the house.
Once we’re clear of the