Chapter 2 - Behind the Holiday Lights
The sudden rush of cold air silenced the stereo. Gertrude was standing by the kitchen island, a linen dish towel clutched in her hands, her smile fixed and brittle. Chloe, sitting comfortably on the sofa with a plate piled high with turkey and ham, looked up from her phone with mild annoyance.
Raymond emerged from the hallway, holding a bottle of sparkling cider.
“Dad?” Raymond asked, blinking as if trying to adjust to the sudden intrusion. “What are you doing back inside? We thought you left. Where’s Toby?”
“Toby is in my truck,” Bernard said, his voice cutting through the festive atmosphere like a razor. He walked past the sparkling tree, his boots leaving wet, muddy tracks across the pristine white rug. “He’s freezing, Raymond. He’s been out there for over an hour because the turkey skin got too brown.”
Gertrude let out a short, defensive laugh, tossing the dish towel onto the counter. “Oh, please. Don’t start with the melodrama, Bernard. It’s New Year’s Eve, we have guests coming—well, we did, before you decided to barge in—and the boy needs boundaries. He’s insolent. If you coddle him, he’ll grow up to be a total failure, exactly like—” She caught herself, glancing sideways at Raymond, and swallowed the rest of the sentence.
Bernard stopped dead in his tracks. He turned to face her, his eyes narrowing. “Like who, Gertrude? Finish the sentence.”
“Dad, stop it,” Raymond intervened, stepping between them with a defensive slouch that made him look half his age. He wasn't defending his son; he was defending his peace. “Gertrude is right. You don’t live here. You don’t see what it’s like day-to-day. Toby has an attitude problem. He’s been acting out ever since his mother abandoned him, and someone has to keep him in line.”
“By locking him in a basement?” Bernard demanded.
The room went dead silent. Chloe dropped her phone onto the cushion. Gertrude’s face flushed a dull, mottled red, though whether from anger or panic was hard to tell. Raymond looked away, his jaw tightening, confirming every horrific detail without uttering a single word of denial.
“You knew,” Bernard whispered, staring at his son with a mixture of disgust and profound pity. “You actually knew.”
“It’s for his own good,” Raymond muttered, his voice dropping defensive and low. “Gertrude knows how to run a household. We’re trying to build a stable family here, Dad. We don’t need you coming in here with your old-fashioned ideas trying to tear it apart.”
“A stable family,” Bernard repeated, his gaze sweeping over the bountiful table, the expensive decorations, and the terrified boy waiting in the truck outside. He felt a sudden, sharp realization settle into his chest: Raymond wasn't being manipulated out of weakness alone. Raymond was complicit because admitting Gertrude was a monster would mean admitting he had failed twice as a father.
Bernard reached into his coat pocket, pulled out his car keys, and dropped them onto the entryway table with a sharp clack.
“Pack your things, Toby,” Bernard said, raising his voice so it carried straight out the open door to the truck. Then he turned back to Raymond. “He’s coming home with me to Duluth tonight.”
“You can’t do that,” Gertrude shrieked, stepping forward. “He’s a minor! That’s kidnapping!”
May you like
“Try calling the police, Gertrude,” Bernard said, stepping close enough that she instinctively backed away. “Tell them you left a sixteen-year-old boy barefoot in the snow in sub-zero temperatures. Let’s see who the authorities arrest first.”
---
