That evening we had the planned Labor Day barbecue anyway. Richard grilled steaks on the back patio. Barbara set the table with her good dishes. Tyler ran around with a water gun as though nothing at all had happened, as though he hadn’t just destroyed eight thousand dollars of someone else’s property a few hours earlier. Clare kept praising him the whole time. My energetic boy, she said more than once. So full of life.
Derek approached me while I stood alone by the railing. He tried to smooth things over, tried to sound like a reasonable man managing an unreasonable situation. I can write you a check, he said. Ten thousand. More than the guitar cost. I didn’t even look at him. You can’t make this right, I said. He exhaled sharply through his nose. I’m trying, he said. Some things can’t be fixed with money, I told him. He had no answer for that.
Dinner started. The whole family gathered around the outdoor table beneath string lights, forced cheerfulness sitting between us like an uninvited fifth course. Barbara asked about the potato salad. Richard asked Derek about work. Clare laughed too loudly at something Tyler said. Everyone performed the appearance of a fine evening. Richard eventually looked at me across the table. You’re being childish about this, he said. I set down my fork. Am I, I asked. Barbara used the tone she reserved for making me feel guilty without ever calling it guilt directly. We’re family, she said. Let it go. I looked at her and kept my voice perfectly level. You’re right, I said. Family should forgive each other. Clare visibly relaxed. She actually smiled at me. Thank you, she said. That’s mature of you. I didn’t smile back. I ate silently, mechanically, counting down the hours until I could leave.
