The Sound of Wind
Page 51
**
The car crunched over the gravel in the heavy silence of Lewis’ car. Hugo stared out the window at the small, dirty white house. His brother parked the vehicle and then let out a long-suffering sigh, “I hope you enjoy this, because you know I’m only doing it because you wouldn’t have a ride otherwise.”
“If you can avoid arguing with him for an hour, this might work,” Hugo responded, but there was no bite to his voice. As much as he wanted to see his father, even he was considering this trip a bad idea. He hesitated, and then climbed out of the car. His brother followed suit.
Hugo knocked on the door and a few moments later his father answered it, smelling heavily of beer. Lewis rolled his eyes. He looked tired. Hugo cleared his throat.
“Come on in,” his father said, tone less than enthusiastic. The man stepped aside to let his sons in, and then slammed the door shut.
“Hi Dad,” Hugo responded tentatively.
“Hi.” His father’s voice was flat.
Without much preamble, the man led his children into the cluttered, cramped dining room. Boxes lined the walls, leaving little room for the small circular table and folding chairs that served as the dining room. There was a store-bought ham on the table, a dish of green beans, and cranberry sauce still molded in the shape of the ridged can it had come in. Hugo smiled; at least it wasn’t frozen dinners this year.
There was, however, one thing missing. “Where’s Cindy?”
“Home,” his father spat out.
Hugo bit his lip, deciding he would leave that subject alone for the time being. Instead he went into the kitchen and got out three plates and glasses, setting the table without any prompting. His father grabbed another beer from the fridge and then went and sat down at the table, dark brown eyes watching Hugo’s movements.
“How have you been, Dad?” Hugo asked as he sat down at the table with the fragmented part of his family.
His father shrugged, “Fine I guess.”
Silence cut in, stretching out awkwardly across the table. Hugo lightly bullied his green beans and noticed Lewis was avoiding them all together. They probably tasted terrible, his father was an awful cook. The only thing he could make was Spanish rice, something Hugo hadn’t had in a long time.
“I have a new job,” Hugo’s voice barely rose above the quiet, “At Gideon Enterprises.”
“How did you get a job like that?” His father asked, skepticism in his voice.
“Because he was qualified, Dad. Don’t sound so surprised,” Lewis edged in, his voice tight.
Their father glared at the eldest, “Oh please, you expect me to believe you weren’t surprised too? One of the biggest corporations in the country, and they hired him?” He jerked his thumb in Hugo’s direction, “He’s never held down a job in his life. Why would Gideon want to hire him?”
Hugo’s face went red and he stared down at his plate. It was true; he wasn’t qualified to work there, if you didn’t count the small matter of his abilities. Abilities he’d used to hurt and kill people. He tried to swallow the dryness in his throat.
“Dad,” Lewis spat out, “He’s assistant to the head of Human Resources! If he wasn’t qualified do you think-”
“He’s a secretary?” His father cut in incredulously.
“No, he’s an assistant,” Lewis growled, “And you say that like it’s a bad thing. He reports directly to a VP-”
His father turned on him, “How the hell did you manage that?”
Hugo opened his mouth, closed it. A tremor ran through his body. How had he managed it? He couldn’t get anything right. He was a failure and a murderer. He’d killed the brother of his boss and Mr. Hansen had merely said it was an inconvenience. The room blurred, but Hugo made it to the bathroom before the first tears fell. He sat on the edge of the tub, curling up.
Muffled by the door, he heard his father question incredulously, “What the fuck is he crying about?”
“Oh I don’t know,” Lewis shouted back, “possibly because you implied he’s too useless to get a decent job!”
“Oh come on, you’re blowing this way out of proportion! I just asked-”
“Just shut up! I don’t want to hear your excuses,” Lewis snapped, his voice cold.
It was all his fault. They wouldn’t be fighting if he’d just remained calm. He shouldn’t have insisted that Lewis take him. Hugo covered his mouth, trying to keep in the small hiccupping gasps as the tears continued to smear his vision.
“Lewis! You can’t talk that way to me in my own home!”
“You forfeited the right to tell me what to do when you left Mom. And I’m sick of listening to you berate my brother for no reason what-so-ever when he’s the one who wanted to see your sorry ass in the first place!”
“I wasn’t berating him. You just need any little excuse to get into a fight with me!”
Hugo’s body shook with the effort to hold everything in. There was a heavy shuffling and Hugo shot into a standing position, afraid they’d finally gotten into the physical fight that had been threatening to happen for a long time now. Instead there was a pounding that shook the door.
“Come on Hugo! Let’s go!” His brother bellowed.
Hugo shuddered. He didn’t want to leave the confines of the bathroom, not like this, but it was the only way to curb the argument between his father and older brother. He dragged the sleeve of his sweater across his nose, took several deep breaths and then slowly opened the door.
His brother took one look at him and then sighed, his shoulders slumping. “Come on buddy. Let’s go,” his brother’s voice soothing and nostalgic.
Hugo almost reached for his hand so that he could hide behind him, away from everything that could hurt him. Instead he shuffled forward, head down, gently shutting the door behind him. “Ok.” He found he couldn’t even look at his father as they passed him, aiming for the door, and his father said nothing in return.
Lewis kept quiet until they were several blocks away from his father’s place before he asked the question Hugo didn’t want to answer, “What’s wrong, Hugo? You’ve been a mess all weekend.” His tone was gentle.
Hugo ran his palms along his pants. He glanced at his brother, who was watching him out of the corner of his eye, but still keeping most of his attention focused on the road. He looked so much like their father, broad shoulders, dark brown hair and eyes, the build of a football player, an athlete. When Hugo was… “Lewis…I’m…scared…”
His brother glanced at him, brow furrowed, “Of what?”
“I-I’ve made…mistakes…and-and I can’t take it back. I-I can’t fix it. I don’t know what to do,” Hugo choked on his words and could feel the tears threatening again.
“Hugo, what’s going on? You’re not caught up in anything…bad are you?” Lewis asked, the worry plan in his voice.
“I’m bad!” He cried out in return.
Lewis frowned, “Hey, don’t listen to what Dad-”
“I’ve done some terrible things, Lewis! I – I…” Hugo sucked the rest of the sentence back down his throat, keeping the words in with his hands. He felt a heavy hand on the back of his head; a familiar comfort.
“Hey listen, it’ll be ok. Everything will be ok,” his brother lied softly.
Hugo wanted to believe it.