Page 66 of One Wrong Step
This time, the silence is louder as Dad and Carolynda stare at us, their gazes ping-ponging between Vivian and me.
“You’re getting along?” Dad asks with what sounds like wonder and a bit of suspicion in his voice.
Vivian telling me to be quiet doesn’t bother me, but Dad’s question does, for some reason. “Wasn’t that the point of this trip?”
Dad sets his fork down. “Being together as a family is the point of this trip, Jonah?—”
“Please don’t argue.” Carolynda gives Dad an imploring look. Then her gaze shifts to Vivian. Her brows furrow. “Did you boys get into a fight?”
“No. We’re getting along.” Vivian glances at me and then back to his mom.
“Then what happened to your cheek?”
The makeup doesn’t cover the bruise completely, but it’s so faint that we didn’t think anyone would notice. Vivian covers his cheek. “It’s nothing. It was an accident.”
Their eyes turn to me. “Hold up. I didn’t do this. The guy in the bar was gesturing wildly and?—”
“You went to a bar?” Dad sounds angry, but I have no idea why.
“We’re adults,” I remind him.
“This is a family trip?—”
“Are you kidding me?” I say loudly.
The sounds around us stop. Oops. That might have been a little too loud. Taking a deep breath, I ignore everyone else in the dining room. Glancing at Vivian, I ask, “You want to help me out here?”
“You’re doing fine.” He sounds amused.
For the record, Dad is not. “Don’t raise your voice at me, Jonah.”
“No one needs to raise their voice,” Carolynda says carefully.
I keep my voice low. “Don’t treat me like a child, Dad. You were in your room. Family time was over.” I shake my head, trying to keep from blowing up again. “You asked us to get along, and now you want to complain when we do?”
Carolynda jumps to her feet, knocking her chair over. She starts to say something and then shakes her head and runs out of the room.
“Is she okay?” I ask, wanting a real answer this time.
“I— She’s not feeling great. Can you boys take care of Maisy while I check on her?” And then, Dad is gone.
“You cleared the room, Jonah.”
“That wasn’t?—”
His smile stops my words. It’s small, but it packs a big punch. “Finish your bacon.” He nods at the pile still on my plate. “Then we can get Maisy cleaned up and check on Mom.”
I finish eating while Vivian grabs a wet wipe from Maisy’s bag to clean her hands. Not being hungry didn’t stop her from playing in the syrup.
Vivian barely gets started when he hesitates. “Jonah?” His eyes meet mine. “She’s burning up.”
Vivian takes Maisy to our room while I knock on our parents’ door. Dad answers, his eyes filled with panic.
“Whatever it is, I need you to handle it.” He rubs his hand over his eyes. “Carolynda’s throwing up.” He tries to shut the door, but I put my foot in to stop him.
“Maisy has a fever. We need meds.”
A sob breaks free, and Dad turns away. Have I ever seen him cry? Maybe at grandpa’s funeral. But not since. Not even when Mom left.
