Every Bright and Broken Thing

Chapter Seventeen - Liam

I wake up to a killer hangover.

This is beginning to become a bad habit.

Everything comes flooding back to me in a series of images, like some psychedelic picture show.

The party.

The band.

The beer.

The bedroom.

Stacy's face.

The police.

The cliff.

My headache intensifies as the memories compress within my mind. What will I say to Stacy when I see her at school? What will I tell the guys? All I have now are questions and the fear of what the answers might be.

Showered and dressed, I go downstairs to pour myself a bowl of cereal. But before I even make it halfway down the stairs, the smell of bacon reaches me. My stomach growls in response and I round the corner to see Dad standing over the stove, one hand holding a spatula and the other holding the handle of the skillet.

He turns when he hears me. "Good morning, Liam," he says with a smile that takes me by surprise. I almost laugh when I see him wearing Mom's old apron, the one with the flowers and the frills on it.

"Good morning," I return, but it's more of a question. "What are you doing?"

He cocks an eyebrow. "Making breakfast, of course." With the back of his hand, he pushes his glasses back up on his nose and turns his attention to the eggs.

I roll my eyes, dropping my backpack on the floor and sliding a chair at the table. "I mean, why are you making breakfast? Why are you even here? Aren't you supposed to be at the church?" I cringe at the way I say "church" – like it's a dirty word. And the stricken look on Dad's face makes me feel even worse. But words are toothpaste – can't get them back in the tube.

"It's been too long, Liam," he says, scraping the bacon onto one platter and the eggs onto another. Beside him on the counter are two more platters. One with pancakes, the other with hash browns. He carries all four to the table and sets them down in the middle. Looking me in the eyes, he adds, "We're a family. It's time we started acting like it."

I blink back at him, not sure what to say. Well, I know what I want to say, but I can't. My resolve to protect everyone from this secret is greater now more than ever after what happened with Stacy. But, like a quiet whisper in the back of my mind, a part of me wonders if the only person I'm really trying to protect is myself.

"Let's pray," Dad says just as I bring a piece of bacon to my mouth.

I pause. He smiles and reaches over. I stare at his hand for a second before putting the bacon back on my plate and taking his hand with an inward groan.

"Father," Dad starts and I'm immediately uncomfortable, "thank you for this day. Thank you for Your goodness. For watching over us, protecting us, and leading us even when we didn't know You were there. Most of all, thank you for Your presence. Thank you for Your Spirit that lives inside of us and empowers us to live the lives You've called us to live. Lord, bless my sons. Bless this home with a greater sense of Your presence, greater peace, and greater joy. Bless this food to the nourishment of our bodies. In Jesus' name I pray. Amen."

Clearing my throat, I pull my hand from his and return my attention to the food on my plate.

"I'd like you to come back to church with me this Sunday, Liam," he says as soon as I take my first bite. I nearly choke, but manage to collect myself.