The Institution

Chapter 19: Vacation!

My Thanksgiving plans changed overnight; my mother called to tell me that she would not be in North Carolina for the holiday. Apparently my grandfather was in the hospital in Boston because his shoes had been eating his feet.

I know what you're thinking- shoes don't normally eat people's feet. But they do when they are bathed in chemicals, apparently.

Long story short, my grandfather is legally blind and one afternoon he decided that he wanted to wash his shoes. So he put them in the washing machine but mistook the toilet bowl cleaner for laundry detergent. When he thought his shoes were clean he put them on and couldn't understand why the skin on his toes was burning off. In the end he'd been rushed to the hospital and had to get three of his toes amputated. So now, because my grandfather is missing his toes my mother will be gone for Thanksgiving and I will need to make other plans for the holiday.

On a side note my mother often tells me that I take after my grandfather. Reflecting on that now, I'm not quite sure if I should feel insulted or not.

Luckily Arthur heard of my dilemma and came up with a solution almost immediately.

"You should come home with me for the holiday," he suggested when I explained to him my poor grandfather's predicament. "We have a spare room and I'm allowed to invite a guest-"

"I wouldn't want to impose," I tried to protest.

"Nonsense," said Arthur. "To be honest, the holidays at my place are always dreadful- my parents are insufferable this time of year. I'll need you around for comic relief."

And so the cold evening before Thanksgiving found me in the passenger seat of my own car with Arthur behind the wheel. He'd refused to let me drive with my broken leg. Not because he was being chivalrous or anything, but because he was convinced that I would crash the car. He still doesn't trust me at all. When we pulled up in front of the house I couldn't help but gawk; I knew that Arthur had grown up privileged but I hadn't expected him to live in a house that resembled a small French chateau.

"Don't let its looks deceive you," Arthur muttered from the corner of his mouth. "It might look impressive now, but it's a bloody prison inside."

We got out of the car. Arthur carried my bag for me because I was too busy trying to organize my crutches and not fall on my face and he didn't have the patience to wait for me.

I thought it was funny when Arthur rang the doorbell instead of just walking into the house. It was freezing out here. But I didn't have time to question it- footsteps rang out from the other side of the door and it swung open to emit a tall, thin blonde woman with heavily hooded blue eyes. She was wearing high heels and was dressed in very expensive looking clothing. She smiled, and the corners of her eyes crinkled, but there wasn't much warmth in her expression.

"Arthur," she said, her voice as smooth as the marble floors she was standing on, "You're early. Do come inside." We stepped over the threshold and Arthur's mother closed the door behind us. The sound echoed in the entrance hall we were now standing in, which was at least three times as large as our dorm room.

My first impression of Susanne McCorvey was that she is a stern woman. My second impression was that I should avoid her at all costs, because she is looking at me like I am something she found on the bottom of her shoe. Choosing to disregard this for the sake of being polite, I held out my hand.

"Hello Mrs. McCorvey. I'm Ethan," I said in what I hoped was a friendly way.

She reluctantly shook my hand. "Welcome to our home, Ethan," she said. Her voice was as cold as her eyes.