Lay Me Down

18. Okay how I am.

Soundtrack: 'Frail' - Jars of Clay

{Cary}

Cary couldn't keep his mind empty the way he used to before he lived with the Whites. He said nothing on the bus ride to school, but the picture formed in his head—his father getting ready to go to court, fretting over the way the knot in his tie lay against his collar and straightening the crease in his trousers. Conall's public persona was sophisticated and powerful, and there were very few people who knew the man underneath.

Cary knew him. His father had been holding the belt, but the basement had laid them both bare. Fear of failure drove his father with an intensity that kept him constantly on edge, in his mind only one brilliant success away from disaster. This morning, that fear would be eating his father like poison, and he had a dozen rituals he would perform to turn disaster from their family one more time. Cuff links and collar just so, shoulders back and head high, the words he would say to his wife, and the words she would say back. It was a dangerous dance, and Cary had known his part well. He wasn't there to play his part this morning.

He blinked. His father wasn't there either, he realized. Conall would be preparing to appear in court alone. He had been cast out of the house where they all used to live, and that was Cary's fault. All of this was.

Cary reached up to pull the cord before the bus had even reached the stop for Eastglen.

"What are you doing?" Jon asked.

Cary shoved past him into the aisle. "I'll be home for supper."

Jon was right behind him, getting off the bus.

"Jon, get back on that bus and go to your classes," Cary said.

"My grades are fine. Where are you going?"

The bus pulled away, and Cary let out an exasperated sigh. He turned to look up the street, narrowing his eyes against the bright, new sun coming up over the buildings. He hadn't made a plan when he got off the bus, but he had one now. "To the courthouse."

"I'll text my dad," Jon said, reaching into his pocket. "See if he can pick us up."

Cary knocked Jon's hand away from his phone. "No. I'm going alone. Fucking stand there and catch the next bus to your school. I'm not getting you in trouble for this."

Jon's arms were stiff at his sides, his fingers splayed open. "Fucking make me," he said shortly, sticking out his chin.

Cary turned aside. There was no way he was putting his fist in that face again. "Fine. Keep up." He checked the route map on his phone, then headed across the street to catch a bus going back to the station to catch the Light Rail Transit to the city centre. Jon kept up and didn't ask any more questions.

They were shooting over the river, cars swaying and clacking, and glass skyscrapers reaching for the sky on the riverbank ahead when Cary asked, "You ever been to court?"

Jon shook his head, glancing at him. "You?"

"Yeah." Cary's hands made fists in his pockets, and he kept his eyes on the window. Light flashed to dark as they dove into a tunnel. The LRT ran above ground on the south side of the river and underground through the city centre.

"Were you there ... for you?" Jon's voice wavered up.

"Assault." Cary said. "My parents paid the fine. He said next time—" he locked his mouth shut on the rest. He'd done time in the basement for that, and his father said next time, he'd let the penal system have him. And if that happened, Cary was never coming home again.

Cary had never imagined that he would so completely break their family that neither of them would come home again. He watched the dark concrete walls rush past, the click of the tracks and the sway of the car reminding him to breathe. He felt like his chest was pulling open, one staple giving way after another, bleeding regrets.