The Brothers Bishop. Bart Yates

that you knew.” He grabs my arm. His fingers are damp. “Please? I only told you because I wanted to explain why I was such an asshole this morning. I didn’t want you thinking I was like that all the time.”

      Why does he care what I think about him? I pull away from him gently. “I know you’re not like that. That’s why I was worried about you.” A mosquito lands on my elbow and I flick it off. “Did your mom see your dad hit you?”

      “Yeah. She’s really pissed at him. They were still screaming at each other when I left the house this morning.”

      “Have you been home since? Is it safe for you there?”

      He nods. “It’s fine. Dad’s usually a lot cooler. But it’s his job. He’s an assistant DA and he gets really weirded out about drugs and shit.”

      I think I knew the new DA’s last name was Hart but I hadn’t made the connection between him and Simon yet. “It still doesn’t give him the right to hit you.”

      “Yeah, I know, but I guess he can’t help it. He kept yelling stuff like ‘I could get fired if people knew I had this in my house.’” His eyes well up again. “Please don’t tell anybody, Mr. Bishop. Okay? I’m sure he’s calmed down by now.”

      He looks pathetic. I chew on my lip. “Simon…I can’t…”

      He’s crying soundlessly, one tear after another leaking from his eyes and running down his face. Goddammit.

      I sigh. What am I going to write in my report to Baker about this conversation? “Okay, okay. I won’t say anything.”

      “Promise?”

      For some reason I get a lump in my throat. I don’t know why. Maybe the wine is making me sentimental or maybe it’s just because this poor dumb kid is still stupid enough to believe in adult promises. “I promise. But if he does anything like this again I want you to come to me right away.”

      “Okay.”

      I am such a sap but I can’t help myself. “Promise?”

      He smiles through his tears. It’s a sweet smile, relaxed and trusting. “I promise.”

      We don’t say anything for a minute and in the silence I can hear crickets and birds and the sound of the wind blowing through the tall grass. He looks around for the first time since we came out here. “You sure have a lot of privacy. You can’t even see any other houses.”

      I start to say something but just as I open my mouth Camille starts screaming inside. I can’t make out the words but she sounds like she’s gone postal. Simon and I gawk at each other but before he can ask any questions I tell him I’ll see him in class tomorrow.

      He nods and starts walking toward the driveway. “Thanks a lot, Mr. Bishop.”

      I almost tell him to call me Nathan but decide at the last second not to. It’s dangerous as a teacher to let kids get too close. I watch him disappear into the woods before I head back inside.

      Camille is standing with her face in the bookshelves on the closed door of the guest room (where Kyle has apparently barricaded himself), and she’s yelling nonstop. Her voice sounds ragged and the only clear words are “fucking little chickenshit” but she shows no sign of stopping anytime soon. It’s hard to believe this is the same woman I was having lunch with just a short while ago. Tommy and Philip are nowhere in sight. I let the screen door slam behind me, hoping she’ll quiet down if she knows I’m in the room with her, but she doesn’t even bother to turn her head. There’s a broken plate on the kitchen counter and books all over the floor.

      She grabs a dictionary and steps back to hurl it against the door.

      Where the fuck is Tommy? All of a sudden I’m mad as hell. “Camille!”

      It’s scary how much I sound like my dad when I’m angry.

      She jumps and swivels clumsily to face me. Her hair is going every direction and her cheeks are streaked with tears. She points at the guest room door. “That son of a bitch called me a bitch. And he said I was drunk. I am not drunk.”

      I step forward and take the book away from her. “You need to calm down right now, Camille, or you need to get out of my house.”

      Her face falls and she crumples to the floor as if I’ve kicked her in the stomach. She starts to wail. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Nathan.”

      I squat down next to her and try to quiet her. She’s sobbing uncontrollably, and when I put my hand on her back she lurches forward and wraps her arms around me and cries on my shirt.

      Tommy reappears in the doorway to the living room and Philip is behind him. I look over Camille’s head and Tommy mouths, “Good job.”

      “Eat shit,” I mouth back.

      He looks confused and whispers, “What’s your problem?”

      He brings a lunatic into my house and leaves me to deal with her and he wonders why I’m pissed.

      The four of us don’t move for quite a while. Kyle finally pokes his head out of the guest room and gapes at us; we must look like a tableau in a wax museum.

      Camille lifts her head off my chest. Sweat is beaded on her forehead and under her eyes, and her nostrils are wet and runny. “I don’t feel so good.” She tries to get her legs under her but before she can her eyes get huge and panicky.

      “Uh-oh,” she says, and leans forward to vomit on my lap.